My uncle gave me a trumpet, but I loved the Louis Armstrong sound and the Harry James sound and I played by ear and I played always soulful or very direct from the gut.
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Uncle Harry
Oh, never let on to your own true love
That ever you drank a drop;
That ever you played in a two-up school
Or slept in a sly-grog shop;
That ever a bad girl nursed you round –
That ever you sank so low.
But she pulled you through, and it's only you
And your old mate Harry know.
"Billy the Link" they called you then,
And it makes me sad to think
Of the strenuous days when it took three cops
And a pimp to couple the Link.
"Mister Linkhurst" they call you now,
And your kitchen garden grows;
And no one knows in your family,
But your Uncle Harry knows.
Oh, never let on to your fair young bride
How a "straight" girl stabbed your heart
With a devilish wire to the Western side
Where we were a world apart.
With pick and shovel you fought it out
Where the red sirocco blows;
And no one knew in the gang save you –
But your old mate Harry knows.
Oh, never let on to your own good wife,
For a tender heart has she,
Of the girl that loved and the girl that lies
In the graveyard there by the sea!
'Twas not for his "manners" she loved the cad,
'Twas not for his verse or prose,
But the pity she felt for the country lad –
And your Uncle Harry knows.
The bad girl went where the bad girls go
And I see her dark eyes yet;
The good girl left me her broken heart,
But I trow that their souls have met.
The cry of the heart we send not forth
On every wind that blows;
You are hiding a sorrow from someone now –
But your Uncle Harry knows.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Well, my sister played trumpet. Can you imagine having a sister blowing the trumpet around the house, Fred? And my brother, he played piano. Everybody was playing some kind of music, so it was natural for me to get into it.
quote by Freddie Hubbard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tuba
I was once in a band
in school long ago
when the Poison was big
as their hair
When I was a lad
I played a Golden Tuba
and marched all
over the land
We played in parks
for elderly folks
we played in the gym
for our parents
but mine weren't there
We marched in parades
and my Tuba shined
because I polished it
every day and night
I was so proud of that
Tuba and the sound it
produced that I played
it at home in my room
marching in place
like the whole band
was there
and such pride, such pride
until Dad broke it.
poem by John W. McEwers
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And my dad wanted me to play the trumpet because that's what he liked. His idol was Louis Armstrong. My dad thought my teeth came together in a way that was perfect for playing the trumpet.
quote by Jackson Browne
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The first time I ever played the trumpet in public, I played the Marine Hymn. I sounded terrible.
quote by Wynton Marsalis
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I do remember, though, when I discovered the third! I was about five years old - it was a very pleasing sound. I remembered that if I hit one note, then skipped one and played the next, I could get this really good sound.
quote by Robert Morris
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Uncle Pen
Oh, the people would come from far and away,
They'd dance all night 'till the break of day,
When the caller would holler "Do-si-do,"
You knew Uncle Pen was ready to go.
Late in the evening about sun down,
High on the hill and above the town,
Uncle Pen played the fiddle, lord a how it'd ring,
You could hear it talk, you could hear it sing.
Oh, he played an old piece he called Soldier's Joy,
And he had one he called Boston Boy,
The greatest of all was Ginny Lyn,
To me that's where the fiddlin begin.
(chorus)
Oh, I'll never forget that mournful day,
When Uncle Pen was called away,
They hung up his fiddle, they hung up his bow,
You knew it was time for him to go.
(chorus)
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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2010 World Cup
2010 World Cup,
Two brothers played against each other for different countries!
And they were 'Jerome Boateng' who played for Germany and,
His half-brother 'Kevin-Prince Boateng' who played for Ghana;
And Germany won the match by 1-0.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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At The High Lodge.
Auntie played the accordion
While others sang Goodnight
Irene in a discordant chorus
And the gas lamps had been lit
And you sat there amidst it all
Remembering the sound of crickets
On the way up to the high lodge
In the evening darkness with only
Uncle’s torch and the glow-worms
To cut through the blanket sky
Of black and London a long way
Off now and the sound of traffic
And bright lights and the smell
Of coal dust and fumes and sitting
There watching Auntie play and sing
And her fingers moving over the
Keyboard and the sense of tiredness
And the countryside smell entering
Into you and dreams of Jolly Rogers
And cowboy shootouts waiting for
You in the upstairs bedroom with its
Garden spiders in corners and darkness
After Uncle’s lamp went out and you
Imaging Mother in some far off train
Station still waving to you and London
Smells and lights hanging there about.
poem by Terry Collett
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I have played in rain before. I have played in wind before. I have played in cold before, but not all put together. They were the hardest conditions I ever played in.
quote by Michelle Wie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Louis Armstrong playing trumpet on the Judgment Day.
quote by Al Stewart
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Serious Music
(words by john oates
Music by john oates, george bizet)
To play to get rich
And die baroque is wrong
If you write a song for god
Will he sing along
While rows of robot symphonies read on
Is that the way you wanted it played
Manuscripted memories
Sound with no electricity
Concentration line on the face of serious music
Manuscripted memories
Sound but no electricity
Concentration lines on the face of serious music
You brought a bit of jazz to the concert hall
But you wont hear violins at the darkies ball
Your rhapsody in blue will outlive us all
I wish I was there the night you played it
Manuscripted memories
Sound with no electricity
Concentration line on the face of serious music
Manuscripted memories
Sound but no electricity
Concentration lines on the face of serious music
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If you make it sound too much like a synth, it will just sound like a guitar part played on a synth.
quote by Daisy Berkowitz
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Mandolin
Oh Mandolin, oh mandolin
Waiting in the dark
Centuries passed down upon
Your smooth Venetian skin
Memories oh memories
Lay stains upon your heart
When lovers dance into the trance
You weaved by candlelight
Oh I saw a sunrise like never before
As mandolin played I cried for more.
Oh Mandolin, oh mandolin
Waiting in the dark
Centuries passed down upon
Your smooth Venetian skin
Incessant sound, incessant sound
That stirs the young and pure
Incestuous I kiss my hand
And play the calling drum.
The lover cried into the silk
Many years ago
Your voice laid comfort down upon
His European skin.
Oh I saw a sunrise like never before
As mandolin played I cried for more.
Oh I saw a sunrise like never before
As mandolin played I cried for more.
Oh I saw a runrise likenever before
As mandolin played I cried for more
Oh Mandolin, oh mandolin
Waiting in the dark
Centuries passed down upon
Your smooth Venetian skin.
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
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Sounds that should not be missed
Sound of blossom of a flower,
I desire to hear,
the sound of nature.
Sound of rain's glassy water drop,
over a roof's top,
the sound of joy.
Sound of beat of our heart,
through our ears caught,
the sound of wonder.
Sound of delicious supper in boil,
after a great day's toil,
the sound of hunger.
Sound of a mother's loving ballad,
hearing the cry of her toddler,
the sound of love! ! !
poem by Shyam Balaji
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I played in Joe Louis in a playoff game. I played there when the roof caved in for half a season. The facility is great for basketball because it goes straight up, so you feel like the fans are on top of you.
quote by Bill Laimbeer
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The Trumpet Call
Trumpeter, sound for the last Crusade!
Sound for the fire of the red-cross kings,
Sound for the passion, the splendour, the pity
That swept the world for a dead Man's sake,
Sound, till the answering trumpet rings
Clear from the heights of the holy City,
Sound till the lions of England awake,
Sound for the tomb that our lives have betrayed;
O'er broken shrine and abandoned wall,
Trumpeter, sound the great recall,
Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us;
Sound for the last Crusade!
Trumpeter, sound for the splendour of God!
Sound the music whose name is law,
Whose service is perfect freedom still,
The order august that rules the stars.
Bid the anarchs of night withdraw,
Too long the destroyers have worked their will,
Sound for the last, the last of the wars.
Sound for the heights that our fathers trod,
When truth was truth and love was love,
With a hell beneath, but a heaven above,
Trumpeter, rally us, up to the heights of it!
Sound for the City of God.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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When I Was Young
When I was a young I was impressionable
I believed everything to me that was told
But then suddenly in miracles I stopped believing
That was the day that I grew old.
I now do not believe in any miracle
As I was taught they do not or cannot exist
From the complex creation of any life
To the formation of a tiny cyst.
So no longer do I walk in amazement
That is created by our world and nature all around
I now know everything can be explained
From a slight touch to the hearing of a sound.
When I was a boy I played with toy soldiers
I played with toy guns and I even played war
But then I grew up and reality it sat in
Now those games I play them no more.
Seashells they do not speak the ocean
The end of a rainbow it holds no pot of gold
Wishes cannot be granted by the first star at night
Sometimes I wish that I didn't grow old.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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My father actually moved out from Chicago just so he could play tennis 365 days a year, so it was - it was a place we played every day. We played before school. We played after school. We woke up. We played tennis. We brushed our teeth in that order.
quote by Andre Agassi
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The was a Young Lady of Bute,
Who played on a silver-gilt flute;
She played several jigs,
To her uncle's white pigs,
That amusing Young Lady of Bute.
by Edward Lear from A Book of Nonsense (1846)
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