DISTANT MUSIC

We didn't go to Carols by Candlelight' this year. We didn't go last year. We haven't been for a few years. I can never find the enthusiasm to attend. I'll tell you why:

As a Australian teenager in the 60s, I played in a brass band in a small regional town. It was there I met my husband and we stayed with banding for about twenty years.

Some years later, I acted as band-master for a short period. I had a solid grounding in piano-teaching and theory and there really was no-one else to take it on.

The main problem was that while I quickly got the hang of beating two, three or four beats with my right hand, I couldn't indicate any variations in volume with my left. As soon as I tried to indicate a softer passage by making downward movements with my left hand, my right immediately joined in. I would have to stop patting' till I got the beat established again and then have another go. It didn't matter too much as the members had their own ideas anyway and if the music said loud' they played loud' and if it said soft', they might play slightly less loud if I was lucky. I was indeed conducting' but it wasn't until carol night that I realised how little influence I really had.

Every year, as the Christmas season approached, we played for carol services in at least five small towns within an evening's drive of our regional centre. At first I thought these were lovely occasions. One was held in a shearing shed with children going to sleep on wool bales; the smell of sheep dung and lanolin pervading the air in almost equal parts. Hot summer evenings were the norm and always there was the scrumptious country supper with sponge cakes, lamingtons and other delectables to look forward to at the conclusion of the evening.

However, I soon learnt why the other members didn't share my early enthusiasm for carol nights. After playing the same carols at seven centres over nine evenings, even "O Come All Ye Faithful" lost its appeal.

As the bandmaster, I learnt two important things at my first carol night. You can't actually hear the people singing; and, unless you take great care, you lose count of which verse you're up to. But the second lesson was even more important. The band becomes its own cohesive group, especially when playing well-known and well-rehearsed numbers - and by some mystic feeling that permeates the players, they all knew when they'd come to the last verse and they all stopped beautifully, leaving me to do a couple more beats all on my own. No matter how much I waved that baton around they weren't going to play another verse.

Once I realised this, I could relax knowing that I just had to be ready to stop beating when they stopped playing. If I was caught unawares, I could simply turn that beat into a scratch an itchy head' movement. Problem solved! Although we were able to keep the band operational, it was a great relief when a new headmaster came to town. Alan had been involved with Salvation Army bands for years and I was able to hand over my baton, along with all the responsibility, and go back to enjoying being a player.

Learn more about this author, Judy Evans.
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