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I am not sure what it's like in other recording centers, but in Los Angeles there are a few hundred highly skilled musicians who are equipped to play any piece of music on any instrument you can imagine, and in any style that exists. Some have been on the scene for decades and some have arrived relatively recently. All of them are consummate professionals who are committed to maintaining and preserving a tradition of being able to "do it all." Some have achieved a high level of notoriety and their names are known. Most of the best ones, however, are people you've never heard of --- and they'd like to keep it that way. If you saw them on the street, you would never dream that they were capable of producing the kind of music that comes from their fingers, or out of their bells, mouths, or amplifiers. Many of them are people who I am proud to call colleagues and good friends. What follows is an attempt to bring the studio experience to life for those who don't quite know what happens when the red "Recording" light comes on.

When you walk into a large recording studio for the first time your senses quickly become overwhelmed by all of the stimulation. Over there is the famous composer casually talking to the contractor whose name you only know from movie credits. Sitting in the chair next to yours is a musical icon whose playing you first heard on Michael Jackson's albums and who now plays on virtually every movie soundtrack. Over there is the guy who played the bass line on the "Barney Miller" TV show theme. As if all this wasn't enough to intimidate you, there are pictures on the walls in the hallway of Frank Sinatra, Judy Garland, and Barbara Streisand when they recorded their music in this very space. It's pretty intense... but also very cool.

The rooms at Warner Brothers and Capitol Records are lined with beautifully finished wood on the floors and walls, but the inside of Sony and Fox are covered in plain plywood and hardwood acoustic panels. The lighting, ducting, and wiring are left exposed and it feels anything but fancy. The temperature in all of the rooms is on the cold side of "room temperature." I believe this is to try and mitigate the heat being put out by the electronics. There are incredible microphones all over the place that you imagine must have been around since Sinatra and Judy Garland actually recorded their music. There is an amazing spread of cookies, fruit, and sandwiches in the corner, along with a big pot of regular, decaf, and an assortment of fancy teas.

Incredibly, there's not much playing of instruments going on before the session begins. It isn't exactly forbidden, but there is an unwritten rule that you don't warm up much in the studios. Most of these musicians are accustomed to either warming up at home, or have gotten to the point where they are playing so much that there's not a lot of warming up needed. The playing that is done is usually done so with a purpose --- perhaps a musical joke between colleagues from 30 years ago. Perhaps a short lick or two (usually quite impressive) to make sure that everything is working correctly for them that day. Many brass players will be warming up with a practice mute or cup mute in their bells which provides a constant background of musical muttering.

There are headphones on all of the stands which pipe in a click track, which is a sort-of metronome, that is synchronized to the film along with any background tracks. These can include synthesized music, background vocals, percussion, etc. There are digital LED measure counters placed at strategic points throughout the room, which are also synchronized to the click, and which you can easily glance up at from your stand if you get lost. Usually the conductor is watching the film on a monitor right in front of his podium in order to fine tune the placement of musical cues. Sometimes there is film playing on a big screen behind the orchestra, and you have to be careful to not get distracted by the action when you glance at it during your rests.

Leading up to the beginning of the session, people begin putting their headphones on to make sure they are working. You can tell they are on when you can hear the room through the "podium mic" which is turned on so that everyone can hear the conductor's instructions. Without it the rooms are so dry sounding (without reverb) that it easy for voices to become swallowed up into nothingness.

Playing a musical instrument in this dry acoustical environment is a specialized skill that takes some getting used to. Most performing spaces, except for the most acoustically dead practice rooms, have some kind of reverb or acoustic ambiance to them. It is hard to describe the quiet of a recording sound stage. The moment in between when everyone stops talking and rustling around to the beginning of the take is the quietest sound I have ever heard. It's kind of what I imagine space must sound like. The closest thing I have experienced was on a very still early morning on the edge of the Grand Canyon where the vastness of the void below seemed to suck all of the sound into it. It seemed like you could hear leaves rustling on trees a half mile down in the canyon, or the flapping of bird's wings in the sky high overhead.

In the studio, it can be terrifying.

Never before have you really thought about how important it is to start exactly in time with everyone else. Never before have you realized how loud your breath is. Never before have you heard your shoes scrape the floor, your pants squeak on the chair, or your cell phone buzz in "quiet mode." In this environment all of these sounds seem deafening. And never before has there been such a penalty for having these noises heard. If you're the one whose cell phone just buzzed as the sound was decaying at the end of a soft cue, making it necessary to re-record the whole thing, I can assure you that you have never felt more guilty about anything you've ever done in your whole life. Most of the time people are gracious in this regard, but sometimes it is a real drag for everyone involved, especially if it's at the end of a long day or if it's the tenth or twentieth take.

Making music in this environment is an art form. Every single musician in the room acts as an independent music making machine, not requiring any additional input from anyone else to create the sounds indicated by the music on their stand. At the same time they are totally in sync with everyone, making micro adjustments in pitch and time so that the finished product sounds organic. If you were to single out anyone, you would hear their part being musically played, totally in tune, and in time.

I have played in high level orchestras where the individual players are doing the same thing, but they have the benefit of one additional variable --- the hall. They know how loud or soft to play to make the hall make them sound good. There can be a forgiving nature about a good orchestral hall where everything gets assimilated and comes out as an acoustic mesh.

No such safety net exists in the studios. You are laid bare for the world, or the sound engineer, composer, and anyone else in the control room (known as "the booth") to hear. If you're not making it, your mic gets turned way down, or even off.

Before I played in the studios I had my image of what these players were like. I imagined that they all played well, of course, but I thought that they were mostly just lucky to have happened to know the right people who could get them in the door to this closed society. I didn't quite grasp exactly how well one needed to be able to play, or what specialized skill set was required in order to make it to the level of some of these top-call studio musicians.

One thing I hadn't considered was the amount of specialization required to do this work in terms of expertise on not only your chosen instrument, but every instrument in your particular group. You don't just play trumpet when you're an L.A. studio trumpet player. You play Bb trumpet, C trumpet, piccolo trumpet, flugelhorn, and whatever other instrument is needed to make the music sound right. You also don't just play classical style. Of course you need to be able to play a classical solo as convincingly as any orchestral principal trumpet player, but you also need to be able to play jazz, rock, funk, Latin, reggae, salsa, and just about anything else that you can imagine. You'd better have a few jazz licks at the ready too, just in case they need you to add in an improvised solo during the session. This isn't an exaggeration. These are the minimum entry requirements to the L.A. studio scene if you're a trumpet player. Being able to play Maynard Ferguson-style lead trumpet is also a huge bonus.

As a low-brass player, it's not enough to just play tenor trombone or bass trombone either. Minimum entry in this world includes small and large bore tenor trombones, bass trombone, all the mutes for said horns (straight, cup, bucket, Harmon, plunger, solotone), and the ability to play all styles with a couple of jazz licks at the ready just in case. It seems to be assumed that you also know how to play euphonium, and having the ability to play bass trumpet, contrabass trombone, and tuba are an extra bonus.

This is not the way most of us were trained. Most of us chose either a classical or jazz path in college and we then devoted many years to perfecting our chosen style. Some end up winning jobs in orchestras, some end up gaining recognition as jazz artists, but few are able to keep all styles going for their entire education. Think "jack of all trades, master of none."

What ends up happening in L.A., however, is that once you start doing some work you realize that the people who are at the top can actually do everything. Some also end up doing some very interesting specializations such as: conch shell, Native American flutes, ethnic percussion, whistle, saw, theremin, etc. At a very high level. It's kind of nuts, really.

I think that you get your foot in the door by being able to do something really well -- lead trumpet, orchestral trumpet, jazz trombone, orchestral trombone, etc. But I think you stay in the scene by being flexible and being able to play your respective doubles at a high level. For me, I really think I needed to be a very good orchestral bass trombonist (regular sub with LA Phil, San Francisco Opera, etc.), but I could also play tenor trombone, contrabass trombone, and tuba. I can also sight-read well and I can swing in a big band. Being good at one thing got me noticed, but these extra attributes are probably the main reasons that I am still working.

Perhaps what goes on in Los Angeles is similar as New York, London, or any other recording center around the world. I have some friends in the New York scene, and I've shared some beers with a few studio musicians from London, so I think I have a little of an idea of what it's like in those places. I believe that what we have in Los Angeles is special. I think being in the same town where so much music, TV, and film is being produced might give us a little edge, at least in terms of having access to the directors, composers, producers, and many of the major studios. It certainly seems to be different in terms of the number of musicians being able to make a living primarily from their work in the recording studios. We have the instruments, the expertise, the knowledge of style, and the tradition. And we'd like to keep working in this beautiful, quirky, over-populated, but extremely deep pool of talent that is Los Angeles.

A Peek into the World of a Los Angeles Studio Musician

It became apparent to me when I began working as a musician many years ago that a well-maintained vehicle would be just as important of a tool of the trade for me as a trombone, a tuxedo, and a bag of mutes. Turns out that simply showing up on time is a pretty big part of making it in this business. Having a trustworthy vehicle in good mechanical condition is key. 

I didn’t really understand what it meant to drive as much as a freelance musician has to drive until I was a couple of years into my undergraduate degree. At first you don’t get any calls at all. But when the calls do come in, there is no such thing as going to work at the same location every day. Not only does the location change, but the city changes, the county changes, and sometimes the state changes. No problem, I thought. I grew up in California where everyone has a car.

When I set off to college to explore my dream of becoming a professional musician, I had a brand new trombone, the necessary items to furnish my dorm room, and my bright green 1971 Plymouth Duster. This is the car I cut my mechanical teeth on with all of it’s tune-ups, brake jobs, and oil changes. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, however, because before I got the Duster it was also one our family vehicles that I spent countless hours hours holding a flashlight or fetching a 7/16” wrench for my father as he cussed his way through the repairs. I didn’t want to admit it, and accepted the reality reluctantly, that all of that time was actually going to be a very important reason for the success of my career.

My dad was an aircraft mechanic in the Air Force during the Cold War and Vietnam. He had a very methodical way of checking through all the wires and tugging on this or that to make sure that there were no loose connections. It didn’t matter if he was in car-fixing clothes or dressed up to go out, he’d just fling that hood up or jump underneath the car to zero-in on the problem, coming back with blackened hands and smudges of grease on his face. At the time I couldn’t understand why he didn’t just take it to a shop like all of my friend’s fathers did. Why he felt compelled to dive headlong into an engine compartment, forcing me to stay there alongside of him as his unwilling assistant until the job was done and I had learned some new swear words.

My father’s methodical process began to mean more to me after I read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig in my early 20’s. In it there is a passage where he talks about the state of mind one has to be in order to be receptive to discovering what is wrong with a problem. He described not being in a rush because to rush through a process meant that you no longer cared about what you were doing, and that it was the caring that actually mattered when it came to effectively fixing something. I’m not sure my dad really cared for any of the vehicles that I watched him repair, but he certainly had the mindset to not rush and to thoroughly check all of the systems in order to discover the offending relay in the dashboard or the cracked exhaust manifold gasket.

As it turns out, a 20 year old Mopar was not the right vehicle for a busy, young, and ambitious college student, so sadly I had to trade it in for a newer ride. It went to my cousin and the last I heard, someone had dropped a racing motor in it and painted purple flames on the side. The “Boogermobile”, as my high school friends referred to it because of its particular shade of green, remains the “one that got away” for me. Every Mustang, Charger, Challenger, or other retro styled muscle car that has come out of Detroit in recent years makes me wish I would have kept the Duster around.

One way or the other, however, if you want to be a freelance musician, you need a reliable set of wheels. Of course, the simplest thing is to buy a fuel efficient vehicle with a good Consumer Reports rating, and keep track of the mileage so you can schedule all of the routine maintenance with the dealer or a trusted mechanic. The problem with this solution, however, is that it can become quite expensive to buy a reliable low-mileage vehicle outright, or to maintain a $300 or more monthly payment. Auto repair costs can range from the $29 Jiffy Lube oil change to several hundred, if not thousand, dollars for more involved maintenance. Being a struggling musician means low credit scores, and a lack of savings. Add in the higher insurance costs associated with financing a vehicle, and this solution can often times end up being kind of impossible.

The only real solution for me was to have a good used car with not too many miles on it and keep the thing going for as long as possible with duct tape and baling wire. After the ‘71 Duster, there was an ‘86 Pontiac Firebird, an ‘89 VW Vanagon, and a ‘97 Saturn. Subaru become my brand of choice when I purchased a ‘92 Subaru Legacy from a colleague with the intent taking the motor and putting it in my ‘89 Vanagon. 

I rebuilt the motor, put it back in the Legacy to make sure everything worked, and then put it into the Vanagon to take the horsepower from 90 to 126. That may not seem like a lot, but after years of clogging up the right lane at 35mph, I almost cried the first time I made it over the Grapevine at 55mph. After pulling the engine out of the ‘92 Legacy, I had grown so attached to “Scoobie” (the previous owner’s pet name for the car) that couldn’t bear to junk it so I rebuilt another engine, dropped it in, and drove it for another few years. Finally I donated it to a family member in need. 

Subaru maintenance, as with every make of vehicle, has its own set of idiosyncrasies. I’ve found that you really start to develop a feel for every manufacturer and can begin to get inside the psyche of the men who designed and built them. For example: VW’s engineers design their vehicles right up to the required specifications and no further. No need to build in extra power or take into account the possibility of higher speed limits or expectations of harder driving conditions. You can almost hear them saying, “Ja, das ist genug.” That’s enough - no need to think about the realities of an outdated drive train that included the routine maintenance of rebuilding or replacing all 4 CV-joints every 30k miles - a huge and messy job I have performed at least 10 times in the 20 years that I have owned my van.

Subaru’s idiosyncrasies are generally in the other direction. They have chosen to over-engineer their vehicles. The parent company for Subaru is Fuji Heavy Industries which is a defense contractor for the Japanese government who also make parts for Lockheed and Boeing. Their cars and motors are designed to deliver the power and endurance of their intended purpose, plus about 50% extra from what I can determine, based on tearing a few of these motors apart and personally putting on about 300,000 miles on the assorted Subaru models that I’ve owned and driven. Since the Legacy, I’ve owned an ‘08 Impreza, an ‘06 Outback, replaced the head gaskets on a friend’s ‘03 Forester, and participated in the purchase of a 2016 Crosstrek and 2019 Forester. My current daily driver and coolest car I’ve ever owned is a 2017 Outback 3.6L which basically drives itself in L.A.’s bumper to bumper traffic with its fancy Eyesight system.

Not to say that there aren’t any issues or frustrations. They seem to have not cared too much that replacing the timing belt or the relatively frequent head gasket replacement would require a major tear down of the entire front and/or top of the engine. The only good news is that you get faster every time you do it. Taking everything into consideration, though, I still prefer Subaru’s to other makes. I think Toyota’s and Mazda’s are probably better in terms of not requiring maintenance for longer periods of time, but in my view are not nearly as interesting of vehicles as a Subaru. Only my opinion, of course.

Practical stuff:

A basic set of mechanics tools, a jack and a set of jack stands are minimum requirements for going down this path. It is also helpful to have a flat(ish) driveway, carport, parking spot, or garage where you can actually do the work.

The number one maintenance item you have to become religious about is the condition of your engines oil. Get in the habit of checking the oil level at every fill up, and changing the oil and oil filter often. Most modern cars will putter along nicely for a couple of hundred thousands miles with no other maintenance required than a regular oil change. If you’re using the cheaper conventional oil it’ll be every 3,000 miles and with a more expensive synthetic oil you can push that limit to 5,000-8,000 miles. You can usually get a deal at your Friendly Local Auto Parts Store (from here out it’ll refer to them as FLAPS) for about $25-30 for the new conventional oil and filter. Plan on adding about $10-15 to that cost for synthetic. 

In addition to the items mentioned above, get yourself an oil pan and oil filter wrench to fit the oil filter for your particular vehicle. A box of Nitrile Gloves from Harbor Freight will ensure that your skin doesn’t absorb any oil or gasoline while you work on the car. You may also want to get a set of mechanics gloves to protect your hands from getting cut on any of the sharp edges that are abundant in every engine compartment. Finally, buy some hand cleaner and a few rolls of those blue disposable paper Shop Towels to clean up. I shy away from using cloth towels for auto cleanup because of the risk of the oily towels catching fire after sitting in a bin. They are also pretty nasty for your washing machine.

Invest in quality mechanics tools, as opposed to Harbor Freight tools which are fine for light duty, but which will break when you need them the most. Snap-On, Craftsman, Kobalt, and Husky are solid brands. Mine are almost entirely Craftsman which are priced fairly and have a lifetime warranty. Simply bring a broken Craftsman tool to any dealer, such as Sears, and they’ll replace it with an equivalent for free. I use a slightly longer Flex Head ratchet to loosen the oil pan drain plug because it gives me more leverage than the standard 6” ratchet that comes with most socket sets. The head also swivels to provide many different approach angles for those hard to reach bolts.

You’ll also need to plan on a used oil disposal strategy. My weekly curbside garbage and recycling pickup includes used motor oil and filters, but I have to make arrangements with the city ahead of time so they can provide the containers for the oil and bags for the filters. Many FLAPS will accept the used oil too, but you’ll need to have your own oil jug to transport the oil back and forth. An old empty 5-quart oil container or two can be used for this purpose. Ziplock bags will make sure the oil filters don’t leak all over your interior.

After considering all of these issues, you may decide to simply take your vehicle to a Jiffy Lube type place, but you’ll have to steel yourself to the 29 point inspection and inevitable sales pitch that will follow. Hey, if it costs me $30 to change the oil myself and I have to get dirty and dispose of the oil, how can Jiffy Lube possibly make any money by charging you $29? It’s ok. Learn these words, “No thank you. Just the oil change, please.” Repeat them as often as necessary to make the well meaning garage employee go away.

I’d say the number two maintenance item would be the tires. Under-inflated or worn tires can cause all sorts of noises and drivability issues that have the uncanny ability to project their symptoms to the opposite side of the car from the location of the problem. An issue with a right front tire can sound or feel like it’s coming from the back left and visa versa. Modern cars will have built in electronic tire pressure monitors which notify you when there’s an issue. For older or more base line vehicles, a trusty $3 tire pressure gauge kept in the glove compartment and used every few weeks will do the trick and at least make sure that your tires are properly inflated. Keep in mind that cold tires will read lower pressure and hot tires will have higher pressure. Tire pressure checks are intended to be made when the tires are cold and have not been driven for long. You can usually find the manufacturer’s recommended pressure located on a sticker somewhere in the drivers side door jam. 

Check out your owners manual for their suggested tire rotation scheme and rotate them every 15-20k miles or so, or whenever it seems that you can feel something a little off in the drivability of your vehicle or you can see clear wear patterns on the tires themselves. As far as a tire’s lifespan, the rule of thumb is to use a penny as a tire tread gauge - if the depth of the tire tread is less than the distance between the top of Abe Lincoln’s head and the edge of the penny, you need a new tire. Running your hands around the driving surface of the tire (while parked, of course) or around the inner facing sidewall can uncover flat spots or bubbles in the rubber that will sound like tennis shoes in the dryer and make it feel like the wheels are going to fly off. 

A new set of tires can solve many noise issues, not to mention make it much safer for you and the precious cargo you are transporting. Get used to the idea of changing two tires at a time - if you’re driving an all-wheel drive vehicle make it all four. The tires wear relatively evenly and if you replace one damaged tire but leave the others, you won’t be happy with the way the car feels and will end up having to change it eventually anyway. With all wheel drive, the wheel rotations are all integrated and it can be unsafe to have one tire’s diameter larger or smaller than the others. Most garages won’t replace just one tire because of liability issues. Many times Costco or Pep Boys will have deals for buying a set of 4 tires at once which may also include future tire rotation and balancing.

To remove the lug nuts that hold your tires onto the car, invest in an inexpensive cross arm lug wrench, which will give you more leverage and which you can spin once you loosen the nuts, making the removal of the 4 or 5 lug nuts go a little faster. Before jacking up the wheel, loosen each nut and lightly snug it back in place. You’ll find that it makes the removal of the nut much easier as opposed to trying to loosen the nut once the tire is in the air and spinning freely. 

Make sure that at least one is the tire is in contact with the ground and chocked whenever you jack up the car, by the way, to avoid the very unpleasant and terrifying occurrence of the vehicle slipping off the jack or jack stands. Even the smallest car weighs a couple of thousand pounds and will ruin your day real quick if it ends up falling on any part of your body.

Once you’ve done a few oil changes and rotated your tires once or twice, you may feel confident enough to venture deeper into more involved auto mechanics. Brake jobs aren’t too difficult and replacing spark plugs, drive belts, alternators, and starter motors can be done after viewing some YouTube videos. Seriously, plug your vehicle’s year, make and model into YouTube plus whatever repair you’re curious about and many times you’ll get a direct hit for the exact repair you need.

Most people don’t go down this path, and that’s ok. If you can find a trustworthy mechanic, the bottom line between buying tools and investing in the time to do the repairs may be pretty close to even. For me there was no other option, and if you have made it this far in this article, perhaps you are in the same boat. I know I would have gone bust early on in my career if I didn’t do all of my own car repairs. 

I guess, although it’s hard to admit sometimes, that the old man had a method to his madness other than making me a human flashlight holder. I must thank my father, Ron Trapani, for turning me into the mechanic I am today, but mostly for the man I am today.

Zen and the Art of Subaru Maintenance

Thoughts on how to play Tchaikovsky's bass trombone parts based on a study of the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto as annotated by [Jeff Reynolds](https://www.facebook.com/jeff.reynolds.106?__tn__=%2CdK-R-R&eid=ARA9keZ0bC8s_mI97x73wl_57qRGQ8sxGdH_iPU747h1l8v8YSiY4ptT5u5eSnMXr2rOqW_iyMavIdQL&fref=mentions), former bass trombonist of the Los Angeles Philharmonic.

This isn't the first Tchaikovsky piece that jumps into your head when you think of great bass trombone parts, but I think it is a terrific example of his writing for the instrument. It hadn't occurred to me until I sat down to play the piece with the LA Philharmonic recently (subbing for current LA Phil bass trombonist, [John Lofton](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100005157768799&__tn__=%2CdK-R-R&eid=ARCsQYrpUUqpm1J1idsdhAF-bZZ9f5lWDo80ufI4yTo1Lelydl2zvlSC5hSsL1qPRKg-7kGSM9SjEEvI&fref=mentions)) and I saw the part that Jeff must have played a thousand times with all of his markings and private jokes written throughout.

Jeff was my main teacher from 1989-1994 when I was a student at Long Beach State, and he's been a general life mentor and role model ever since. I've been subbing with the LA Phil for the past 10 years, and have had the opportunity to play some amazing pieces of music with this terrific orchestra.

Much of this education was from the perspective of the bass trombone chair, and specifically from the point of view of Jeff and his consummate musicianship. Jeff taught me that you play the excerpts differently within the orchestra than you would in an audition setting. He trained me to pick and choose those moments to "drive the bus", as you can do in a very specific way from the bass trombone chair. Equally, and perhaps more important, however, was knowing when to fade into the background and blend with the rest of the orchestra.

As I sat down for the first rehearsal of this set at the Hollywood Bowl I chuckled to myself. I saw Jeff's writing on the part and my eye was immediately drawn to the chromatic quarter note line starting on the Cb over which Jeff had written the word "Zolo", which according to the author of the instruction means "a sort of solo from the Steppes".

![Tchaikovsky](https://d23wefbieu87ia.cloudfront.net/Tchaikovsky_Page_1_3445c726ef.webp)

At first I misread the word and thought it said, "Zob", though, and when I showed the part to Sonny (2nd trombone) for clarification, he smiled and sang the lick, "zob, zob, zob, zob, zob". I knew what I had to do.

I was immediately taken back to my lessons with Jeff and could see him imitating a caveman as he described how loud to play certain things on the bass trombone in order to be heard out front. A few years ago I subbed on a Tchaik 5 concert with the Phil and Jeff had written "Oblitterato" over the lick in the 2nd movement. Only Jeff...

Getting back to the piano concerto. In addition to pointing out where to "drive the bus", Jeff is also careful to point out where to hold back when it would otherwise be easy to overpower the orchestra with non-melodic material. An example would be at the Alla Breve section after rehearsal letter K. You're pretty pumped up after playing letter K, but the show is over at that point with the bass trombone and it's necessary to come back within the texture at the Alla breve.

Another example of this would be in the last movement at the Molto Meno Mosso section before the end. After the second beat of the sixth bar he indicates to come back with a classic Jeff "meno" marking (I have these all over every solo or excerpt I ever studied with Jeff). Otherwise it would be too easy to just continue the FF dynamic with no regard to the line. Some people would do this instinctively, but some would only see the fortissimo mark, and with no further instruction, just go for it.

![Tchaikovsky](https://d23wefbieu87ia.cloudfront.net/Tchaikovsky_Page_2_b14168f06c.webp)

One thing that I've been able to observe as a former student of Jeff's and a current substitute musician with the LA Phil which is corroborated with this part is the way in which this trombone section would help each other out with executing challenging passages.

An example of this is in the last movement eight bars before rehearsal letter W. This eight bar passage is difficult to execute because there's nowhere to breathe. The guys solved this problem by having The second trombonist play the Gb eighth note on the downbeat of the fifth bar while the bass trombonist catches a quick breath. This makes the bass trombone lick a lot more playable. Same thing happens at rehearsal letter (lower case) a, but now it's an Ab.

They've done similar things in other pieces, including Dvorak 9 where the bass trombone player covers a note in the second trombone part towards the end of the first movement to make the breathing a little easier.

These guys must have liked each other.

As far as private jokes, Jeff has indicated to play the low E's at the end of the 1st movement in 7th position. This would make sense from a note quality stand point, but quickly devolves into a comical scene when you take into account the tempo of this particular passage. Additionally, at the end of the entire work there's a hard to catch entrance where Jeff has given to player two options in how to execute the lick: 1) loud and late or 2) soft and late.

At some point in the set, the librarians put out another, fresher, copy of the music and Jim [Miller](https://www.facebook.com/ncsajmiller?__tn__=%2CdK-R-R&eid=ARAfAP3lVgj9S8AAmRHgsNAE87zILozkRU571XhSIQUhupX6soPHvU_5OpvOPKAkWlKWTqICZJlKxUoU&fref=mentions) (assistant principal trombone) asked me if I wanted to use the new part. "No way", I said. I was having way too much fun with this older version and it's priceless markings. At the end of the set, Sonny told me, "Nice Zobs!" I was honored.

I present this part to you all now as a way for you to get a small glimpse of what Jeff had to teach as a bass trombonist, but mostly as a musician. He was a lot of fun to listen to live, and remains one of my favorite bass trombonists to listen to on orchestral recordings.

As an addendum to this, after communicating with Jeff about this post he pointed out that his predecessor, Charlie Bovington was responsible for the German remarks on the part such as "Immer Breiter". This dates this part to before 1968. Pretty cool.

Thoughts on Playing Tchaikovsky’s Bass Trombone Parts

Much has been written on the subject of improving as a musician, but not much gets put out there on the subject of interacting with your colleagues once you start working in the business. To be sure, the vast majority of your time as a young musician needs to be spent in the practice room perfecting the craft of your chosen instrument. However, I believe it's also important to have some guidelines to help navigate the incredibly complicated social world of the professional musician.

There was a Xerox floating around Los Angeles in the late '80's or early '90's that addressed the subject, however, things have changed quite a bit since that time - the internet, YouTube, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter. I thought that perhaps it would be useful for there to be a reminder for those that were around back then, and that maybe a new guide should be written for those who weren’t that takes our current reality into consideration. By the way, lest you believe that I am preaching from some moral high ground, I have done many of these things at some point in my career and have been politely, and sometimes not politely, instructed in the correct way in which to comport myself. Some of these suggestions also come from observations on the job, and some come from cautionary tales passed on by more experienced and wiser people than myself.

Some basic stuff:
- Be respectful and courteous. You'd be surprised that something so obvious would need to be addressed, but some folks seem to forget that there are actual people around them with actual feelings. Say “thank you” when someone holds a door open. Say “excuse me” if you almost run into someone backstage. Introduce yourself and say, “It’s nice to meet you/see you again.”
-  Smile. People are attracted to those who put out positive energy. A smile and a “hello” can go a long way towards making your colleagues feel more comfortable with you around. They may be more likely to remember your face or name, and possibly want to meet you if there was something positive that happened the first time they saw you.
- Don't practice anything remotely resembling a solo that a colleague is going to play on the gig that day. This too may seem like a no-brainer, but some people just haven't stopped to consider the head-trip that their fellow performers put themselves through when they have an exposed solo or passage to play. Nor have they thought that it might be somewhat distracting to hear someone else playing said solo in the building beforehand.

Warming up
- Have a functional warm up that actually, you know, just kind of warms you up. Try to get to the point where you don't need to play a 45 minute routine in order to be ready to do the gig. 5-10 minutes of soft exercises should really be enough. No matter how young and good you are, you are sure to be surrounded by dozens of musicians who were you once upon a time. Once marriages, mortgages, kids, and aging enter your life, yes, you too may find that you don't have time to practice that amazing warm-up routine that impresses everyone with its speed and technical wizardry. Now's not the time for the fastest, highest, or lowest notes you can play. Unless you're playing lead trumpet on a pops set, we don't want to hear any screeching coming from your horn. Bass trombonists (and some tenor trombonists), we don't need to hear your pedal note exercises now either. As wonderful as it feels, fortissimo pedal F's are just kind of obnoxious when people around you are trying to quietly work out a passage or two before the gig starts.
- Don't play your audition list on stage while people are trying to prepare for rehearsal. I love to take advantage of the opportunity to practice in a good space, and I'm the first guy to discover that vacant foyer, lower level rehearsal room, or stage. But doing so, when people are putting their instruments together and warming up is somewhat distracting. If people are around, stop the mock audition about an hour before the service so everyone else can prepare to work.
- If you're new to the group, take your cues from those who have been there before. Sometimes people don't mind if everyone is noodling around, but sometimes they do. They really do mind, and they expect for everyone to just sort of respect the mellow mood of the room before the recording light comes on. If someone asks you if they make a practice mute for your horn, stop playing.
- If possible, warm-up at home before the gig. If not, find a corner of the parking garage, or a room in the performing space that no one is going to go through. Stairwells, janitor closets, boiler rooms, trap rooms, and unused offices make good places to get the cobwebs out.


When the gig starts:
- Don't shuffle, give "the foot", thumbs up, or any other affirmation to your colleague who just played a really hard lick, unless you know the group. Some ensembles are very reserved and consider it a possible jinx if you prematurely congratulate them before the set is finished. Again, read the room. If everyone's doing it, then ok, but don't be the first one. You don't want to be perceived as the possible reason that your colleague chipped a note just because you wanted to be supportive and inadvertently got inside their head. If in doubt, wait until you're packing up your horn after the last performance before you give anyone an, "atta boy!"
- Develop a poker face for when you're in performance. Try to not give away with your facial expression the fact that you missed a note, your stand mate missed a note, or that you're upset with anything. Audience members are drawn to any facial movements that differ from the unmoving landscape of 100 stoic classical musician scowls. The running commentary that your face is expressing will become their focus instead of the music.
- Sit still if the colleagues around you are playing and you are not. It is very distracting to be playing while people are flitting about. If you must move in order to get a drink of water or pick up your iPad, please do so without bringing any unnecessary attention to yourself.

Break time:
- This is a very potentially hazardous 10-20 minute window during which you should concentrate on taking care of "break" type business. This includes going to the bathroom, filling up your water bottle, and taking care of any paperwork that needs to be completed. Only after you've completed these tasks should you attempt to be social with anyone and "network".
- Read. The. Room. Are the people who are talking together old friends? Is the group you are about to try and join talking about serious stuff? If so, stop. Don't go crashing headlong into a conversation in which you are not welcome. If you inadvertently find yourself in the middle of one of these situations because of an honest mistake, just stop talking. If you made a gaff, politely apologize and leave the general area to do some break time activities mentioned above. If you're lucky, no one will remember you. 
- When in doubt, just keep to yourself. Wait for people to come up and talk to you. If no one does, don't take it personally. This may be your first time on the job, but many of these folks have literally been on thousands of breaks and have a routine that doesn't include making sure the new guy/gal feels ok about him/herself.
- When approached, be polite and courteous. Follow the rule of thumb of only speaking after having been spoken to. Answer questions and be friendly, but don't take the opportunity to plug yourself or your band or your girl/boyfriend who's also a musician. Just be cool. In time, like in any social situation, when the people are comfortable with you being around they will begin to try to get to know you.
- Find your peeps (if any) and hang out with them. Think back to the playground at grade school. When you were in 3rd grade you hung out with 3rd graders. Before you knew it you were in 6th grade looking down pitifully on all the poor scared 3rd graders. Don't worry. Soon enough the big kids will ask you to play.
- Jokes. I'm not a particularly jokey kind of guy, but the telling of jokes fills a large amount of break time in some groups. Obviously, inflammatory jokes about sex, the disabled, and politics need to not even enter your mind during break time. If you must tell a joke, make sure you know your audience. Do not assume anything in this regard. People do get fired for insensitive remarks heard by the wrong person at the wrong time.

Internet: Oh boy, this is a tough one and the protocol for decent behavior is evolving every day.  
- Tread carefully. Assume that any recording, video, picture, tweet, or blog post you make will be dissected, examined closely, and possibly eviscerated by the haters. Write the post then delete it before pulling the trigger. Examine, proofread, repeat. If you still find yourself compelled to post after doing this a few times, perhaps the recording, video, picture, tweet, or blog post is worthy to put out there for the rest of eternity. Understand that this is what you are doing. Somewhere out there, there is a computer that is recording everything you post, and despite your most thorough privacy settings, it could come back and bite you. (You better believe this was the process used in constructing this post.)
- Technology will always favor the youth and each new generation brings its own set of ideas and social rules to the table. However, some of the best musicians I know, both young and old, have little to no internet presence whatsoever. You know why? Because they're busy playing on your favorite movie, or winning that audition for the job that you’d love to have. By and large the people you hear the least from are the ones doing the most work and having the most success. Facebook and an internet presence are necessary evils for the modern freelancer, no matter what your age, and the rules are not set. Try to err on the conservative side and proceed with extreme caution.
- The guys/gals are the guys/gals. You don't have to live in a region for too long before you know who is doing the good work. They are likely in those positions for a reason and you have to respect that. No matter how you dress up your Facebook profile, Instagram account, or website, you have to have made a splash in the business first before you are accepted to the club. Don't learn the wrong lesson from that fancy website or Facebook page of your favorite musician - they got great on their horn first, then they made the fancy website. You may get noticed because you're young and hot, but sooner or later you've got to produce. It would be a shame to waste the opportunity by finally getting the shot without being able to back it up. Focus on winning competitions, auditions for summer festivals, regional orchestra auditions, and getting into a good masters program. Get established in the scene. Wait on the overly narcissistic website.
- When you start to have success, you have to balance your desire to let everyone know about it with the knowledge that music jobs are a limited commodity. You doing the gig means that others didn't get the same opportunity. Being gracious in this regard can be tricky. On the other hand, it can be frustrating to stoically avoid self promotion while those around you seem to post about every single opportunity they have - especially if you're doing better stuff. 
- You must understand the pecking order and know who got you the gig. Acknowledge your benefactor and don't go too crazy about posting about doing cool stuff when you know that you're the 2nd, 3rd, or even last call on the list. Those folks above you who don't post too much about themselves might just decide that you're obnoxious or ungrateful and stop using you.
- If everyone around you is having a tough time, don't do the backdoor brag about how you are just so busy that you can hardly keep up. This should be self-evident, but some folks seem to lack empathy for the mostly-suffering fate of many of their colleagues. You can be proud of yourself, but try to take the high road and celebrate your well deserved victory in private more often than you brag about your successes in public.

I recently heard someone use the following mantra when describing a way of behaving when dealing with large and varied group of people: "Don't do stupid stuff." I like that. The problem is that we don't always know that what we're doing is stupid at the time were doing it. All you can do is try to make the best choice at the time. Understand that we're all just trying to survive in an extremely competitive field. Music is a social endeavor and unless you're planning to be a soloist, you'd better start to get the hang of "the hang". You're going to make missteps along the way, but perhaps with the help of a guide such as this you'll make fewer bad ones. Maybe you'll be saved from yourself before the stakes get really high and you lose a gig. 

The best piece of advice I've ever heard about this subject comes from a friend’s father, who played Assistant Concertmaster with a major orchestra for 46 years. He said, "Just go in there. Sit down. Do your job. And keep your mouth shut!"

Good luck!

A guide to being a good colleague for newly graduated music students

Getting the Hang of “The Hang”

What follows are some thoughts for my students or any other young person thinking about becoming a professional musician which they will probably ignore - but they shouldn't.

It's a hard life and a difficult way to make a living. This was something I heard people say, but it didn't really sink in. "Fine", I thought, "it's hard. So what? I'm a hard worker and I'm talented. It'll be different for me." This began a long period of bargaining with myself, I suppose, up until this day. A series of justifications and denials, without which, it just wouldn't have been possible to move forward. I think if you know what actually lies ahead of you as an artist, that you would simply not be able to go on.

Let's cut to the chase and say that, at least in some measurable ways, I have succeeded. I have been working professionally for 25 years and have been making my living exclusively as a musician for the last 12 years. I have worked with conductors such as Zubin Mehta, Ricardo Muti, Charles Dutoit and Gustavo Dudamel. I've played with orchestras including, the Los Angeles Philharmonic, the San Francisco Symphony, the Seattle Symphony, the San Francisco Ballet and Opera, and New York City Opera National Company. I can be heard on recordings with the LA Philharmonic, as well as several movie and TV soundtracks including Godzilla, Pacific Rim, The Simpsons, and Family Guy. I can play.

The goal, however, was to win my teacher's job when he retired with the LA Phil. I had a shot. And I failed. I have actually failed so much that it is easier to count the things that I have won than to count the number of things I've attempted and failed. When I was a student, I won positions in the Debut Orchestra and the American Youth Symphony, two concerto competitions at Long Beach State, and the Pacific Symphony Institute concerto competition. I won a one year position with an Italian opera orchestra when I was 23, a spot with the John Tesh tour at 26, a job as the trombone teacher at CSU Fresno when I was 33, and I won the audition for bass trombone with the Oakland Symphony when I was 40. That's it. Those are the "wins".

In between those wins I took and lost over 40 professional bass trombone auditions. I effectively lost that one year Italian orchestra position when the principal decided to plug in his student instead. I became the bass trombonist with the New York City Opera National Company after working very hard for 4 years to get the job only to have the whole thing fold two weeks after I got my welcome letter when the management decided it wasn't worth their time or money - a loss. I became the in-house bass trombone/tuba player for the Sacramento Broadway scene and lost it when I subbed out one too many performances.

Are you starting to get the picture? You lose more than you win in this business. You have to become very resilient and thick skinned. And you have to begin to look at the whole thing a little different. Any paradigm that has you winning should be thrown out immediately. You don't ever win at this thing in terms of being done improving. Even if you achieve your goal, you're not done, unless you have so much natural talent that you can coast. There are those people out there - bastards.

For most of us mortals, however, it is more useful and beneficial to have a different paradigm. Winning is a byproduct of a good work ethic and a healthy understanding that what you're a part of is a discipline. A daily set of routines that build exponentially upon one another to create a well practiced and well prepared musician. It's the every day part of it that is the key. You are allowed to take an occasional break in order to not burn out, but you have to commit to a discipline of working towards your goals and getting better every day.

Every musician I know who is successful, even the very talented ones, spent some extended period of their life "in the shed". A time when there was no tv, no sports, no vacations, no video games, no time for anything else that wasn't their instrument. Think of it as a bonding period with your instrument. Most of us brass players did it in college. Most string players and pianists did it before their 10th birthday. Woodwinds did it sometime in between the two. Generally speaking, of course.

The hard part is after this initial growth spurt, or, God-forbid, after you actually win a job or achieve another big early success. If you decide to coast, you will invariably begin to decline as a player and either lose your work or begin to alienate your colleagues who have to pick up your slack. Many people who find themselves in this position have forgotten what won them the job in the first place. It's easy to high-five yourself and get into a mindset where you believe that you are just better at what you do than the other poor slobs who didn't make it as far as you. Certainly, talent plays into this equation, but the biggest reason people succeed is that they just worked harder than the other people who showed up that day.

I believe a more productive paradigm is to just try to do better than you did the day before. Simply practice to improve. I think it sets you up psychologically to be in a stronger position. You "win" your competitions and auditions because you were the one that worked the hardest. Most importantly, if you end up not achieving your goals, you are better equipped to deal with the grieving period that follows each loss.

This is a very real thing and should not be underestimated. I've grieved for years over some losses because I didn't recognize the feeling for what it was. I tried to run away from the hard parts of the grieving process. It's just like the hard parts of real life - no matter how you try to distract yourself, one way or another you will be forced to deal with them if you are to move on and grow from the experience. Some people get stuck here.

You will lose. It's how you deal with the loss that will ultimately determine your success.

Now let's stop speaking of winning and losing and discuss some other parts of the business. Everyone you meet, and I mean everyone you meet in the music business, beginning with your first music teacher is part of your lifelong network. You can and will get work from people that you met when you were still figuring out how to play 16th notes or how many key signatures there were. Personally, I have received much more work over the years from my own personal network than I ever did from any audition. For some professionals I know it is a different situation, but the importance of developing and maintaining your network cannot be overstated.

In my experience, you want to shy away from the Dale Carnegie "How to Win Friends and Influence People" approach where you risk alienating people who think you're trying to manipulate them. Professional musicians, for the most part, are street smart and can recognize it when someone is just trying to get to know them in order to get something from them. When I say develop and maintain your network, what I mostly mean is to just be cool. Be yourself and try to not piss anyone off. If you do contact people who you want something from, the best thing is to be honest. If you're looking for work or you're trying to get into the school where they teach, tell them so in as diplomatic a way as you can come up with. They've all been there, and there's no harm in asking.

One reality that you need to be aware of is that there is simply not enough work out there for the number of qualified people being graduated from the nation's music schools. However, Gene Porkorny, tubist of the Chicago Symphony once told me that there will always be work for good players. I have found this to be mostly true for folks who stick around an area for long enough, but you do have to be lucky as well.

Another piece of wisdom I received from my first major teacher and former bass trombonist of the LA Philharmonic, Jeff Reynolds, is that if you want to be a player you have to begin to compare yourself with the best there is on your instrument. If that statement throws you for a loop, then you may want to "get a new gig" (another Jeff-ism) and look to something else to make your money. The thing is that if you can not see yourself playing as well as the best players on your instrument, then you should not enter the competitive world of being a professional musician. It's too brutal and there is no such thing as being good enough. You have to accept the challenge of becoming one of the best or you need to do something else.

The good news is that music is one of the few things in this world where your success is largely self-determined. What I mean by this is that the harder you work at it, the more you get out of it. You want to be first chair in the top band? Then find out how hard the person currently in that chair works and work harder than them. Some people will have a head start on you, but natural attrition, either by them graduating out or changing their own life focus, will often create future opportunities for you. In my experience, if you work hard and wait for your opportunity, you will be rewarded. This model also holds true for the professional music world as well, however, the stakes are much higher.

Perhaps a more honest and realistic way to say this is if you work hard and wait for your opportunity, you CAN be rewarded. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try the opportunities don't come, or other folks get them instead of you. This is a hard one. I've known some amazing musicians over the years that just weren't given the same shots as their more successful colleagues and simply do not work. Jeff used to also say, "Right time, right place, with the right stuff." If one of those parameters are off, the calls may not come. It's unfair - no other way to explain it.

There's more good news here, though. You see, the whole time you've been pursuing this dream you have also been doing things like getting degrees, juggling the complex reality of making a living while having the discipline of practicing, and essentially just learning to survive. I can honestly say that I don't know anyone who I went through music school with who is not succeeding at what they do today. It might not be making a living with their instruments, but they're doing well. It's not wasted time or energy. Plus they have the added bonus of having gone after their life passion - something that many more people than you probably think have never done. Nor will they they ever do until they retire or make enough money to feel comfortable - two life goals that can be elusive.

Go for it, I say! But have open eyes. It's hard - really hard. No, I mean really hard. But if you're willing to accept the challenge of becoming one of the best there are at what you do, there are some wonderful experiences waiting for you.

Words cannot adequately describe what it is like to sit on the stage in that wash of sound while something so sublimely beautiful as Debussy's Nuages from his work Nocturnes goes on all around you. Or the viscerally satisfying feeling you get as a bass trombonist of playing the last page of Shostakovich's 7th Symphony. Or being the only member of the brass to answer the orchestral fanfare in the middle of the second movement of Tchaik 5. As I mentioned above, I didn't get my dream gig with the LA Phil, but I have had the honor of playing both of those last two pieces as a very grateful sub in my teachers old chair. And somewhere along the way in between all of these struggles of winning and losing, a valued friend from my lifelong personal network gave me the opportunity to teach at my alma mater, CSU Long Beach. A job I've had the great privilege of doing for the past 10 years.

I know it's a cliche to say this, but if I can do it, you can too. I started at Long Beach State as an ok sophomore transfer student - 3rd best bass trombone (I'm not sure there was a 4th). I found my people and went for it, because sometimes a place chooses you. I believe Long Beach chose me. Maybe, if you're lucky, some place will choose you too. I hope so! Maybe it'll be Long Beach?