For twelve straight years we trekked to the Strawberry Music Festival at Camp Mather near Yosemite. The talent on the stage was always top notch (even though we didn't always fully appreciate the banjo-rich genre). But for many, the real entertainment was off stage at the different camps throughout the park. Each camp is made up of a self-selected group of friends/family and have creative names like "Camp Always Get What You Want," "Camp-a-Ford-it", or "Camp B Denied". You can drift from camp to camp and listen to jam sessions of some highly-talented music junkies into the wee hours of the morning. And if you're musically inclined, you can even join.
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We are friends with a few musical families. You know the ones -- they can break out in harmony or strum a guitar and you actually want to listen. Real life families. Not made up ones like the Von Trapp Family or the Osmonds.
Our family has what you might very generously call a range of musical abilities. I started playing the flute in my school band in 6th grade. My instrument of choice was the drums, but my parents had forbid it, citing something about wanting to keep their sanity and hearing. In retrospect, I'm not sure the flute ended up fitting their criteria as I regularly hit notes that would make our pudgy daschund howl.
It was a slow start, but the band played five days a week and once we figured out how to hold our instruments properly and (mostly) make the desired noise, we made quick progress. In no time, we were playing actual songs. I loved feeling like I was part of something bigger that sounded so much better than any one of us did alone. (Though I'm sure I pictured myself as being as talented as "Ron Burgundy").
Our family has what you might very generously call a range of musical abilities. I started playing the flute in my school band in 6th grade. My instrument of choice was the drums, but my parents had forbid it, citing something about wanting to keep their sanity and hearing. In retrospect, I'm not sure the flute ended up fitting their criteria as I regularly hit notes that would make our pudgy daschund howl.
It was a slow start, but the band played five days a week and once we figured out how to hold our instruments properly and (mostly) make the desired noise, we made quick progress. In no time, we were playing actual songs. I loved feeling like I was part of something bigger that sounded so much better than any one of us did alone. (Though I'm sure I pictured myself as being as talented as "Ron Burgundy").
In junior high (8th & 9th grade), things took a serious and exciting turn. We were signed by an agent (aka our band teacher) who booked us in parades and during halftime shows. With all these public performances, we needed to hone our look with a distinctive, eye-catching uniform. One of my biggest regrets in life is that I don't seem to have a picture of me or anyone in that band uniform.
Since I don't have a picture, you'll just have to imagine the most gnarly, wicked, totally tubular uniform any junior high kid could've dreamt up in the 1980's. Following fashion cues of any one of the epic icons of the day such as Princess Diana, Brooke Shields, or Tom Selleck's alter ego Magnum PI would have been too conventional.
Since I don't have a picture, you'll just have to imagine the most gnarly, wicked, totally tubular uniform any junior high kid could've dreamt up in the 1980's. Following fashion cues of any one of the epic icons of the day such as Princess Diana, Brooke Shields, or Tom Selleck's alter ego Magnum PI would have been too conventional.
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Instead, we chose to emulate a hero from another popular television show of the time:
Mork. The centerpiece of our uniform was indeed rainbow suspenders. This was long before the rainbow became a symbol of LGBT pride, but I'd like to think we were on the cutting edge of tolerance. The suspenders held up our white bell bottom jeans, tastefully accompanied by a yellow baseball shirt, topped off with a white "cat hat." (I'm really hoping other people called the fashionable hat in the picture below "cat hats" too and it's not just a small town "hick" sort of thing.)
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We were the envy of all other junior high bands. As far as we knew.
After playing for four years, I dropped band in high school because it conflicted with the ability to fit in all the classes I needed for college eligibility. Or at least that's the official version I tell people. Honestly, I probably would've figured out a way to make it work if the new uniforms weren't so ugly. They were the traditional, unflattering, wooly brass-buttoned, high hat monstrosities. I loved band, but clearly not enough to overcome my shallowness.
My husband played the cello. I can't tell you how much this impresses me. It's such a formidable instrument. For one thing, there's the sheer size. (My flute case was so small that I could spin it around like a seasoned gun slinger.) And then there are all those strings and a bow. It's all very mysterious. And really sexy. He can even play by ear, entertaining us all with the opening notes to Jaws or the "chorus" to Indiana Jones. And, unlike the flute where there were 10-12 of us fluting out our tunes at any given performance, he was usually the only cello in his orchestra. No pressure there.
Our oldest musical "prodigy" played the clarinet very casually for about a year in elementary school. Another took some piano lessons which she hated, but then later taught herself to play a few tunes on the keyboard. And our youngest currently plays the clarinet (with gusto) in her junior high band. (They just got back from a very cool band trip to Disney.) Our son, on the other hand, served the mandatory minimum sentence of 6 weeks of recorder in 6th grade and was the Milli Vanilli of elementary school choir, lip syncing his way through every concert.
On very rare occasions - last Christmas for instance -- we gathered some music that we could all play. It was a nice rendition of Eidelweiss from Sound of Music. After a lengthy, noisy, trash-talk filled warm-up, we were able to string together about 12 bars of the song before things fell apart. Let's just say nobody's going to be trying to sign us for a record contract any time soon. Yet it stirred our desire to return to the Strawberry Music Festival. Come join us, we'll be at our camp under the name, "Von Crapp Family".
After playing for four years, I dropped band in high school because it conflicted with the ability to fit in all the classes I needed for college eligibility. Or at least that's the official version I tell people. Honestly, I probably would've figured out a way to make it work if the new uniforms weren't so ugly. They were the traditional, unflattering, wooly brass-buttoned, high hat monstrosities. I loved band, but clearly not enough to overcome my shallowness.
My husband played the cello. I can't tell you how much this impresses me. It's such a formidable instrument. For one thing, there's the sheer size. (My flute case was so small that I could spin it around like a seasoned gun slinger.) And then there are all those strings and a bow. It's all very mysterious. And really sexy. He can even play by ear, entertaining us all with the opening notes to Jaws or the "chorus" to Indiana Jones. And, unlike the flute where there were 10-12 of us fluting out our tunes at any given performance, he was usually the only cello in his orchestra. No pressure there.
Our oldest musical "prodigy" played the clarinet very casually for about a year in elementary school. Another took some piano lessons which she hated, but then later taught herself to play a few tunes on the keyboard. And our youngest currently plays the clarinet (with gusto) in her junior high band. (They just got back from a very cool band trip to Disney.) Our son, on the other hand, served the mandatory minimum sentence of 6 weeks of recorder in 6th grade and was the Milli Vanilli of elementary school choir, lip syncing his way through every concert.
On very rare occasions - last Christmas for instance -- we gathered some music that we could all play. It was a nice rendition of Eidelweiss from Sound of Music. After a lengthy, noisy, trash-talk filled warm-up, we were able to string together about 12 bars of the song before things fell apart. Let's just say nobody's going to be trying to sign us for a record contract any time soon. Yet it stirred our desire to return to the Strawberry Music Festival. Come join us, we'll be at our camp under the name, "Von Crapp Family".
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