Editor's info:
Celebrate the trombone. Appreciate its slipperiness and weight; how it amplifies the intimacy of the voice and becomes vocal itself. Admire its ability to saturate and cut. Applaud its softening of the distance between nearly indistinguishable lows and all-too-present highs. The trombone is an object of comfort and warmth, an instrument of war, a field for play, and a surface on which to map revolutionary sound.
But the trombone, for all of its grace and gifts, is often found hiding amongst the more obvious—more needy—instruments. In the orchestra it plays the role of bass trumpet/soprano tuba, and its place in the hero-personality-obsessed history of jazz is no less frustrating. There is no universal cultural persona for the trombone: no iconic JJ Johnson image for t-shirts and dorm room posters; no blithely dropping Jack Teagarden into polite dinner party conversation.
And this lack of attention, this running-amongst-tall-trees narrative, is the trombone's blessing. It's liberated from the crushing weight of tradition. It has no dominant idol to demand deference or allegiance. With less pressure to live up to a historical ideal, the trombone is free to be sung with any voice, amplifying and mimicking speech and song without relying on artifice. It is the augmentation of all that is organically human, and its song can be a scream, a sigh, a hum, a whisper, and a shout all at the same time. Very few instruments can match the trombone for its raw intimacy, and I envy the trombonist this connection to honest and natural expression.
I was committed to the trombone when, in third grade, I got to pick an instrument for band class. At that point, the possibility of thwacking the person in front of me with the slide was its main selling point, but deep down, I was already drawn to some special quality in the slide and the flare of the brass bell. I was in the early gestation period of what I wanted to d....... more