You know where you are with your own community. No stuff of nightmares, or billionaires with debt problems or narcissists and fashionistas. Just ordinary people with ordinary madness.
So on Sunday, I found myself in Murchison Community Centre for a performance by Shepparton Brass and Wind.
More than a hundred people packed into the hall for the 2pm concert, which was quite a feat considering it was such a fine autumn afternoon when a walk by the river or a book on the verandah would have been a drawcard on any other day.
But this was a country town get-together; a chance for people to say hello and enjoy a shared experience other than church or football.
The musical program was a sponge cake with a sticky filling of surprises — some sweet, some bittersweet, something chewy and the occasional crunchy surprise.
It was all held together with witty commentary from Jan Doherty — sometime poet, musician, history buff and all-round chatterbox from Shepparton.
Jan combined all her talents to tell us about the instruments, a little bit of the band’s history and the characters from the orchestra.
At one point, she introduced us to conductor Lachlan Gallagher and his baton.
“He likes to wave it around a lot,” Jan said.
Then, without a hint of innuendo, she added: “Show us your baton, Lachlan.”
Jan said the French called the baton “le baguette”.
“Conducting with a breadstick sounds very sensible,” she said.
“You could have a quick chomp if you felt like a snack after a particularly vigorous piece.”
If you think brass band music is for the sleepy or the sluggish, think again.
Sunday afternoon’s program kicked off with a crash of cymbals and bass drum — loud enough to wake anyone who had come for an afternoon nap. The surprise start sent an electric bolt through the shoulders of the little white-haired lady in front of me and made her jump an inch out of her seat. I looked around for any first-aid wall boxes, just in case.
Then it was off and roaring through a Sousa march called The Thunderer, which prompted Jan to reminisce about the good old backyard thunderbox. It was a loose connection, if you’ll forgive the inelegant adjective, but a funny one.
The band romped on through toe-tapping jazzy pieces, including a theme from The Incredibles cartoon, which sounded very James Bondish. That got a tick from my grandson and me.
All this excitement was interspersed with reflective pieces, including one by a German composer that made you think of a warm autumn evening with a glass of Gewürztraminer and perhaps a sausage or two at the Bauernhof.
My grandson has a mild obsession with trumpets, so at interval I took him to meet the band’s trumpet player, who was happy to show us his old and beautifully warm brass instrument. He told us to come back after the concert and he’d let his 10-year-old fan have a blow.
After another sizzling bracket of music — some shoulder jolting and others dreamy, we watched the musicians pack up their instruments. My grandson was distracted by a young man trying to persuade his giant baritone saxophone into its case. It looked like the perfect combination of art and engineering and sounded like the Titanic’s foghorn or someone noodling in a dark and damp Chicago jazz cellar. My grandson’s eyes goggled — but he still had a go on the trumpet.
Where else can you get all this for a gold coin donation?
I hope you have a lovely Easter and find a community event somewhere to enjoy and celebrate the ordinary madness of life.
