Tis Hee-ya

Well, I’ve managed to moan in multiple entries b4 this of the impending school year, and it is now officially upon us. Everyone is doing last summer reading cramming, and band has absorbed me. Yup, same as the last 2 years…
Well, last Sunday was my birthday, if you didn’t know(and Thanks). Felt like pretty much ‘ne other day, not really feeling the “sweet 16″ness of it. Other than getting an ultimate frisbee from my sister. It was funny; it came with a “how-to” DVD, which I laughed over for about 1/2 hr until I realized I was slowly dying as I watched it. In ‘ne case, my family went over to Sweet Tomatoes for lunch, my positively most favorite restaurant ’round these parts.
After that, I went to Jane’s party in the evening, where I had a pleasant time catching up a bit with a couple past graduates, like Johnson and Tyler and the Corbetts. One thing I did notice however was how much easier it was to hang with them. The day before, at the DI party, I just kind of wandered around, and I realized that I really don’t have that strong of connections to ‘ne of them in particular. I talk to the likes of Chief or Fairley or whoever from time to time, but… well. Yeah. ‘Neways, so I had a great time talk to ppl, jumping on Chris’s back as he played DDR, you know, just the usual.

Morning after, the end of summer finally came as I stepped onto the marching field.
Over the past week, I’ve been very impressed with how quickly we’ve developed. We learned and covered our basics really quickly, and the music sounds a lot better as well. The band is humongous, but I think we’ve made it work. To a certain extent.
The tuba section has come a bit, but we’ve still got a lot of work. We sounded really wimpy that first day, but after we did a 10 min blasting excercise after sectionals on monday and really got the air going when we started stands tunes, we’ve got sound handled. Well, some of us. So far, the section has been severely dominated by a minority. Right now, I think we could have a section half the size and still create about the same sound and size of sound as we do now, and probably march better overall. But I guess it’s my job as a DI to fix that, and I definitely see it as acheivable. Yeah, about being DI…
It’s been interesting, to say the least. I mean, last year, I was marching as one of, and probably lower than, the other guys, having played the instrument for only 1/2 a year and never marching it. The section being so small, we’re all buddies, and now that I’m DI… it’s awkward. Everytime I give a command, whether it be calling out “Up tubas” after a break, or praising them “Good job guys” after a box drill, or deriding them with “*insert name*, cut it“, it’s weird; outside of the field, I’m one of them. Just a peer. I always seem to expect that they’re not going to listen, and I can understand why, but they do. Usually. I cut them slack, joke around with them, and so on, but when it’s business, it’s business. Whenever I’m standing in front of them, clapping or yelling, it’s like something comes over me and bolsters me, but I guess that’s part of being a leader. I’d like to think I’m doing a good job; as far as I know, the section is doing well marching and competently playing. And I think they still like me. It’s a rowdy bunch though.
Johnson kept a really clean section last year. No cursing, no dirty jokes around him, not much screwing around, on or off the field. It was a great way to run the section, and I think Johnson had a good calming aura around him that settled us down, but the section’s a lot different this year. Last year, only Johnson, Tim, and Reuel really knew each other, as I had just switched over, Lee had just moved in, and the fish were… fish. But now we know each other really well, it’s been interesting.
As just a peer of them, I don’t feel it necessary to control them completely. It’s a rowdy bunch. From breaks to warmups to instructions, there’s always a dirty joke going around.*shrugs* Not my place to fight it. So what if they throw a bad word around or giggle over something Janda says? No point in fighting it; it’s almost their nature, and they’re having fun. Very quickly, however, the tuba section has changed to what I feel is restoring a lot of what it means to be the “section to be in”. Before I came, trombones had it hands down, from Blake C. to Peter to Matt and Matt, though when they left, all they really had left was Kevin Ewen, and for the past two, it’s been the trumpets headed up by Chris and Jeff, though I think it’s time the tubas ascended to their former glory. I won’t be the one to do it though; as far as I’m concerned, we’re not going in the middle of the night to claim the tower or making a fire on the top of the garage just to put it out with juice and pee, but if that’s the other guys’ perogative, I’m not going to fight it. The section is hilarious though. I was surprised only we were laughing when Janda said, “Have a floppy one; don’t carry a hard and heavy one”.(talking about the drill binder, of course).
Oh, and our olympic game with the bass clarinets is going to rock.

Well, after a week of band, I was tired, but last night was the Fortuna’s moving party, so seeing as the family was invited, I went. Had a good time hearing how Alex wants to ask Michael to HC, and how Shoshank and Kyle got high from 2nd hand pot. Watched Neville bust a move on the DDR pads, probably the funniest thing I’ve seen in years, and stayed until about 1 just hanging out. I was really hungry though; hadn’t eaten since lunch, and all they had were snacks. I know, it was sad.

Not Quite What He Wanted

You know how there’s always that story of the final mission?
That came too early.
My cry for help came too late; apparently someone was a little trigger happy.
The last thing I heard was, “Looks like we have another case of ‘swiss cheese’.”
But then again, if I’m dead, how am I recollecting this story?
Beats me. Ask the author.

(Author’s Note: I wasn’t too sure where this was going in the first place, but I soon realized it was nowhere. In ‘ne case, I’ll have a fresh adventure with a new lead soon.)

Breaking… In or Out?

Imagine being on a summer vacation in the Bahamas, the warm rays of sunshine engulfing you in its blinding glory, listening to the gentle sloshing of the tides against the beach, that has the smoothest sand in all the Caribbean, endless miles of clear water all around you, alone on your own private island.
This mission was nothing like that.
After bumping my head against the low air duct ceiling for the 5th time, I let out a silent curse, wondering why Jake always insisted on doing things the hard way.
“Dammit, Jake, they don’t have a front door for nothing!” I vehemently spat at him, intent on digging in the most guilt with every word.
“I’m sorry Dixon, but it simply isn’t in our best interests to make our presence known. Now we quiet, or we might be caught,” he whispered fiercly back at me.
I cursed again, for there were now oil stains in my best blazer that would never come out. Such is the life of a private investigator.
We continued in the air duct, taking several lefts when I felt right was right, and often taking rights I thought were wrong. After endless passages and several more bruises, Jake turned and smiled, apparently successful at finding our way to our destination. He quickly popped the grate out while we silently dropped into the dark room. I stood and waited, hoping that Jake knew where the light switch was.
“You know, why is it that the room you always need to get to always has an easy back door in it? It’s just ridiculous how easy things are; it’s almost as if they wanted us to just stroll right in,” I commented, a growing sense of pride at our apparent competence in making such a difficult assignment easy.
“Yes, it would seem that way, wouldn’t it?” responded a distinctly unfamiliar voice, to which I soon attributed to an unfamiliar face as the lights overwhelmed the darkness. “Now, you’ve met your end. Men, kill them,” the man ordered, and I look around to see several thugs who seemed very eager to let their index finger speak for them.
“I think we should fight,” Jake muttered to me.
“If by fight, you mean pull out a random device that has been alluded to by our mastermind toy maker earlier in the story and escape in a spectular manner, I agree,” I retorted.
“By fight, I meant something more like praying to every god you know that their weapon providers accidently filled their ammo boxes with blanks. Either that, or their aim sucks and they shoot each other instead.”
“I think we’ll just go classic,” I finished. I heard percussive clicks come from each gun as our doom moved into the barrel. I anxiously waited for the last moment, feeling the exact second before their trigger appendages tensed, and yelled, “Wait!”

Twists… are Best Saved for a Rope

Well, luck is fickle, but I just seem to always grab it at the right time.
“Well, that’s one bridge that I’ve crossed while burning,” Jake Rawlins muttered. “How you doing, Dixon?”
“Oh, you know, not so bad, just the usual, murder attempts, torture, etc. Hey, you mind undoing these bindings?” I casually requested of him.
“Oh, ya, sure,” he responded, putting his gun back in his holster, sweeping a couple blond locks back, then working on the rope behind me.
Within a minute, he had undone all of it, and we immediately began to plan.
“So, when you got me in here, did you have a plan for getting me out?”(‘neone catch the quote? Comment the source) I asked, rubbing my wrists, then checking to see what equipment they had stripped from me.
“Well, I know the guards on this hallway are knocked out from some ‘special’ whiskey I gave them, though past that, I don’t think there are any major obstacles. What are you doing down here, anyways?” he inquired. So he was bluffing before…
“A Mrs. Betty Belle came to my door, looking for some cover when she was killed in my office. Went down to Pops, and he pointed me in this direction,” I explained.
A ghastly look came over Rawlins when I turned to look, and his eyes widened. Apparently something was wrong.
“Did, did, did, you… say Betty Belle?” he repeated, blinking hard as though to rid it of his mind.
“Uh, yeah, didjya know her?”
Color seemed to return to his face as he eased slightly, wiping his sweat with a hankerchief.
“We need to break into Captain’s office. Now.” He held his voice carefully, making sure to enunciate every word precisely.
“Why is that?” I asked him, wondering why it was so neccesary to take such a big risk.
“Because there’s no way she could be dead in your office if she’s locked in the Captain’s.”

Strange Places

Waking up in a strange room with menacing men holding weapons no longer scared me. Or even surprised me. I’d been through this hundreds of times, and my survival is a testament to some ridiculous fortune.
Perturbed that my hat and coat had been removed, I also noticed my gun gone, along with my keys, wallet, and rubber duck. I tried to move, but found all limbs tied to the chair, and the chair seemed quite stable.
“Stop moving, or the boss says we can make a hit,” one of the men behind him said.
“Make a hit, you say? Hehe, well, my good friend Ricky has made a couple hits too, like “Fly me to the Random Space Junk” and “Come Soar with Me”, hehe,” I replied nervously. Humor always loosened up tense situations. It also loosened up restraint.
“Think you’re so funny, eh?” Darn Canadian hitmen(W00T!!). “Well, why don’t you tell your joke to Mr. Louisville Slugger?” His arm cocked back when a door I couldn’t see creaked open. His arm relaxed as another voice, much smoother, came across to me.
“Mr. Dills, I’m surprised to see you back again so early,” the man said as he closed the door behind him. “Does it not seem like just yesterday that you made a similar visit, under similar circumstances?”
“Perhaps,” I responded neutrally. Advice: don’t let anything on in an interrogation room.
“Ah, well I’m sure you know best. Of course, I actually know why you’re here this time,” he hinted.
“Oh, do you? Mind letting me in on that, I think I’ve forgotten.” I always chuckle in my mind after lines like that.
“Yes, I believe it was because of something like this,” he finished, pulling out his gun and cocking it.
Some people pray at moments like this. I just use my psychic powers to deflect the bullets.
Not really.
“See you in Hell, Mr. Rawlins,” I responded cheerfully, knowing all the little offenses would’ve stacked up against me.
“To be sure,” he responded, swinging his gun around and popping each of the thugs in the forehead.

Yeah. Because that one happens a lot.

Trouble’s Not Just for the Customers

He quietly opened the door to the “Bunny Cradle”, attempting to make as little disturbance as possible. The smoke filed his nasal cavity, blessing him with the smell of cigarettes instead of the B.O. of many unshowered men. Pool balls knocked together, mugs were clunked around, and music played above all other sounds. Wondering what he would find here, Dixon sauntered over to the bar, taking a seat isolated from the others.
“What can I get for ya?” the bartender called over his shoulder while cleaning out one of the mugs.
“Prune juice. Warm, not chilled,” he responded smuggly.
The bartender stopped for a moment, then turned toward him, embers burning in his eyes. “How dare you bring your sorry butt in here and order something like that! You come to an honorable estab-“
CRACK, cried the baseball bat as it collided with the back of an unsuspecting man’s head, ensuing into another bar fight.
The bartender paused again. “Okay, whatever, need to get rid of it ‘neways,” he finished, moving into the stockroom to grab the unopened crate.
“Mr. Dills, I’m surprised to see you back here again,” called out a familiar voice from behind him.
Dixon turned as Mr. Knuckles greeted him as well.

Down by the Water

“Ah, Mr. Jones,” Dixon replied curtly as the men around him moved closer, bats in hand. “I would greatly prefer it if you removed the mask,” he continued, gesturing to the tall man’s face.
“Ah, yes, about that,” he returned, slowly pulling it off. “So when are you planning on joining the community baseball team? I’ve been waiting for a reply for awhile.”
“I’m on a case right now, so I’ll have to give you a rain-check. Sorry about it.”
They slowly began walking down the street, chatting about news and such. Fortunately, a team of baseball players with bats in hand was enough to keep the thieves and muggers away.
“Well, as much as I’ve enjoyed this,” Dixon said later, “I really need to figure this case out. I’ll call you when I have time.”
The tall man nodded, and Dixon took the nearest cab to head down to the docks.

The docks were a savage place for only the toughest of men, bravest of all, and darkest of skin(sorry). For as dangerous as the streets of Webster were, no law enforcement officer dared go near the docks. A hive of corruption and danger, the docks held almost every major crime organization in town. Along with the only “Sears”.
The sun had not set, but the roads seemed dark regardless. The smell of the ocean, the cries of the seagulls, and the taste of garbage around gave the greatest warning any could need to stay away, but Dixon was unafraid.
He had his membership card in his pocket.
“Yo, whachu trying to pull?” said a random gang member as Dixon walked up.
“I’ve got my card in my pocket,” he quickly responded, pulling it out and showing him.
The man inspected it carefully in his grimy hands. “Looks alright to me. But you better watch yourself,” he hinted, lowering his voice. “The Blue Clams are looking to start trouble. I’d stay in Vaseline Razer town, if I were you.”
“Do you know where I can find the nearest Bar on 5th street? I’m actually kind of thirsty,” he asked offhandedly.
“Bunny Cradle. Can’t miss it,” he responded. Dixon gave him a quick nod and headed in that direction, not noticing those in his shadow.

A Stroll to Papa’s Place

A good afternoon is not having a dead broad on your office floor.
Today was not a good afternoon.
One of the secretaries came rushing in, a horror covering her face.
“Oh my stars!” she exclaimed, hand over mouth, eyes as wide as a whale.
“Yeah, that stain’ll be a pain to remove from the carpet,” I responded, checking to see how deep the blood had stained.
The secretary ran back out, which I had hoped was to call the cops. I needed answers.
And stain remover.
I checked and found the bullet wound just above her left temple, piercing straight into her brain. I shook my head, disappointed at another lost life at my hands. I searched her, looking for any clues to her existance, but she had no identification, nothing that could tell me anything. I knew there had to be a lead, something that could tell me something and lead me from this mysterious enigma before me. I checked her pockets once more, then again, hoping that I had missed that important clue, and that it still lay there.
“The police are coming,” the secretary told me, poking her head just past the doorframe. Glancing in her direction, I gave her a quick nod, and she disappeared back to where she came from.
No good mystery starts without a lead. Then again, maybe my lead was waiting for me somewhere else.
After the cops had arrived, after I had cleared up the situation, after I had cleaned up my carpet, I took my coat and went for a walk.

The Webster streets are a dangerous place, a poorly kept part of town. Slums exist in every doorway, crime runs rampant in the alleys, and no one who lives here doesn’t have a story to tell. The disorganized streets are a haven for those who wish to disappear and make a living without one.
I knew one man who might help me, one man who had all the answers, one man who just might give me that lead.
I walked into the bakery, inhaling the aroma of “Papa’s Bread”. I catiously walked over to the counter, checking for spies, yet trying to maintain my facade.
“Daniel, finish the baguettes right away! I cannot afford to lose my top customer just because someone sneezed in the first batch and had to start over!”
I chuckled at the menacing voice coming from the back, a deep Italian accent for a large man. I stood at the counter, awaiting his return.
“Ah, Dixon, my top customer,” he spewed, sauntering back over to the counter. “What can I get for you today?”
“Ah, Mr. Papa,” I started, iniating the code sequence. His countenance suddenly changed as he glanced at all the tables, then resuming his act, picking up a glass to clean.
“How are the chickens, Mr. Dills?” he responded, quickly picking up the lingo.
“They are just fine, but my third hen lay a broken egg this morning. I was wondering if you could stop it from happening again,” I quickly responded. You don’t get sent to four years at detective schools to not know this stuff.
“Well, what name does this hen go by? I hear that the name is important.”
“She is Betty, and it happened right after I rang the bell.”
His eyes suddenly flashed sorrow as he turned his back to me, replacing the glass and picking up another. “You might want to check the Bull’s Barn, the fifth stall. You might find some more hay there for more padding.”
I nodded my head as he handed me a baguette, which I kindly took for free as I turned to leave his shop.
I wondered as to what I would find at the Docks, but I knew that Papa wouldn’t fail me. I closed the door behind me when I noticed several figures around me.
“We’ve been waiting Mr. Dills; I’ve been waiting for this,” said the tallest one.

Just When You Think You Have an Easy Case…

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” I said in my smoothest, most nonchalant voice. “Take a seat, make yourself comfortable,” I continued, propping my feet back up, stretching out my long legs, and running my hand through my hair.
“Thank you,” she responded politely, moving toward the chair, grasping it with her velvet gloves, then adjusting herself in the seat. “Well, see my husband, he-” she paused for a moment. Damn, all the good women are taken! “Well, see, my husband, he’s been involved in a lot of ‘incidents’, and I think our lives are in danger. I don’t have any real proof, but it always feels like there’s someone in the shadow, like, like-“
“Like you’re being followed?” I finished, casting my eyes up to the ceiling, pulling the pipe out of my desk and lighting it without glancing back at it. She nodded, and I imagine that she had a very concerned countenance at that moment, though I couldn’t look through her veil; not like I cared. I learned it was never worth it to get even remotely emotionally involved in a case. Until you know how padded their pocketbook is, of course.
“Could you do something about that?” She kind of looked at me funny, and I just kind of looked back. “Well, I don’t really know what I’m asking for,” she interjected, breaking the awkwardness. “I don’t even know if you can help. I just thought-“
“You know, I’ve done hundreds of cases,” I said wistfully “and I know exactly how they all begin. Just like that.” I gestured with my pipe at her, moving my eyes back to the ceiling. “I can do it. But it’s going to cost you; my usual ra-“
Just then, a series of loud pops went off behind me, breaking the serenity of the moment, shattering the window behind me and tearing the blinds. I felt a searing pain and quick air just above my shoulder. Instinctively, I immediately pulled my gun out of my hidden holster, falling to a position behind my desk. The firing abruptly stopped, and I catiously poked my head up to see where it had come from, but my assailants had fled. I was quite angry about another attack on my life, but even more perturbed that they had forced me to drop (and possibly damage) a perfectly good pipe. I sighed, reholstering my gun, vaguely satisfied that I was still alive.
“Could’ve been worse,” I commented as I turned to look at my guest.
“Aww hell…”

Just… Wow

Quick note: if you ‘member, I used to write the tales of Dixon Dills, and I really wanted to start that again, but I didn’t want to have to attach it to every entry(and be able to write it separately), so it’s in a link off to the right. I’ll be loading everything from these entries into it, and continuing.
So summer band has started, as much as I wished the summer had not ended and it would not come, it’s been awesome. This year is going to be sooooo much fun…
So 2 days ago, I woke up at 7 in the morning, at least 1 1/2 hrs earlier than ‘ne other day, pumped and ready to start band. Got to the school where I spent most of the first part setting up the tubas and such, discovering we were short 3 tubamaphones. Hmm… copied some music, then went out for lunch with the other kids, and oddly ’nuff seeing Mr. Aditya there. Without his whiskers. It was sad.
Got back and decided, since I wasn’t going to bother painting a sign for the tubas(we don’t need an effing poster to show our pride; we’ve transcended that!), so I helped Janda assign lockers… which was an incredible blessing. With that power, I managed to get every one of the returning JET Band tuba players a big horn sized locker! Haha, suckers who are stuck with clarinet/flute lockers… did some stickering, stuffing of music, etc. Quite a bit of work, but quite a bit of fun. Got back after 11 hrs of work, very tired.
Next day was DIA AKA Drill Instructor Academy AKA Leadership Camp AKA Let’s All Make Fools of Ourselves. Without exposing too many of our secrets of how we got to be so perfect at DIing *wink wink*, we sang songs and danced, which was completely ridiculous and embarressing, but with 30 other ppl doing the same, I guess it isn’t so embarressing. I’m thinking that the “fun” I had was the type of idiotic fun ppl get from, say, dancing at HC or yelling out random comments in a movie theater. In ‘ne case, we spent the morning outside, working on stuff. I must say, I’m a lot more confident now than I was at New Marchers. Then, I was like, “WTF, I don’t know what to do, I’m so effing screwed… crap”, but at DIA, I (think I) managed to call commands on the right foot, nice and loud and confident and everything. My clapping was really inconsisent, but there’s a learning curve for everything. After the morning rehearsal, a couple of teh guys and I went over to Thomas Crockett’s house where we started playing ping-pong. Having not played in several years, it was about the same: easy as it looks… yet not. It’s a fun game with a lot to it, though, even with it in my blood, I suck. Got beaten by a white guy(correction: according to him, 1/64 or some crap like that asian. though tom has a bad record of lying…), though Kyung redeemed us all by totally rocking. Had lunch, blah, blah, went back for the afternoon.
After coming back, we got to listen to our DMs and Janda teach us more leadership skills and do weird stuff, including a game (once again, not revealing our secrets) that was way too difficult for what it was, and a game where the only way to succeed(quickly) was to cheat. I mean, I guess taking too long on that game was just part of the lesson: IILSST.
This morning, I woke up in the dazed stupor more commonly seen during the school year, though I recovered quickly. Got to school, did some stuff, and awaited the beginning of rehearsal.
Janda talks, blah blah blah, and the other band directors leave, leaving us with a Lone Grange-r(HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… sorry). Stands tunes went way slower than I had expected, and we had to do Louie, Louie way too many times… I was out of shape.
I lean back, and my back totally just like… bends like a metal rod. I go back, it hurts like heck, and I pop straight back up. We do it over and over, and then Grange insists on picking on me and getting one tuba entrance right, so I dance and play, over and over by myself with the trumpets. Yup. I think I might have been irritated if I hadn’t been having so much fun.
On a side note, I was really happy about how I was sounding. I remember that last year, I couldn’t get a soft sound out of my sousa if I had tried. I played so quietly I couldn’t hear myself, but after a good year of real training, I was pleasantly surprised with my new sound(with the exception of way too much resistance whenever I pressed my 3rd valve; I think I’ve been spoiled by the miraphones). I could actually hear myself play out, though that might just be a dig on the rest of the section. But that’s next.
So, the morning rehearsal goes by… and I’m less than impressed with the section. Hopefully, they aren’t reading this, but I was really disappointed, though I guess Johnson (and Eric before that) must have been severely disappointed as well. Katie, the #2 tuba didn’t make it, so my main hope for the fishies was missing. In the scheme of things, right now, I only think about half of the section can actually play; the other half just need to learn high school tuba playing. It’s… this is going to sound bad, but it’s not that they’re stupid; they’re just ignorant, for right now, but I think there’s a good chance that that can be changed. Fortunately, today, my private lesson teacher came by and managed to save me and help, but it’s going to take a lot. ‘Neways, I think I should stop writing about my section to avoid ‘ne retribution. So…
We get to the afternoon rehearsal… and wow. I love the show soooo much. Before I go ‘ne farther, I would like to admit something: I was wrong. I thought that, just as in years past, the tubas would be stuck with a sh*t part, but our part just rocks. Throughout the entire thing, we(naturally) ahve the bass line, but it’s incredible. I’ll start with the closer(the order of this will soon make sense). The closer is pretty darn spiffy. All in all, it’s a solid, good feeling piece of music, with one really awesome part that throws in an almost swing element. In the opener, we play this 2 measure run over and over, but it’s brilliant. It’s high, and right now, most of the section can’t play it(oops, won’t talk about that ‘nemore), but I love our part in the opener. It’s super hard, but super important. It’s really exposed, easy once you got it, and just awesome. I would definitely put that music up in the most awesome music I’ve ever played(probably most awesome music ever, since I appreciate music I’ve played way more than ‘ne other) right next to Dance Movements 4(though Rocky Point is hanging in at #1. That had an incredible tuba part). There really isn’t a way to express how awesome that piece is from the tuba perspective, and when the band can play it well, it is giong to be so awesome, it might give DM4 a run for it’s money.
Then there’s the ballad. That one is a double wow. I mean, I had heard the Blue Devils recording and one Buddy Rich b4, and I thought that it was very cool and very pretty, but playing it was… completely different. While the opener is one of the most awesome, the ballad is probably the most beautiful music ever.(beating 2. Letter From Home 3. DM3) Letter from Home was beautiful, with a great solo and beautifully written, and DM3 was just a powerfully beautiful piece, but the ballad is so much better. I can’t explain exactly what it is about it; it’s so much… free-er than DM3, being jazz, and so much more moving and.. something than LFH that just makes it so much better. Playing the piece, I could so feel everything about it; normally, shaping and the details of music are a bit of work, but I could so feel the music that I just… knew what to do. It probably sounds really ridiculous, but it was incredible. The tuba part is so simple, but it’s so wonderful. And all the parts of the music, with 3 different solos, including one absolutely OOC trumpet one, are just unbelievably beautiful. I am going to love our show.