Happiness is...

“Play principal? No thanks, I’m as happy as a pig in ****”

So spoke a mentor and well-known conductor and adjudicator many years ago, during a conversation about my playing aspirations and career options within music, when describing a pivotal moment in their own career. Playing for one of the UK's top bands at the time, their MD offered them the principal chair following the departure of the previous incumbent. And this person said no. They just weren’t interested in being a soloist but happy playing their part, away from the spotlight.

At the time, it felt almost flippant, although entirely in character for someone who has had a profound impact on my life. With the benefit of over a decade of hindsight however, I have a better understanding of what they were driving at. They weren’t dismissing ambition but highlighting the joy of playing without ego, knowing where you fit in a band and thriving there. This sage advice was given alongside a typically brutal and honest assessment of life in top bands and the knife edge on which my own playing career stood at that time - with focus and application, anything was possible but don't be distracted by ambition, and always bear in mind something which many players overlook. Secondary parts aren’t second best. Many of those content to sit out of the limelight are just as skilled as the principals and, often, happier for it.

My own playing career, as it turns out, never went the way I expected. Life took me to London for work, a temporary move that became a decade-long stint in the South East. My playing drifted to almost nothing and I largely fell out of love with banding altogether. Eventually, I turned to writing about bands to fill the void and in doing so began to remember what it was I missed about playing. It took years and more than a few knocks to realise something crucial: being a principal, or playing at 'the top' isn’t the be-all and end-all. Bands are made up of many parts for a reason, and learning to take ego out of the equation can be liberating.

The turning point for me came when I switched from tenor to bass trombone (and I think this is the first time on this blog I've been brave enough to reveal what instrument I play). This wasn't because I had any grand ambition, but because I could read bass clef and the band I was hoping to join after moving home only had this one vacancy in the section. I’d never really played bass trombone before, but the shift reinvigorated my playing. Suddenly, I was enjoying music again, relishing the challenges of the part, and discovering that you don't have to be a world class soloist to have a good time. In hindsight the change in instruments was a natural one, and something I should have explored years before rather than competing to be principal all the time. It only later occurred to me that my grandfather (whom I never met) was reputedly an exceptionally talented bass trombonist and perhaps an explanation as to why the low register seemed to come naturally. Suddenly, what had seemed like luck or coincidence started to feel like inheritance. It all made sense in a way that the struggle to hit high notes never had before.

Years after the conversation chance dictated that I met, and developed my own relationship with the MD who had offered my friend the top chair, and they in turn had a large impact on my thinking. This well known figurehead of the movement is an avid football fan and utilises the comparisons between bands and football teams in their teaching, highlighting the similarities with leadership, positions and teamwork. I was in my very early twenties then and, at the time, the underlying meaning of their words didn't resonate with me. This may have been in part, because they are an avid supporter of my team’s arch rivals (and, yes, ego and tribal loyalties run deep at that age), but also because I didn’t yet see the bigger picture. Again, with time, their words have resonated deeper and I recognise now that they had a bigger impact on my life than the very obvious one at the time. A band, like a football team, only functions when everyone understands their role, contributes their strengths, and supports those around them.

Age and experience have taught me that happiness in a band isn’t about the chair you you sit in, but about the music, the camaraderie, and the joy of contributing your part to something bigger than yourself. It's easier to be happy when you've found where you're meant to be.