The Grand Lung

Bards, musicians, instrumentalists can be an odd lot. Having chosen, or been called, to literally "perform for their supper" turns many into a hard-parting lot, hanging around taverns and inns, drinking, singing, and performing to all hours of the day and through the night. Even the most practiced and serious classical performers enjoy an opportunity to "let it rip" among a boisterous, rowdy, and happy crowd. The energies of a formal concert environment with a 50, 75, or even 100 pieces plus cannot replicate the unbridled mayhem that a good contemporary music jam session can generate.

Thus every two years musicians, professional and accomplished amateurs, gather for a four-day long celebration of all things musical. A convention if you will, where demonstrations take place on the latest performance, technique, composition, and teaching methods. Practical demonstrations and seminars touting new and technically "improved" instruments and accessories of all types cater to apprentice and master musicians alike. An opportunity where instrument makers become the performers to entertain, delight, and cater to the usual providers of musical entertainment. Though a serious event, there of course is a party atmosphere that breaks out in the evenings after the days seemingly endless stream of demonstrations and sales pitches. If you ask, come to learn and share their experiences on the road and get an opportunity to do so without any pressure for them to perform. Play what and with whom they wish for the sheer joy of playing to delight oneself, and not aimed at an audience from whom you depend upon for your meals, lodging, and travel expenses.

Once the four days and long nights of seminars and parties has ended, it is time to return to reality of earning your keep. Bags and trunks line up outside the convention site along the road awaiting carriages and wagons for transport of instruments, luggage, and musicians alike. The wait times can be long many having to wait until evening or even the next day to secure their transportation to depart.

It is during these interminable wait times where an idle mind becomes the devil's playground. To keep themselves busy and awake, after the hard partying for most over the last four days, musicians with similar interests will break off into smaller groups for additional conversation and such, some move away to take the time to hone their skill with a practice session or to work on their musical parts for whatever their next job will be. Others, well, just can't help but try to keep the party going.

It started one such departure day that five accomplished tuba players decided to express and release their displeasure at never really being the focus of a piece of music or a featured player. Sure, violins, cellos, guitars, and trumpets get plenty of opportunity in the spotlight, but never the tuba. So on this particular occasion, these five tuba players set out to demonstrate their skills beyond keeping a steady "oom pah pah" over which the others regularly feature. In an incredible display, these talented tuba players tear off a number of feats that even many of the other instrumentalists find challenging. Long runs of 16th and 32nd notes, clearly and cleanly played at tempo, the techniques of double- and even triple-tonguing to achieve the ferocious speeds that no written piece of music has ever demanded of a tuba or it's master.

As a crowd began to form around these magnificent displays of musicianship, from this crowd emerged a challenge (probably from a trumpet player). "Yeah, that's nice, but I bet you can't hit a 'double high C' with that monstrosity!" The crowd took a step back as one of the musicians grins broadly, licks his lips, and draws a deep breath. He puts his lips upon the mouthpiece and lets out a note, barely audible, but felt in the heart as it thundered on the lowest ends of the scale. After holding the low note for a couple beats, he begins to play a series of quarter notes up the chromatic scale, increasing in intensity and pitch. One octave, two octaves, three octaves and four, continuing high and higher until he holds on the coveted and challenged double high C requested from the crowd. One, two, three, four beats he holds that note, and then gently, calculatingly, dramatically fades the note by half his original intensity and then the note stops. Slowly and with no visible sign of stress, he pulls the mouthpiece aways from his lips and says "I'm pretty sure I just did." Of course, the crowd breaks into uproars of laughter as the tuba player receives shoulder slaps and smiles from his contemporaries, save one.

"Nice run," the second tuba player says with a wide grin on his face, "but I don't think you held that note long enough to register it as such." This player then proceeds to start at middle C and quickly runs the major scale through two octaves up to the double high C and holds the note. One, two , three, four beats, still going, sixteen, seventeen, and the note hangs in the air carrying on and on, until finally a bit red in the face, he let's go of the note and draws a breath.

Without hesitation or words, another tuba player sets lips to mouthpiece and starts playing the major scale up and down, across five octaves from low to the double high C. Up and down, over and over, with consistent intensity and quality of the notes until he runs out of breath. At this, the crowd roars with amazement and laughter with the demonstration. The sad, sullen, and somber sounding tuba, reaching out for new highs, now elevated to a potentially featured place amongst the other instruments. The players themselves, laughing and begin challenging each other to defined skills of pitch and tempo and other techniques, finally ending as a carriage arrives to break up this quintet.

From the crowd, comes a voice "velké plíce" with exuberance. The crowd looks around, and the voice rings out in common "The Grand Lung." Another roar of laughter from the crowd rings out as the tuba players huddle together for a discussion and a handshake. The player who originally took the first crowd challenge, steps forward and toward the awaiting carriage. He says "my friends, we have agreed that I now carry this year's title of "The Grand Lung." To be challenged and judged at each meeting from this day forth to name a new champion as "The Grand Lung." Cheers rise from the crowd and shouts of "Hail the mighty wind of The Grand Lung, le grand poumon, and die große Lunge" ring out as the carriage drives away.

Thus, on that day, was born the tradition of "The Grand Lung" the title of which remains true to be awarded only to a tuba player demonstrating the finest skills he can. Variants of this skill competition have risen, challenging musicians by instrument or techniques, such as high notes, speed trials, and even longest notes. Vocalists challenges for low, high, long and even the measurably shortest notes. There have even been attempts at a "Best in Show" prize, but comparing and contrasting across instruments, vocalization, and instrument categories, while intriguing, has as yet proven to be feasible. Manufacturers sponsor players and categories in the hopes that their instrument will be the one used to top the competition.

But all pale in comparison to the grandfather of instrumental skill challenges ... "The Grand Lung."