Brass Informant

We interviewed Ellis L. Workman, Inventor/Mentor of the beloved, revered and mostly plastic Hosaphone(tm). At BI (Brass Informant) we pride ourselves on our journalistic ethics which are beyond reproach. In keeping with our in-depth format, an unedited interview directly transcribed from our BI reporter's dictation device is published in its entirety. BI caught up with Mr. Workman at his home in the foothills of Minnesota.

Editor's note: This interview was originally conducted in the Esperanto-language. It was then translated to English for review and then back to Esperanto for editing, and then in English for final publication. The potential differences in the language between Esperanto and English created a finished product which was confusing. We attribute the major source of this problem in that Mr. Workman doesn't speak Esperanto nor did he ever claim to. This is our second attempt to interview Mr. Workman.

BI: Testing. Testing, one, two. I'm ringing the door bell at the home of Ellis Workman, inventor of the Hosaphone(tm). Put on my expense report that the taxi ride from the airport was $197.50, no tip and $6.27 for the drive-thru value meal and blueberry pie at...oh, hi, Mr. Workman?

ELW: Now just what do you think you are doing here on my porch talking into a tape recorder? Huh?

BI: I'm with BI, you know, Brass Informant, I'm here to interview you.

ELW: You again? Or should I say Vi ĉi tie denove?

BI: That's not really necessary, sorry for the whole Esperanto deal last time.

ELW: What? I can't hear you! You're going to have to speak up, my family and friends are trying out this new breakfast cereal and the crunching is deafening!

BI: MR. WORKMAN, I SAID I'M HERE TO INTERVIEW YOU!

ELW: Yes, of course. Come on in to my study and have a seat.

BI: Nice place you have here Mr. Workman. My...that's quite a generous slice of cherry cheesecake you have there.

ELW: What? The interview isn't enough, I have to feed you now too?

BI: Ah, no. I was just admiring it. It looks so tasty.

ELW: That's a clever take on the Hosaphone(tm) logo you have embossed on your shirt. Odd, I don't recall licensing that to a 3rd-party. Where did you get it?

BI: That's not a logo, its a stain. Blueberry Pie from the drive-thru.

ELW: Then let me say you most certainly wear your food well.

BI: So, this is where the magic all happens?

ELW: What are you referring to?

BI: This place, your villa here in Minnesota, where all the magic happens for the Hosaphone(tm) invention.

ELW: Inventions don't occur in a place, they occur in the mind.

BI: I was so hoping to be able to tell friends I was actually at the place of where the magic happens.

ELW: As I just mentioned that only occurs in my mind. Perhaps in a way, me just thinking about you, you can tell your friends that.

BI: Well, it's not really quite the same thing is it?

ELW: No, it isn't.

BI: How about I just tell them I was in the study with the man who made the magic happen for the invention of the Hosaphone(tm)?

ELW: You could do that, but you might as well say you were on the same planet too, since physical space has no real meaning.

BI: Hmmm, really, how so?

ELW: Are you going to interview me about the Hosaphone(tm), or are you trying to engage me in a long enough conversation that you will be invited for dinner and swim in the pool?

BI: You have a pool, wow.

ELW: I knew I should have asked for a consulting fee for this interview.

BI: I was hoping that I might catch Mr. Roth, the comp(h)oser here today.

ELW: So you think we all just live in one big playhouse someplace like The Monkees TV show or PeeWee's Playhouse or some sort of Reality TV show?

BI: Ah, well, yeah, I kinda of did, but it wasn't until you said that I now realized how silly that would be.

ELW: Oh, absolutely, Mr. Roth is a very serious minded man.

BI: But isn't that his brief case there?

ELW: You must be mistaken.

BI: But it says so right on it.

ELW: Many people can have the initials of "DAR".

BI: I know that, but its printed there right there on the side of it, "Mr. Roth's Briefcase".

ELW: Well, I suppose it is. But he's not here now.

BI: Was he here today?

ELW: Is this really important to know, he's just not here at the moment.

BI: You sound a little annoyed, did you have a confrontation about the matters of the post modern age while you feel the Hosaphone(tm) is leaning much more towards a pre-Apocalyptic importance?

ELW: No, not exactly. We were discussing, you know, straws.

BI: Oh, so you two had a disagreement about moving away from the clear plastic design on the Hosaphone(tm) in favor of the commonly found kitchen straws?

ELW: No, straws for milkshakes. Mr. Roth was having a milkshake and then complained that the straw wasn't thick enough because he was getting a face hernia trying to get the milkshake out of the straw.

BI: I believe you can tell the drive-thru person to mix those a little more thinly cause a thicker straw isn't going to...

ELW: ...yes, yes I know this! We just went through all this for like 20 minutes before I asked him to leave and go get a larger straw or a thinner shake but just fix the thing cause I had an interview today with you. I didn't want to listen to him slurp his shake in the background while he snickers at old ITG Journals only stopping to scream "hernia, hernia!" while clutching his chin, in between his usual episodes of ice cream headaches.

BI: Interesting.

ELW: Ah, you're not going to publish this are you?

BI: Publish what?

ELW: The part about Roth and the milkshake. Its off-the-record as you journalists say.

BI: Say no more, I'll take care of it. We pride ourselves on our journalistic ethics which are beyond reproach at BI. I'll edit this section out personally and destroy any notes pertaining to it.

ELW: Ah, I noticed your dictation's record light is on though.

BI: That's not the recording light, that is the battery indicator. But you have nothing to worry about, even if by some remote chance I was still recording the interview, the parts that are off-the-record would be edited out. Rest assured I pay great attention to such details.

ELW: Whew! I'm glad to hear that. I can't wait for this interview to be published, it will surely impress the local yahoos! Maybe then I can start acting like a real celeb around here.

BI: How's that?

ELW: You know, dress completely in black all the time. Become a vegetarian or maybe even a vegan. Order off the menu in restaurants. Constantly name-drop. Bore people with my devotion to yoga to prove I'm so superiorly health conscious while I sip 12-year old scotch. Proclaim my support for PETA by having a sponsor's logo stitched on a custom Gucci leather gig bag. Get an apartment in the City...

BI: What city?

ELW: You're interrupting! A pad with a modern minimalist décor with all white furniture, thus making the statement that all I really need is lots of mirrors and my large ego to survive. Answer my phone that I have a call on the other line promising to call back in 5 minutes but I never will.

BI: Sounds sweet. Oh, I didn't plan to ask you this, but I'm going to anyway. How do you respond with the increased attention you have gotten by being portrayed by fans as a romantic icon?

ELW: You're not getting the cheesecake. Just put it out of your mind.

BI: Why the Hosaphone(tm)?

ELW: Didn't you read the Hosaphone(tm) FAQ?

BI: Yes, of course, I was just seeking more.

ELW: Everything you need to know is in the Hosaphone(tm) FAQ.

BI: I want to know the real Ellis Workman. Some say he is a computer programmer. Some say he is an inventor, a mentor, a pre-Apocalyptic guru to the Hosaphone(tm). While others see him merely as a threat to an entire art performance authenticity movement. I want to get to know the man. At times we feel you are all these things and more. Tell us, Who is Mr. Workman?

ELW: That's me. I'm Mr. Workman. Is there some sort of confusion here? Your office did call me and I recall that we spoke over the phone to arrange time for this interview. See, right there on the calendar next to the window circled in red, "BI interview". Maybe you should check your calendar app and see if you are where you think you are.

BI: There has been so much talk about the so-called authenticity movement. I'd really like to get your insight on this. In my experience as a journalist, it is best to start with first things first. Let's start at the beginning.

ELW: OK.

BI: Where were you born?

ELW: Where was I born? Who gives a dusty tassel where I was born...shouldn't we be talking about the Hosaphone(tm)? I can see that CNN's Anderson Cooper doesn't have to worry about you stealing his job anytime soon.

BI: If you were a tree, what sort of tree would you be?

ELW: A birch tree.

BI: And why is that?

ELW: Because that's what is used to make birch root beer.

BI: What is the significance of root beer?

ELW: I like to drink it sometimes. It's best in a frosty mug. You can quote me on that.

BI: Looking through some old notes here...Isn't there a time where you struck Mr. Roth?

ELW: Ah, yes, but...this is off the record, right?

BI: Yes, of course.

ELW: Roth spilled some root beer on his sweatpants.

BI: So you just struck him?

ELW: You're interrupting! As I was saying, he has this thing about sweatpants. He wears them all the time. If you could have a suit made out of just sweatpants, he would have a few hanging in his closet. He was visiting, as I said, he spilled root beer on his sweatpants. He insisted they be washed right away. So I'm trying to get some work done, and here is Roth hanging around in my robe reading back issues of the ITG Journal and laughing to himself.

BI: What's so funny about the ITG Journal?

ELW: You're interrupting again.

BI: My apologies. Please continue.

ELW: So after Roth gets his sweatpants out of the dryer all toasty warm, he puts them on, and starts parading around babbling about how there must be something special in that natural-gas dryer of mine, cause he feels different. In his own words, he boldly announces "I have the strength of ten men!".

BI: He actually said that?

ELW: You're interrupting again!

BI: Then what happen?

ELW: He won't let me work until I take him up on his offer to punch him in the stomach as hard as I can, cause he said "I could take it easy. I've been doing sit-ups too." I was never going to get my work done, so I gave him a good hit to the stomach, as he requested.

BI: You must have hurt yourself, an extensive amount of sit-ups can really block a good punch.

ELW: You'd think, but Roth fell to the floor doubled-up.

BI: I guess he left after that?

ELW: No, not right away, after he got up, he realized that he then badly needed to wash his sweatpants again, so I was stuck with him for a little while longer. This is off the record, right?

BI: No problem, this conversation won't leave this room.

ELW: Good.

BI: What do you have to say about your detractors? How do you handle the dissent?

ELW: As you go through life, if you manage not to piss off anyone, it's because you simply aren't trying hard enough.

BI: That's a very good wise saying.

ELW: It is critical for someone of independent thought.

BI: Kind of like the saying, "A stitch in time saves nine", that sort of thing?

ELW: In case anyone asks you, witty banter isn't your strong suit.

BI: With numerous counter claims to your invention, how do you cope with those detractors?

ELW: I continue to draw a happy face with mustard in all my sandwiches.

BI: Does that help?

How accurate is Brass

SCANDAL

ANEWS conference was unexpectedly called by a prominent brass instructor to further address allegations that he tweeted a photo to young adult women on campus using social media.  

In the press conference on the University steps, a solemn-faced trumpet professor came before the crowd to explain himself. Previously, he had said the photo may or may not be his, further claiming that his Twitter account had been hacked and the photo was sent without his permission. He alleged that it was merely a prank, suspecting it was a music ed student he gave a low grade to in a brass methods class.  

At the press conference, the trusted academic finally came clean and accepted full responsibility for his action.  

“Yes, I admit it, I tweeted a photo to a woman. My account was not hacked, it was done by my own actions. No one else is to blame.”  

A reporter from the audience asked after the buzz died down, “Were those actual pictures of your, you know, your, your...?”  

After a brief pause, he answered in the affirmative that he was the photographer of the photos that appeared on Twitter and the center focus of this scandal.  

When asked by one reporter if the professor was offering his resignation, he replied, “Allow me to explain this in a way so you can understand. I got tenure. A nice big office with cool furniture, high-speed internet, a decent budget, graduate assistants to teach my classes, a ten-hour flex-time work week, summers off and a paid sabbatical where I travel around Europe with no accountability or purpose. Resign? Are you freakin' nuts!”  

The trumpet professor's wife wasn't available for comment and remained in an undisclosed location to shield her from embarrassment.  

A spokeswoman for the college said, “I know I'm going to sound biased defending the University, but these kinds of photos are all over the Internet and easy to come by. I don't see why these megapixels have resulted in mega-trouble for this professor.”  

A young co-ed at the college, speaking confidentially out of fear of losing her scholarship and keys to the professor's practice studio, said that the photo couldn't have been from anyone else.  

“I've studied with him for three years now, including the summers when we have been alone the most, and I can tell you I am 100 percent positive that photo belonged to the trumpet professor. I would have had no trouble selecting it from a lineup, if it came to that.”  

She added, “Anyone who has spent time around him and gotten an intimate look would know it without a doubt. It has a marking on it too.”  

She continued, “He told me in confidence that his own wife didn't show much interest and I doubt she would have been able to believe the photos belonged to him because she wasn't that familiar. She just didn't have as much of an interest in it as I have, which made it all the more charming. It's that marking that really aroused my curiosity.”  

Many times when they were alone, she would stare at the marking, she said. She had asked him about the so-called marking but he was unable to explain it, often saying, “That's just the way it is. It's always been that way. Look at it all you want,” and then he would quickly put it away before the next student came in.  

After constant questioning she finally revealed a more explicit and graphic detail of the photo and the curious marking she was so enthralled with.  

Brass Informant has been able to obtain the Tweeted photo, which has been removed from the Twitter account. We present it to you in all its glory.  

An excited co-ed pointed to the photo saying, “That's it! The double stamped 'L' marking on the trumpet bell. I would know it anywhere!”  

The Dean added, “We want to be known as a place of higher learning where parents can feel safe sending their children to study. I don't want to contribute anymore to this – this horn porn – any further!”  

The chair of the brass department said he and the rest of the faculty are hoping they can put this incident behind them.  

“Yes, we're all looking forward to getting past this,” said a campus police officer as he slapped another parking ticket on the windshield of the news van.  

Before sending your photo – know your stuff

.   Before sending your photo – know how to make it right

.   Before sending your photo – consider making it kind of blue

EXCLUSIVE

ALEAD TRUMPETER who toured with well-known bands throughout the United States and Europe has decided to apologize to thousands of women in a new book. It wasn't the usual tell-all book a major book publisher was expecting. He said, “I know, it's a shame. I slept with as many women as I possibly could while on the road with the groups.”  

“It's full of regrets,” said a spokeswoman on behalf of the publisher.  

Being a sex icon of the horn section, this can happen quite easily, the player said.  

“I became a vegetarian, practiced yoga, even gave up laughing for a bit, but nothing toned down the interest and the groupies were everywhere,” said the high-note man.  

Having so much sex – sometimes bedding as many as three women a day – is commonly believed to have been merely a substitute for a mother's love, said a noted psychologist.  

“Oh, that wasn't the case at all. I was totally in it for the chicks and the high notes. But mostly the chicks,” said the player.  

Clearly a case of shallow mouthpieces and shallow morals was the affliction of this lad.  

Using his seductive powers of high notes, along with a relaxed sound and intense vibrato, he bedded countless women along the journey in town after town. Turning on the exciting charm of his horn night after night, it was not unlike a siren drawing women to him.  

“When I returned to my dressing room after the show, they were waiting for me. There was no escaping them, but I want everyone to know I accept full responsibility,” he said.  

In a back-of-an-envelope calculation, he estimates he slept with roughly 3,000 women.  

“It's a shame, and I will work to live with no regrets, except this one. To women everywhere...” he said as a small tear began to stream from the corner of his eye, “I'm deeply sorry that I wasn't able to get to all of you.”  

Adding, “Gimme a break, I'm only one man!”  

All you need - to do is go to the source

SHOCKING

ATROMBONE major recently decided that after investing countless hours on Facebook playing Farmville, he wanted something to show for all his efforts. He switched from being a trombone music major to majoring in Farmville, a new field of study offered by the college.  

“I've even dropped my minor in math so I could focus exclusively on my new major,” the university student said cheerfully.  

He related a tiny bit of family history which could explain his impulsive change in careers.  

Years ago, his father was searching for the best auto insurance rates. He spent so much time reading policies, talking with insurance agents, watching TV ads and studying online articles that, after selecting the holy grail of policies, he concluded he needed to account for all this wasted time. So dear old Dad declared to the family one night over dinner, “I've invested so much in learning about this insurance stuff, I might as well sell this crap!” and he quit his job as a gondolier to become an insurance agent for a company with an annoying iconic talking mascot. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree when it comes to making sudden drastic changes in a person's choice of a livelihood.  

A college Dean stated that this was the sign of times to come in University programs.  

“After a vote at a local pub with most of the faculty on hand, it was officially decided to remove some of the less-popular courses from the curriculum in favor of those with more popular themes among young people such as Farmville,” said the Dean as he adjusted his tweed jacket and pipe.  

A professor, resting comfortable in his office wearing slippers, added, “We decided to make way for a Farmville major by reducing clutter in the program like math courses and physics. I mean, physics with the whole Big Bang Theory and all that, it's been talked about to death and no one wants hear about it anymore. We are just so over talking about the Big Bang Theory. And it was so long ago, today's student body simply can't relate to it.” As for most of the history courses, the consensus among the group was that they are yesterday's news and often don't have a happy ending.  

“We have to consider the attention span of most students as we compete with movies and reality TV shows,” said the jazz professor, who suddenly began some exotic hand-clapping rhythm as he became totally distracted watching the cheerleaders rehearse outside his office window.  

When the reality sets in of the apparent uselessness of spending hours acquiring a skill for which society has no purpose – coupled with insurmountable student loans – the question becomes: how can a college degree in Farmville be used to earn a living?  

The college Dean is quick to answer, “That's simple. A graduate with a degree in Farmville can get a job teaching!”  

When asked what college courses it qualifies one to teach, he said, “A wide selection of them: Introduction to Farmville, Intermediate Farmville, Independent Farmville Field Study, and Advanced Agricultural Methods of Farmville. Someone has to educate the over 45 million monthly active users of Farmville.”  

“See?” quite confidently said the former trombone major.  

Save – on modern tuition

LEAD PLAYERS ONLY

  AN apparent pep-talk from an experienced lead trumpet professional guest lecturer at a college turned out to be far different from the expectations of the rookies in the trumpet section.  

Brass Informant has obtained a recording from an anonymous source of what was planned to be a trumpet sectional rehearsal for an upcoming circus gig, held to gain a group of young students some real world playing experience during a monthly master class. The event has been transcribed with help from eye-witness student accounts.  

Adhering to University privacy rules, the students will be referred to as pseudonyms “Shelly Levine” and “Dave Moss.” Professors' names were changed to protect those up for tenure.  

Shortly before the trumpet sectional begins Shelly Levine, a graduate student, asked his trumpet professor for assistance.  

“I have some problems, personal problems, I ...” to which the Professor coldly told Shelly, “Yes, I know, I heard you warming up.”  

Undeterred, Shelly pressed further, “I could really use one of those new mouthpieces to get me through this gig.” The Professor sharply reminded him, “That's what we are going to talk about tonight. After the sectional, AFTER the sectional,” leaving Shelly to recoil to his seat.  

An unknown man, in his mid-forties, dressed in an extremely expensive suit with slicked-back hair entered the room and put his luxury gig bag on the desk in front of a huge blackboard. No one but the Professor was familiar with this gentleman. His BMW car vanity license plate read, “BLAKE”.  

“Lemme have your attention for a moment,” said Blake in a clear yet demanding tone. “So you’re talking about what? You’re talking about that third valve slide is gummed up. Bitching about some part you don’t want to play, some mouthpiece rim you’re trying to screw? Well, let’s talk about something important!”  

Shelly gave a slight shrug and proceeded to drip valve oil on his removed first valve during Blake's presentation.  

“Put that valve oil down! Valve oil's for lead players only,” Blake barked at Shelly. “You think I’m kidding you? I am NOT kidding you. I’m here from the musician’s local. I’m here from the Brass Arrangers Guild and I’m here on a mission of mercy. You, your name’s what? Shelly? You call yourself a trumpeter you son of a cymbal player?”  

Dave Moss, a fifth year senior got up and started for the door muttering, “I don’t gotta listen to this crap.”  

“You certainly don’t, pal.” said Blake in a sarcastic tone. “Because the good news is: you’re fired. The bad news is, you’ve got - all of you got - just one week to regain your chair in the trumpet section. Starting with tonight’s rehearsal.” Blake proceeded coyly, “Oh: have I got your attention now? Good.”  

Blake retrieved a leading trumpet maker's advertising poster from his gig bag and pinned it up on the bulletin board. “'Cause we’re adding a little incentive for those who play in the trumpet section this month. As you all know, first prize is a custom edition titanium diamond-encrusted trumpet for your endorsement and a two-year performance contract with the circus when you graduate. Anyone want to see second prize? Second prize is a set of wire mouthpiece brushes,” which Blake tossed to the desk as if he was discarding trash. Their bounce on the table had all eyes in the room staring at the cheap product.  

Blake stepped back from the desk with his hands in his suit pockets and announced, “Third prize is you’re fired and I will make it my personal mission to see to it that you never work in this business again. Everybody get the picture? You laughing now?”  

Blake lifted up a stack of sheet music and continued, “You got charts. Management paid good money for those charts. You can’t play the charts you are given? You can’t play garbage, you ARE garbage, hit the bricks, pal and beat it ‘cause you are going out!”  

Shelly, visibly shaken by this unusual trumpet sectional, tried to reason with Blake, “The charts are weak.” Blake, showing no signs of sympathy, said “The charts are weak? The freakin' charts are weak?!? YOU’RE weak. I’ve been in this business 15 years...” interrupted by Moss mustering to reply in a challenging tone, “What’s your name?”  

“Kiss my brass, that’s my name.” Blake spoke in his most confrontational pose yet towards Moss. “You know why, mister? 'Cause you carried your horn here tonight in a smelly old case with a broken latch tied with kite string. I carried my horn here in a custom-made leather fur-lined quad case with a built-in iPad holder – that’s my name!” To the young players, it was made crystal clear they didn't run in the same circles as Blake.  

Blake then turned to a sullen Shelly and continued his attack, “And your name is you're wanting. You can’t play in a real trumpet section? Can’t play through an entire chart without faking it? Then go to your dorm room and tell your girlfriend your troubles.”  

Blake in an athletic coaches voice added, “Because only one thing counts in this life, get the part played the way it was intended. You hear me you fagotti

?”  

Blake motioned to the blackboard and continued his lecture from his chalk writings. “ABC, A - Always, B - Be, C- Closing, Always Be Closing, Always Be Closing your aperture as you ascend into the upper register!”  

Looking disgruntled Moss mumbled, “Incredible.” Without missing a beat Blake addressed the remark, “What's the problem, pal? You. Moss.”  

In his half-baked attempt to be macho, Moss said, “Well, you're such a trumpet hero, you're so successful. Why are you coming down here and wasting your time on a bunch of bums?”  

Blake flashed a small smirk and placed in Moss' hand a heavy gold ornately engraved trumpet mouthpiece. “You see this mouthpiece? You see this mouthpiece?” Moss said, “yeah” softly.  

Blake in a matter of fact voice said, “This mouthpiece costs more than your car. I made $97,000 last year just doing flugelhorn doubles, how much did you make? You see, that’s who I am and you’re nothing. Nice guy? I could give a dented mute, go work a pre-school. You wanna work here, play! I can, tonight, with the charts you have in front of you play through them without taking the horn off my face, no rests, not miss a note or page turn. Can you? Can you? Get mad, get mad you flute players.”  

From his gig bag, Blake removed a key-chain sporting two shiny dangling objects and held them to his crotch. “You know what it takes to play lead trumpet? It takes brass bells!” tossing them on the desk, causing Shelly to slump in his chair.  

Blake stared down the players and continued, “The charts are in your folders. Work on them, play them as written! You don’t, I got no sympathy for you, and you know what you’ll be saying? A bunch of losers sitting around sniffing rosin, tending counter...some stuffy string shop near campus...oh, yeah, I use to be a lead trumpet player. It’s a tough racket.”  

The Professor then handed Blake a small leather display case. “These are the new mouthpieces. These are the Glengarry mouthpieces and to you they're not just gold-plated, they are pure gold. And you don’t get them. Why? Because to give them to you is just throwing them away. They're for lead players. I’d wish you good luck and breath control, but you wouldn’t know what to do with it if you got either.”  

Turning to Moss, “And to answer your question, pal. Why I am here, I came here because the music contractor asked me here to do a favor. I said the real favor, is to fire your sorry brass 'cause a loser is a loser.”  

Be prepared – to be an original

LIP POLICE

  FLYING used to be a simple and often enjoyable experience for passengers, before beefed-up security and advanced passenger-screening methods were put into place.  

A pattern has emerged in which a specific group is being unfairly singled out. Brass players are being detained by airport security based on secret new directives referred to covertly as “brass profiling.” Airport security denies the charge and maintains they are randomly selecting passengers for screening. It further denies that the general public has registered complaints about having to travel with brass players or that there have been incidents where passengers have refused to board the same plane, returning to the terminal and asking to be placed on another flight.  

A musician union representative feels that, “The airlines have never really been brass-player friendly, starting with our protest of how instrument baggage has been handled by the 'throwers' (slang for baggage handlers).”  

Brass players as individuals are not a security risk, one confidential source said. Nor are they as a group. “Quite frankly, they tend to annoy the other passengers and the airlines feel it would be best if they could somehow be singled out for group seating when possible. If that doesn't work, they hope the additional harassment will be sufficient to discourage them from flying,” the source said.  

The fears are that brass musicians will cause problems for the flight crew.  

A stewardess said, “One incident involved a brass player who objected to the in-flight music and kept asking passengers, 'Hey, what's on your iPod? Oh, I see … have you ever actually heard a musician play live in your freakin' life?'”  

Brass Informant has obtained from a highly confidential source the check-list created by the airline industry and supplied to airport security:  

*** ALERT *** ALERT *** ALERT ***

Summary: Information has been collected from field operations, in-flight crews, and reservation systems to improve flight operations. Hold regular briefings to make all personnel aware of these objectives.

Directive: Detain these type of passengers for random selection.

1. Instrument cases

Those carrying instrument cases that won't allow them to be checked as regular baggage. Those carrying a trumpet case offering to fly the plane. Those carrying a trombone case asking for more leg room. Those carrying a French horn case asking to be seated with string passengers. Those carrying a tuba case asking to be seated at the back of the airplane.

2. Facial lip issues and mannerisms

Those who exhibit stress marks on their lips. Those who exhibit a constant flapping of the lips, producing a high-toned buzz or who appear to be spitting out an imaginary particle of food while tightening the corners of the mouth.

3. Fellow passenger comfort issues

Those taking a special interest in the lips of fellow passengers, often making inappropriate inquiries to see their teeth to discuss their “placement” or “pivot” or producing several brass player mouthpieces asking them to “buzz” to further discuss and examine their “set-up.” Those asking fellow passengers if they might be an “up stream” or “down stream.” Those performing what is commonly referred to as “the pencil exercise” with their lips. Those who continue to tighten the corners of their lips followed by an abrupt exhale.

4. Electronic devices

Those who have MP3 players which contain only brass soloist recordings. Those who only have video of live music performances on their cell phones.

5. Use of special covert language

Embouchure, chops, spit-valve, valve oil, mouthpiece and horn freezing. On jumbo jets those referring to the first and second levels, or first class vs. coach as being “up” or “down an octave.” Referring to the human heart as a metronome.

6. Unintended use of in-flight equipment and facilities

Using the tray tables as music stands. Use of in-flight restroom for washing out a mouthpiece, or attempting to soak part of a horn or its slides in the sink.

7. Interference with airline personnel duties

Those who make inquiries to the personnel asking who is performing on in-flight music, then showing a noticeable sign of disgust and frustration when no one else takes an interest in the request. Those who refer to the pilot as a conductor and the stewardesses as waitresses or showgirls. Those asking if riser seating is available. Asking the captain if jet fuel would make a good valve oil. Asking the air marshal if he or she plays a wind instrument or is the “air” part just an honorary title.

***

The discussion at a musicians union press conference held on the steps of the airport became passionate.  

“The practice of being singled out for no other reason than someone's profession or hobby is another form of discrimination. Our money is just as green as anyone else's. We are your brothers, your sisters, and to corporate America we are your customers. It has to be stopped,” said the musicians union representative, expressing himself in a loud and clear voice.  

“We just want to be treated like everyone else,” he said, pounding the podium righteously.  

A brass player available was asked to comment. “No, that's incorrect. I don't agree with the union on this one. I don't want to be treated like everyone else. I'm a lead trumpet player. Come on, I expect to be treated better than everyone else.”  

You should continue – to practice

UNDER THE INFLUENCE

  WHILE it is common practice for budding medical students to be told that when they hear hoof steps to think horses rather than zebras as a lesson to practical diagnoses, not so for this upper Midwestern university's college undergraduate pre-med students who were throughly convinced they had captured a real-life unicorn on their very own college campus.  

The galloping subject was stumbling his way through campus knocking over trash cans, then spotted trying to crawl into a dumpster when he was cornered and captured by a group of pre-med students returning from a late-night party.  

“Look! It's a freakin' unicorn! Let's get 'em!” cried out one of the students said a witness. They immediately texted and phoned their teaching assistants about this stunning discovery while in pursuit. University full professors weren't available because they were on sabbaticals, guest lecturing at other colleges and on book tours.  

A series of diagnostic intelligence tests, usually referred to as “Common Horse Sense,” were administered by the students.  

“These tests were designed to determine the intelligence of horses, donkeys, mules and zebras,” said a university graduate assistant. He ponied up additional details: “To our amazement, the unicorn in our custody failed all equine intelligence and coordination tests, scoring shockingly low.”  

The students locked the captured quadruped in the lab. Hours of study under bright lights and webcams revealed that this amazing discovery was nothing more than the marching band's sousaphone player in a horse costume embellished with a few minor alterations to resemble a unicorn.  

At this point the student-run scientific team was convinced they were no longer dealing with an actual equine's lost four-legged cousin. The involuntary urine test captured into a faculty member's empty coffee mug indicated that the unicorn in question had consumed alcohol, likely at an all-night kegger held on the edge of campus. Once out of the restraints of the lab, the sousaphone player was turned over to the police who charged him with being intoxicated on campus, failure to carry student identification and reckless hoofing.  

Seek out – someone who's always on a steady course

POULTRY PERCUSSIONIST

  ACOMMUNITY band rehearsing in a sleepy little Southwestern town was visited by a big chicken. No, not the kind that backs down from a dare, but an actual chicken – and not just your regular farm-variety chicken, but a giant Rhode Island Red chicken.  

Standing a tremendous five-foot-tall, her enormous growth is attributed to a local farmer who has been experimenting with advanced growth hormones in livestock in an effort to increase profits. “Bigger chickens, bigger eggs, it's a no-brainer,” said the farmer. Adding, “I've also been playing concert band music on the PA system in the hen house because it helps keep the hens quiet.”  

The large chicken, nicknamed by the locals as Henrietta, invaded the rehearsal and headed straight for the percussion section. “This crazy chick arrived unannounced during a xylophone solo. She let out a loud squawk, pushed the player out of the way and started to peck out the solo,” said a trumpet player for the band. The conductor of the band claimed, under his baton she played in time emphasizing, “Never have I heard such a sharp crisp clean staccato from our percussion section.”  

So impressed was the ensemble with the performance of their newly found fine-feathered musician, Henrietta became a featured performer on the concert later that week. “Henrietta received a standing ovation and totally won over the audience,” said a French horn player. A tuba player was delighted with their new addition saying, “You know, with a chicken around and the molting of feathers, hardly anyone complains about the huge amount of spit I leave on the floor anymore.”  

The leader of the percussion section felt threatened by the talents of the bird with her ability to so easily peck out a solo without numerous rehearsals. “I don't care if she can play the part, she's a chicken and she'll never replace me 'cause I'm the one who drives the equipment van. So there!” said the percussionist.  

A good – bird