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Mostly the attempts at cannon fire with cannons and muskets. I carried a set of earplugs in my gigbag just for every time the orchestra would end an outside concert with this. I didn't enjoy playing with my ears closed, but even my racing plugs often proved ineffective. That, and they always seem to have the most unmusical of operators firing off said implements of destruction. I think even violists would be better!

windshieldbug wrote:Mostly the attempts at cannon fire with cannons and muskets.

I remember playing this at an outdoor concert on the Fourth of July. The cannon fire was a shotgun fired into a trash can. When I heard the conductor say to the shotgunnist, "Set up right behind the tuba", I explained that the tuba would not be participating if this occurred. The cannon was moved and the French Horns were the ones visiting the ear doctor on the fifth.

When I played it (with an orchestra), I did it as a joint thing with the Chicago Youth Symphony Orchestra and the Chicago Sinfonietta (I was in the Youth orchestra). The Youth brass got to play the off-stage parts, which involved us being in the balcony above the audience, play very few notes. As much as I love that song, we kinda got screwed.

OTOH, I played the band arrangement with a municipal band I've been playing with this summer, and absolutely loved playing it. It was very intense with a lot of emotion behind it. I feel like 1812 is one of those pieces that can't be played well without that emotion behind the music.

Two performances come to mind:

1) The T. festival at Royal Albert Hall every January. I attended in 1980 and 1982. It was the first time I had heard it with real mortars. They were set up in the top balcony, and the first time one went off, I know I must have cleared my seat by at least 3 inches! Magnificient.

2) Every year, the local symphony performs it at the local, which has become area, then regional, now multi-state sized hoop-la on the Saturday before the 4th. A Guard unit is stationed here, so they bring the real artillery and line them up fanning out from both sides of the orchestra, along with a huge, huge fireworks display choreographed to the music. Musicianship is in the very good to excellent range, depending on the year and the conductor, and to have real artillary is the icing on the cake.

In both these examples, the pyrotechnics are far enough away from the orchestra that ear damage is not a concern, as it should be. Moreover, to spread them out gives more of the broad battlefield effect that I'm sure T. was after, especially with the way the development section was written, before the climax. I've never played it in this kind of a setting. If I ever do, I hope I'm in the same kind of company that does spread out the cannon fire.

Played it my senior year of high school. My band director was an ex-marine and the main reason I joined the Corps. He used carbide cannons that gave a good bang for the buck and performing with the guns going off, for a high schooler, was about as much fun as I had ever had with my clothes on.

When the terms "1812 Overture" and cannons or artillery occur in the same sentence, you need hearing protection. It doesn't matter if it is seen. People need to know this stuff will damage your hearing. I played the standard band arrangement when I was with the band at Fort Dix, joined by the bands from Fort Monmouth and McGuire Air Force Base and we all wore headphone type hearing protectors! We used every piece of artillery we could get at Fort Dix.

The only complaint we got was that the band was too loud, especially the tuba players.

A memorable performance was an outdoor affair with three 150mm Howitzers. Two problems: they had not rehearsed with the orchestra, the orchestra was not informed.

When the first Howitzer fired, the entire orchestra jumped several feet, it was an astonishing sound. The number of people who continued to play was lower than the number of people who left their seat.

At the continued firings, we flinched but began to hold our ground... until the acrid smoke started to slowly drift over the orchestra.

The brass could hardly breathe, no one could see their music but fortunately, the conductor was obscured from view. We were somehow able to complete the performance.

No one could utter a word when we stopped (I hesitate to say "finished"). We just stood there, deaf to the applause.

Frasier: "Remember when you used to think that the 1812 Overture was a great piece of classical music?"

Niles: "Was I ever that young?"

What follows is an urban legend, but is told so damn well that it's just fun to read.

August, 1998, Montevideo, Uruguay -- Paolo Esperanza, bass-trombonist with the Simphonica Mayor de Uruguay, in a misplaced moment of inspiration decided to make his own contribution to the cannon shots fired as part of the orchestra's performance of Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture at an outdoor children's concert.

In complete seriousness he placed a large, ignited firecracker, which was equivalent in strength to a quarter stick of dynamite, into his aluminum straight mute and then stuck the mute into the bell of his quite new Yamaha in-line double-valve bass trombone. Later, from his hospital bed he explained to a reporter through bandages on his mouth, "I thought that the bell of my trombone would shield me from the explosion and instead, would focus the energy of the blast outward and away from me, propelling the mute high above the orchestra, like a rocket."

However, Paolo was not up on his propulsion physics nor qualified to use high-powered artillery and in his haste to get the horn up before the firecracker went off, he failed to raise the bell of the horn high enough so as to give the mute enough arc to clear the orchestra.

What actually happened should serve as a lesson to us all during those delirious moments of divine inspiration. First, because he failed to sufficiently elevate the bell of his horn, the blast propelled the mute between rows of players in the woodwind and viola sections of the orchestra, missing the players and straight into the stomach of the conductor, driving him off the podium and directly into the front row of the audience.

Fortunately, the audience were sitting in folding chairs and thus they were protected from serious injury, for the chairs collapsed under them passing the energy of the impact of the flying conductor backwards into row of people sitting behind them, who in turn were driven back into the people in the row behind and so on, like a row of dominos. The sound of collapsing wooden chairs and grunts of people falling on their Behinds increased logarithmically, adding to the overall sound of brass cannons and brass playing as constitutes the closing measures of the Overture.

Meanwhile, all of this unplanned choreography not withstanding, back on stage Paolo's Waterloo was still unfolding. According to Paolo, "Just as I heard the sound of the blast, time seemed to stand still. Everything moved in slow motion. Just before I felt searing pain to my mouth, I could swear I heard a voice with a Austrian accent say "Fur every akshon zer iz un eekvul un opposeet reakshon!"

Well, this should come as no surprise, for Paolo had set himself up for a textbook demonstration of this fundamental law of physics. Having failed to plug the lead pipe of his trombone, he allowed the energy of the blast to send a super heated jet of gas backwards through the mouth pipe of the trombone which exited the mouthpiece burning his lips and face.

The pyrotechnic ballet wasn't over yet. The force of the blast was so great it split the bell of his shiny Yamaha right down the middle, turning it inside out while at the same time propelling Paolo backwards off the riser.

And for the grand finale, as Paolo fell backwards he lost his grip on the slide of the trombone allowing the pressure of the hot gases coursing through the horn to propel the trombone's slide like a double golden spear into the head of the 3rd clarinetist, knocking him unconscious.

Kevin Miller wrote:What follows is an urban legend, but is told so damn well that it's just fun to read.

Busted!

Episode 11: Sinking Titanic, Goldfish Memory, Trombone Explosion
In this episode, Jamie and Adam explore a "titanic" legend: Will a sinking ship suck you down as it goes under? Things keep flowing as they try to find an answer to the eternal question: Are goldfish bored or just plain stupid? Our mythbusters will determine once and for all whether the fish can remember anything for longer than three seconds. On a more explosive note: Will throwing a lit firecracker down the neck of a trombone make your music sweeter? Uh—huh.

It may be a "busted myth",

Kevin Miller wrote:but is told so damn well that it's just fun to read

Boanerges wrote:A new result of *shock and awe*

Well, maybe not awe, but definately shock!