THE BABBLING ORCHESTRA
A work for Narrator, Piccolo and Orchestra
Text By Elliott Forrest
A little while ago,
Perhaps just the other day,
A piccolo player,
Just wanted to play.
(Music)
S/he’d blow a tune
That would soar aloft (music)
S/he’d play real loud, (music)
Then play real soft (music)
And while it was fun,
To play alone, both high and oh so low,
S/he longed to play with others,
Not just go solo.
So s/he ventured into town,
To see what s/he could see. (music)
And what s/he heard was shocking:
A wild, unruly, ca-coph-o-nee.
(music)
S/he followed the noise,
Til s/he found the stage,
Which was filled with musicians,
All in fits of rage.
(music)
She heard music and shouting,
Screaming and blats,
Odd notes and sad pouting.
All fighting like cats.
Then the piccolo player stopped to a screech,
For s/he heard something a bit strange:
All the players had a different way of speech,
An astonishing, varied, linguistical range.
The Tuba player spoke German,
(music)
The Trumpets from Spain.
(music)
The cellos from Italy.
(music)
The trombones, all Dane.
(music)
The Basses, Russian.
(music)
The Oboes, from Peru.
(music)
The Clarinets, Prussian.
(music)
The Bassoons from Timbuktu.
(music)
Half the flutes, spoke Arabic,
(music)
The other half, Chinese,
(music)
The French Horns, not French at all,
But spoke Czech with ease.
(music)
One drummer hailed from India
(Tabla sound)
Another from Katmandu
(music)
And if the concertmaster is the only one that’s Thailand,
There’s little one can do.
(music)
The violins and violas, all spoke English,
How could they possibly all fight?
But they did, since the violas came from stage left,
And the violins leaned to the right.
The piccolo player stood stunned,
How could they possibly all play together?
Perhaps the conductor could help,
Before the orchestra was doomed forever.
With a single finger to his/her lips,
The conductor quieted the band.
And a hush could be heard,
As s/he tapped on the stand.
The Woodwinds dwindled to a silent breeze.
The Strings so quiet you could hear the trees.
The Brass tumbled to the slightest roar,
While the Percussion, you couldn’t hear them anymore.
(music gets quieter and quieter….)
Now with the stage totally silent,
The conductor had the oboe play one note.
S/he started with a simple ‘A’.
It’s a good place to start, why vote?
The violins played too, that single note ‘A’,
Until all the strings joined in, why wouldn’t they?
Then the woodwinds, including the flutes.
Then the trumpets and trombones added their long toots.
What a glorious noise as all the rest tuned.
One note after another, as if they were festooned.
Yes, strings, winds, brass and tympani.
A many-as-one, symphony.
Then other notes were played around that “A”,
(Music)
Notes above and below, and it sounded more than OK!
The multitude of tones swirled around one another,
Until the orchestra sounded awesome, like no other.
(music)
The piccolo player stood amazed and excited.
The orchestra was playing together, united.
(music)
There’s a lesson in this s/he surmised with a grin,
When chaos is all around, don’t stop or give in.
Speech is not required to play and agree,
All that is needed -- are notes . . . and harmony.
(music)
Now was the time for the piccolo player to shine,
S/he took a deep breath and stiffened his/her spine,
Her/His dream had finally arrived to play with others.
And joined in the music with her/his new sisters and brothers.
(music – extended piccolo solo)
A little while ago,
Perhaps just the other day,
A piccolo player,
Just wanted to play. (Music)
© 2016-17 Forrest Productions, LLC
A work for Narrator, Piccolo and Orchestra
Text By Elliott Forrest
A little while ago,
Perhaps just the other day,
A piccolo player,
Just wanted to play.
(Music)
S/he’d blow a tune
That would soar aloft (music)
S/he’d play real loud, (music)
Then play real soft (music)
And while it was fun,
To play alone, both high and oh so low,
S/he longed to play with others,
Not just go solo.
So s/he ventured into town,
To see what s/he could see. (music)
And what s/he heard was shocking:
A wild, unruly, ca-coph-o-nee.
(music)
S/he followed the noise,
Til s/he found the stage,
Which was filled with musicians,
All in fits of rage.
(music)
She heard music and shouting,
Screaming and blats,
Odd notes and sad pouting.
All fighting like cats.
Then the piccolo player stopped to a screech,
For s/he heard something a bit strange:
All the players had a different way of speech,
An astonishing, varied, linguistical range.
The Tuba player spoke German,
(music)
The Trumpets from Spain.
(music)
The cellos from Italy.
(music)
The trombones, all Dane.
(music)
The Basses, Russian.
(music)
The Oboes, from Peru.
(music)
The Clarinets, Prussian.
(music)
The Bassoons from Timbuktu.
(music)
Half the flutes, spoke Arabic,
(music)
The other half, Chinese,
(music)
The French Horns, not French at all,
But spoke Czech with ease.
(music)
One drummer hailed from India
(Tabla sound)
Another from Katmandu
(music)
And if the concertmaster is the only one that’s Thailand,
There’s little one can do.
(music)
The violins and violas, all spoke English,
How could they possibly all fight?
But they did, since the violas came from stage left,
And the violins leaned to the right.
The piccolo player stood stunned,
How could they possibly all play together?
Perhaps the conductor could help,
Before the orchestra was doomed forever.
With a single finger to his/her lips,
The conductor quieted the band.
And a hush could be heard,
As s/he tapped on the stand.
The Woodwinds dwindled to a silent breeze.
The Strings so quiet you could hear the trees.
The Brass tumbled to the slightest roar,
While the Percussion, you couldn’t hear them anymore.
(music gets quieter and quieter….)
Now with the stage totally silent,
The conductor had the oboe play one note.
S/he started with a simple ‘A’.
It’s a good place to start, why vote?
The violins played too, that single note ‘A’,
Until all the strings joined in, why wouldn’t they?
Then the woodwinds, including the flutes.
Then the trumpets and trombones added their long toots.
What a glorious noise as all the rest tuned.
One note after another, as if they were festooned.
Yes, strings, winds, brass and tympani.
A many-as-one, symphony.
Then other notes were played around that “A”,
(Music)
Notes above and below, and it sounded more than OK!
The multitude of tones swirled around one another,
Until the orchestra sounded awesome, like no other.
(music)
The piccolo player stood amazed and excited.
The orchestra was playing together, united.
(music)
There’s a lesson in this s/he surmised with a grin,
When chaos is all around, don’t stop or give in.
Speech is not required to play and agree,
All that is needed -- are notes . . . and harmony.
(music)
Now was the time for the piccolo player to shine,
S/he took a deep breath and stiffened his/her spine,
Her/His dream had finally arrived to play with others.
And joined in the music with her/his new sisters and brothers.
(music – extended piccolo solo)
A little while ago,
Perhaps just the other day,
A piccolo player,
Just wanted to play. (Music)
© 2016-17 Forrest Productions, LLC