One of the great tragedies in my life is that my brother ADORES saxophones.
I have no idea how this came about. I play a brass instrument with that pure, beautiful brass sound (though Mom frequently likes to remind me that it sounded like there was a dying whale in my bedroom back when I was learning to play). Saxophones are wonderful when it comes to jazz, but I contend that they’re obnoxious in any other setting.
However, when we go to any sort of musical performance, Dude scans the orchestra or band frantically while repeating over and over “No saxophone.” “No saxophone.” “No saxophone.” “No saxophone.”
Sometimes he gets specific and says, “No tenor saxophone.” “No tenor saxophone.” “No tenor saxophone.” (Sorry, altos. No love for you.)
Sometimes he breaks down the word into deliberate syllables. “SAX. O. PHONE.” “SAX. O. PHONE.” “SAX. O. PHONE.”
He’s in love. And I just don’t get it.