The music that made me: The saxophone

“The audience will remember the beginning and the end, not the middle”, my music teacher would tell us, conducting the orchestra in the thick of rehearsals. Safe to say, I remember very clearly where and when my time in music began.  

I was eight years old, and my saxophone was almost as big as me. I had just started lessons in year four of primary school on Friday afternoons, my elder brother and I having been won over by an assembly-time showcase from a local teacher called Tim who circuited the schools in our area. Fast forward 11 years, and I’ve played the same alto sax ever since. It looks a whole lot smaller now and a tad rustier too.  

The saxophone wasn’t actually my first instrument. There was a short-lived prelude where I begged my parents for African drumming lessons – surely the result of some stellar advertising. Thankfully, that phase didn’t last long. The rich, soothing sound of the sax – gleaming gold curves and all – was clearly more enticing to me than banging on a log. 

I had an absolute blast getting to grips with my new woodwind friend

My brother and I started out on the sax sharing the same second-hand instrument, which currently stands near me in my university flat, still going strong over a decade later. I quickly fell into the swing of things, learning my musical ABCs (and everything in between) as we both blew our way through the ‘Abracadabra’ beginners book, a common starting point in the musician circle for the newly-initiated.  

The weekend would get off to a flying start with my weekly sax lesson, as I was permitted to leave class early to the envy of my friends waiting for ‘home time’. Playing everything from the three-note ‘Hot Cross Buns’ – with that foghorn-esque beginners’ sound – to Henry Mancini’s jazzy  ‘The Pink Panther’ – which I proudly showcased to my class – I had an absolute blast getting to grips with my new woodwind friend.  

Dad was just as excited as we were, printing out swathes of sheet music for us to have a crack at and hoping we’d master the likes of Gerry Rafferty’s epic ‘Baker Street’ that early on. It would take a while, truth be told. 

The motivation to practice can be hard to come by early on, but once the muscle memory is established, you can kick your learning curve into overdrive

I have some early home videos of me playing around this time; including the odd recording of ‘Happy Birthday’ I was convinced to do for a family friend. One performance I remember vividly was playing a piece for my grandad over FaceTime, in what must have been his last year. I wish he could have heard my brother and I play some more. 

There’s an art to playing the saxophone, requiring you to master things like breath control and ‘tonguing’ – producing that nice punchy sound. Cleaning it also requires a lot of patience. From carefully aligning the fragile reed on the mouthpiece, to lubricating the neck with a little cork grease for ease of assembly, and eventually packing it away again into its dusty-smelling case – after stuffing a tea towel down the bell-end to mop up the accumulated spittle – it’s certainly a labour, but a labour of love at that. Dedication is a prerequisite for any budding musician’s journey. The motivation to practice can be hard to come by early on, but once the muscle memory is established, you can kick your learning curve into overdrive. 

Moving up to secondary school, I was fortunate to be part of the scholarship programme from years seven to 11, which introduced me to some of my closest friends. The day-to-day music schedule quickly became stacked, with early starts meaning I was often the first one to turn on the lights in the cold and dark music block. I also started taking official exams, completing the dreaded Grade 8 by year 11 after returning from Covid. Seeing I’d passed made the mounting anxiety and hours of getting under my parents’ skin with interminable scales and arpeggios worth it. 

The career choice that they make to dedicate themselves to inspiring young people to play instruments – and to have fun in the process – is something we must appreciate more and more as creative arts funding at state schools continues to be slashed

One of the highlights of my secondary school time was the annual Christmas Carol Concert in the magical surroundings of the Priory Church. The season to be jolly truly began with that showcase of student talent, culminating in the ecstasy of Leroy Anderson’s ‘Sleigh Ride’, and elevated by the majestic acoustics of the towering setting. We’d grown to learn our parts off by heart by the end of Sixth Form, a friend and I bursting into the jazzy section labelled ‘F’ on command. Returning to the church for 2024’s concert as an audience member not in the throng of blue blazers was incredibly poignant for me. It brought home not only the swift passage of time, but also how some little things remain how they were as we leave our small towns pursuing our disparate careers. 

Afterwards, I sought out my former music teachers and had some wholesome reunions. The career choice that they make to dedicate themselves to inspiring young people to play instruments – and to have fun in the process – is something we must appreciate more and more as creative arts funding at state schools continues to be slashed. Ed Sheeran’s recent calls for more funding to be channelled into music education are incredibly necessary; the beautiful effect of fostering self-expression through music is something we must always champion, and never lose. 

Looking at the sax in the corner of my room, I have pangs of longing for those bygone times. Doing the rounds of the Christmas assemblies to play ‘The 12 Days of Christmas’ over and again with my bandmates (as we were drowned out by a sea of students belting the lyrics); performing on the Quay for both the Food Festival and Sixth Form Commencement ceremonies; winning a decent amount of trophies at local school music festivals; and an unforgettable tour weekend in Devon in 2019 we still look back on with a smile. 

If my sax-playing journey taught me anything about music, it’s how confidence-boosting that feeling of progress is, how healing that feeling of escape is, and how performing brings with it community and laughter.

As I write from university now, consumed by my degree and other burgeoning interests, my faithful saxophone with whom I have gone through thick and thin often goes unnoticed behind my door. Even if I no longer pick it up as frequently, locked in that dusty-smelling case are memories I will always have, and which shaped my personal growth up until today. I think anyone who has played an instrument from such an early age would agree with that sentiment. Hopefully I can get back into the rhythm this summer.  

If my sax-playing journey taught me anything about music, it’s how confidence-boosting that feeling of progress is, how healing that feeling of escape is, and how performing brings with it community and laughter. For me, everything that has come with the saxophone – close friends, unique experiences, wonderful memories – I owe to that moment my first teacher walked into my year four assembly. Tim and I continued mucking around in our lessons together until last year, when my brother and I asked him to sign our old weekly progress notepads which he would fill in with words of encouragement once upon a time – childish ‘great work!’ stickers plastered all over the front.  

One of the final things we did as a school band was tour the local feeder schools to showcase our instruments to the primary pupils. Seeing the wide-eyed kids watching us, I wonder if any of them were inspired that day – like myself, long ago – to pick up an instrument. If so, I hope they treasure that journey to the utmost, and that they remember where it began, in school, as clearly as I do. Learning to play music is a life-changing and thrilling adventure, but it’s the teachers –  who bring out that first spark of imagination and dedicate their time to helping young people thrive and fly – who will always be heroes.