- Joined
- Jan 29, 2008
- Location
- Beulah FL, a suburb of Pensacola
Well, we do need fewer potential professional musicians, so that might work to our advantage...
What's Wrong With This Picture?
- Thread starter jbtsax
- Start date
- Joined
- Dec 26, 2007
- Joined
- Nov 24, 2009
I find fault in ads like that.
I even saw a photo of a sax in a music catalog by a wholesaler sent to retail stores with the sax mpc upside down.
And while I notice them, laugh at them, and sometimes even get slightly bugged by them, they are never a deal maker or a deal breaker for me.
Notes ♫
I even saw a photo of a sax in a music catalog by a wholesaler sent to retail stores with the sax mpc upside down.
And while I notice them, laugh at them, and sometimes even get slightly bugged by them, they are never a deal maker or a deal breaker for me.
Notes ♫
- Joined
- Dec 26, 2007
My opinion is that if you're just shooting promo shots for a musical instruments catalog, there's no problem: you expect that. If you're shooting it to advertise the music department, there's a problem. The photog could have, at the very least, called up the music department and asked how to hold a sax properly. Hey, if I had a choice of music schools to go to, I'd have some second thoughts about attending this one.
- Joined
- Jan 29, 2008
- Location
- Beulah FL, a suburb of Pensacola
It wouldn't have put me off music school. That happened when I was in high school, and the musical director for the district sat me down and explained just how little money I would be looking at if I did decide to follow the musical muse. Even as a high school junior, I knew enough about the cost of living to figure the odds.
It was the second time in my young life that I had such an epiphany. The first came in junior high school, at a time when I was infatuated with the world of astronomy and astrophysics.
(My parents indulged me in summer courses (at the high school level), probably hoping that I would (through my interest in what went on inside a star's core) regain our position in the space race. Or, maybe they were just being nice.)
Anyway, at one of the courses (at Saint Louis' shining new planetarium, albeit down in the bowels of the thing - they only fired up the star projector for us one time in three month's time), the head of the relatively new astrophysics program at a local university gave us a picture of where our lives were headed should we want to keep our eyes on the stars. Then, he proceeded to describe just where a doctorate in astronomy would land us once we were hired. (This was the go-go 1960's, there was no mention of if we were hired.)
It seems that the life of a freshly minted doctorate program graduate consisted of looking for near and deep space objects through a plate comparator ("blink comparator") for eight hours a day, all the while getting paid squat. (This is how Clyde Tombaugh found "former planet" Pluto, only he was an unpaid volunteer with a high school education at the time. Things were a lot different in the 1930's, apparently.)
Since flying a plate comparator is roughly equivalent (in my mind, at least) to picking up cigarette butts on a very large parking lot (and since I hated all of the math involved anyway - the only way I got through math in high school and college was with a logarithm table firmly in hand), that was the end of astronomy and astrophysics for me.
I got through college - sort of - by majoring in "something else" (the then leading edge world of compucrap) whilst still playing in all of the ensembles open to the outsider, but never once darkening the door of a music professor.
In effect, I was a clarinet, bass clarinet, bassoon and saxophone whore. Most of all, I loved playing in the pit orchestras - by the last year of my education, I was playing in them all over Saint Louis. Not only were they fun and a great way to meet friendly young ladies, some of them paid good money.
Some of us take the Schöenberg route, others the Ivan Müller one. In the final reckoning , we all end up the same - dead.
It was the second time in my young life that I had such an epiphany. The first came in junior high school, at a time when I was infatuated with the world of astronomy and astrophysics.
(My parents indulged me in summer courses (at the high school level), probably hoping that I would (through my interest in what went on inside a star's core) regain our position in the space race. Or, maybe they were just being nice.)
Anyway, at one of the courses (at Saint Louis' shining new planetarium, albeit down in the bowels of the thing - they only fired up the star projector for us one time in three month's time), the head of the relatively new astrophysics program at a local university gave us a picture of where our lives were headed should we want to keep our eyes on the stars. Then, he proceeded to describe just where a doctorate in astronomy would land us once we were hired. (This was the go-go 1960's, there was no mention of if we were hired.)
It seems that the life of a freshly minted doctorate program graduate consisted of looking for near and deep space objects through a plate comparator ("blink comparator") for eight hours a day, all the while getting paid squat. (This is how Clyde Tombaugh found "former planet" Pluto, only he was an unpaid volunteer with a high school education at the time. Things were a lot different in the 1930's, apparently.)
Since flying a plate comparator is roughly equivalent (in my mind, at least) to picking up cigarette butts on a very large parking lot (and since I hated all of the math involved anyway - the only way I got through math in high school and college was with a logarithm table firmly in hand), that was the end of astronomy and astrophysics for me.
I got through college - sort of - by majoring in "something else" (the then leading edge world of compucrap) whilst still playing in all of the ensembles open to the outsider, but never once darkening the door of a music professor.
In effect, I was a clarinet, bass clarinet, bassoon and saxophone whore. Most of all, I loved playing in the pit orchestras - by the last year of my education, I was playing in them all over Saint Louis. Not only were they fun and a great way to meet friendly young ladies, some of them paid good money.
Some of us take the Schöenberg route, others the Ivan Müller one. In the final reckoning , we all end up the same - dead.