Category: books and articles

AI fails again

by Douglas Yeo (November 3, 2026)

Readers of TheLastTrombone know that while I believe artificial intelligence (AI) has many positive benefits, if one is not exceedingly careful, it is highly dangerous and misleading in very consequential ways. As a researcher and educator, I am very concerned about the role AI is increasingly playing in schools, as students rely on it to do research and write papers. My previous articles about this—ChatGPT and the trombone: Is this the end of writing and research? I don’t think so—and Why trombone players cannot trust artificial intelligence (AI) for historical information—outline some of my concerns.

Now I have another example to share with readers. If you are not suspicious of AI and you have a tendency to trust what ChatGPT or Claude tell you, please read on. Because what you are about to read is a story about a stunning failure of AI that is representative of one of the most dangerous aspects of this new technology: AI makes up stuff and represents it as truth.

My granddaughter is in sixth grade, her first year of middle school. Her history class is studying English history, and in particular, the Battle of Hastings. Fought on October 14, 1066, between the English army of King Harold II and the invading Norman army of William, Duke of Normandy, the Battle ended in Harold’s defeat and death, securing William’s claim to the English throne and paving the way for the Norman conquest of England. And the rest, truly, is history.

Last night, our daughter’s family came over to our house for dinner and my granddaughter and I had a really engaging conversation about the Bayeux tapestry (she has been learning about the tapestry in her class), which gives a spectacular visual account of the Battle of Hastings.

I don’t intend to give a detailed explanation of what happened on the battlefield in 1066—that’s not the main point of this article—but you can get a good summary HERE on the English Heritage website. This discussion of the Battle of Hastings employs many images from the Bayeux tapestry, an extraordinary 230 feet long embroidered cloth (technically it’s not a tapestry) thought to be made shortly after the Battle of Hastings. So, it is about 1000 years old. It is ordinarily on display in the Bayeux Museum in France but for a limited time from September 2026 to July 2027, it is on display in the British Museum in London.

David Wilson, The Bayeux Tapestry: The Complete Tapestry in Colour (London: Thames and Hudson, 2024).

Edited by Sue Brunning, Lloyd de Beer, Michael Lewis, and Naomi Speakman, The Bayeux Tapestry (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2026).

When my granddaughter and I were talking about the Bayeux tapestry last night, I paused our conversation and went to a shelf on my library and pulled down two of my books about the tapestry and the Battle of Hastings: David Wilson’s The Bayeux Tapestry: The Complete Tapestry in Colour (London: Thames and Hudson, 2024), and a new book edited by Sue Brunning, Lloyd de Beer, Michael Lewis, and Naomi Speakman, The Bayeux Tapestry (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2026). Both books have terrific production values and informative commentary.

Men looking at Halley’s comet, Bayeux tapestry panels 32 and 33

The tapestry is a fascinating historical document and full of famous segments. Among these is a group of men looking up at Halley’s comet (panels 32 and 33 in the tapestry, above) which streaked across the night sky for two weeks in April and May 1066 (over Harold’s head in the tapestry) and was viewed in the medieval world as a bad omen. The caption over this scene (in Latin) reads, “ISTI MIRANT STELLA”—”These men are marveling at the star.”

The death of Harold, Bayeux tapestry panel 57

Perhaps the most dramatic, important, and controversial panel on the tapestry depicts the death of Harold (panel 57 in the tapestry, above). The caption above reads, “HIC HAROLD REX INTERFECTUS EST”—”Here King Harold has been killed.”

Exactly how Harold died is a subject of ongoing controversy. Various sources give different ways in which Harold met his end but the tapestry appears to indicate that he died as the result of an arrow in his eye, and he was subsequently hacked by a Norman soldier’s sword. Harold appears twice in panel 57. (Keep in mind that the tapestry was meant to be viewed from left to right, like a long comic strip, and some characters appear more than once in a scene as the narrative unfolds.) First, the arrow hits Harold, although scholars disagree on whether the arrow was original to the tapestry or was added in the nineteenth century:

Harold is struck with an arrow, Bayeux tapestry panel 57 (detail)

Then, Harold is shown under a Norman soldier’s horse while being hacked with a sword. While you do this, note the small dots to the left of Harold’s head (in the red circle). Some scholars believe that these originally held the threads of an arrow in Harold’s eye that were later removed; others disagree with that conclusion):

Harold is struck with a sword, Bayeux tapestry, panel 57 (detail)

By now, you might be thinking, “Well, this is interesting, but what in the world does it have to do with artificial intelligence?” Actually, everything.

Because the Bayeux tapestry is, today, a part of many conversations around the world, I thought I would put artificial intelligence to the test. By now, I’m sure that AI has been fed an uncountable number of books, articles, and commentaries about the tapestry. I’m equally certain that hundreds—or thousands?—of people ask AI questions about the Bayeux tapestry every day. So, I decided to ask AI a simple question and see what it came up with. Here’s my question (below are actual screen shots from my online interaction with ChatGPT):

It’s a simple question and I wondered what AI would do with it. I even gave AI some help, and let it know that it might find Harold depicted more than once. I expected it would direct me to an online image of the Bayeux tapestry; provide me with a link; perhaps lead me to some commentary about the scene. ChatGPT worked for 1 minute and 10 seconds and delivered this image (with no commentary); the image was had the file name Bayeux Tapestry_ Two Harolds Identified.png:

The death of Harold on the Bayeux tapestry according to ChatGPT

Uh oh. Compare this to the actual tapestry:

The death of Harold, Bayeux tapestry, panel 57

Even a sixth grader can see that the two images don’t line up. They are completely different. Yes, both show a character that ChatGPT identified as Harold getting an arrow in his eye and then getting hacked with a sword. But everything is wrong. AI invented new characters; it changed the images of the tapestry’s top and bottom border; it even changed the direction Harold was facing when the arrow flew into his head. AI made up a completely new scene in the style of the Bayeux tapestry and represented it as the real thing. AI delivered a completely fictional image, an EPIC FAIL. It—to use the word that is popularly used to describe incorrect information that AI delivers as truth—hallucinated. Big time.

I wasn’t going to let ChatGPT off the hook. Of course, when we interact with AI, we’re not interacting with a person; we’re interacting with a machine. A highly developed machine. But it is not human; it does not have emotions and feelings. It does not care about you. Still, I decided to engage with AI about its failure. Game on, machine! I wrote the following statement, full of hyperbole because I wanted the machine’s algorithms to understand that I was annoyed at what it did:

This is a danger with AI that many people do not understand. AI makes up stuff. ALL. THE. TIME.

ChatGPT then replied to my scolding, and wrote this (part 1 of its response):

Part 1 of ChatGPT’s response to my criticizing it for hallucinating

You’ll see several things here. First, the machine is not apologizing. It’s a machine. It can’t apologize. It did, however, recognize that it is wrong. Its “apology” was remarkably honest in describing its failures. And these failures happen with AI ALL. THE. TIME. If you’re a lazy student and you ask AI a question, you are virtually guaranteed to have a visit to the Dean’s office if you don’t test EVERYTHING AI gives you. Because AI makes mistakes and propagates disinformation in the guise of truth ALL. THE. TIME.

ChatGPT then continued with its conclusion:

Part 2 of ChatGPT’s response to my criticizing it for hallucinating

Here, ChatGPT recalled that I have criticized it in the past. It recalled that I have repeatedly told it that when I learn historical information, I always work to triangulate it and find multiple sources that support a claim. AI does not do this. It makes pronouncements which are often unsupported. All researchers need to be honest enough to differentiate between evidence, inference, and speculation. (Actually, I never use the word “speculation” when I discuss these three types of conclusions; I always use the word “possibility.” But, hey, it’s AI. It’s no surprise it got this wrong.)

ChatGPT acknowledged that it created a counterfeit image, and it concluded its mea culpa by recognizing that what it did in creating a fictional image and representing it as an image of the Bayeux tapestry is, “precisely the sort of failure that makes AI-generated material dangerous in historical research.” Preach it, machine. I think it must be reading TheLastTrombone. (Actually, it probably is. AI data centers read vast quantities of what’s on the internet..)

Friends, I’m not making this up. This really happened. And it really happens. Please, please, please: NEVER accept anything that AI delivers to you as factual on its face. ALWAYS verify anything that AI delivers. ALWAYS. Without exception. Because if you don’t, you may find yourself in a dangerous place, much more dangerous than the Dean’s office. You may find yourself in a place as dangerous as Harold found himself at the Battle of Hastings. People are dying and becoming severely ill because they trust AI. I am not kidding you. Read about it HERE, HERE, HERE, and HERE. It’s not only that AI fails in trombone research, and other historical research. It’s not only that when you have AI write a paper for you, it will be full of incorrect information delivered with immaculate spelling and punctuation. AI fails at anything and everything. ALL. THE. TIME. Verify, verify, verify.

My sixth grade granddaughter knows that AI is not to be trusted. Now, what do YOU make of all of this?

Ancient Egypt’s “Mansion of Millions of Years” and the lessons of Ozymandias

by Douglas Yeo (June 4, 2026)

I am at work on several research and writing projects, including an article for the International Trumpet Guild Journal about the trumpet in ancient Egypt. Alongside that work, I continue to reflect on the trip to Egypt that my wife and I took in January of this year, and on our plans for a return trip in 2027.

One of the sites we plan to visit next year is Medinet Habu, the mortuary temple of Pharaoh Ramesses III (reigned 1187–1156 BC). Although he was not directly related to the much more famous Ramesses II (reigned 1279–1213 BC), Ramesses III is often considered the last of the great Pharaohs. Medinet Habu includes many reliefs that depict trumpets, and its decorative scheme is central to my article.

Today, while reading Aidan Dodson’s Rameses III: King of Egypt, His Life and Afterlife (Cairo: American University in Cairo, 2019), I came across this paragraph on page 83:

Since the beginning of Egyptian history, the ideal Egyptian tomb had comprised two distinct elements: an accessible offering place where the worlds of the living and the dead met, and where sustenance and prayers could be delivered as part of mortuary cult; and the actual burial place, usually subterranean, and intended to be sealed for eternity. By the time of Rameses III, the kingly implementation of this scheme comprised a memorial temple (or “mansion of millions of years”) close to the edge of the desert at Thebes West, and a subterranean tomb in a desert wadi—now known as the Valley of the Kings—beyond the curtain of cliffs that rose behind the royal memorial temples.

A “mansion of millions of years.” A million years is a long time. Millions of years is a span of time that is impossible for a human being to grasp. Still, after visiting Egypt and gaining some understanding of what made ancient Egypt and Egyptians tick—their complex religious beliefs, their art, and their system of government—I have become increasingly intrigued by the bold phrase “mansion of millions of years.”

Dodson’s book does not provide a citation for the phrase, but it is not a modern invention. It is rooted in ancient Egyptian usage.

When we were in Egypt earlier this year, I visited Chicago House, the home of the Epigraphic Survey of University of Chicago in Luxor. There, we met with Brett McClain, field director of the Survey, who has been immensely helpful to me in my research. The University of Chicago has had a presence in Egypt for over 100 years, and its work photographing and drawing the reliefs and inscriptions in dozens of Egyptian temples and monuments has been, and continues to be, vitally important to our understanding of ancient Egypt.

The cover of The Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu—Volume VIII, Plates 591–660. The Eastern High Gate with Translations of Texts (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1970). The University of Chicago has made its volumes of work by the Epigraphic Survey available for free online. This volume may be viewed and downloaded HERE.

In preparation for our visit to Medinet Habu in 2027, I have been reading the Epigraphic Survey’s many volumes about the temple. Dodson’s comment about the “mansion of millions of years” finds a secure ancient source in one of them (cover and link above): The Epigraphic Survey, Medinet Habu—Volume VIII, Plates 591–660. The Eastern High Gate with Translations of Texts (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1970). Plate 608 shows an epigraphic drawing of reliefs that depict “Rameses III Offering Ma’at to Ptah of Medinet Habu and Sekhmet.” The transcription of the hieroglyphic text is found on page seven. The first part of the translation reads:

Words spoken by Ptah the Great, South of (His) Wall, Lord of Ankhtowi, the great god who hears prayer, who resides in the Mansion of Millions of Years “United with Eternity” in the estate of Amon: “I have given you the lifetime of Re and the years of Atum. I have given you all health and all joy forever and eternally.”

There it is: a securely cited ancient Egyptian instance in which the Pharaoh’s temple was called “the Mansion of Millions of Years.” It was a bold claim. The ancient Egyptian Pharaohs truly thought they were gods and they would live forever. That’s why they constructed such elaborate tombs and mortuary temples—so they would have everything they needed to be transported to the afterlife and be remembered forever. Tomb robbers had something to say about that, as did the march of time and the drifting of sand.

My interest in Egypt runs deep and wide. I have written about this on TheLastTrombone—you can read about it HERE—and at this season of my life, I think, read, research, learn, and write about ancient Egypt every day. That ancient civilization is remembered for its pyramids, tombs, temples, and stunning artifacts, many of which are still present today. I am fascinated by all of this. But ancient Egypt itself—the culture, the civilization— is no longer with us. Today, Isis and Osiris, Ptah, and Sobek (and the rest of the pantheon of ancient Egyptian deities) are not worshipped as they were in ancient Egypt. World religions today generally do not include funerary traditions involving mummification. There has not been a Pharaoh for over 2000 years. But, like the Pharaohs of old, many of us also want to “live forever” in the minds and hearts of others, a sentiment born more of pride than humility.

The pyramids of the Giza Plateau, Egypt. Left to right: The “Great Pyramid” of Khufu, the pyramid of Khafre, the pyramid of Menkaure. Photo by Douglas Yeo, January 17, 2026.

And yet we are still talking about the Pharaohs today. The names of Ramesses II (“the Great”) and Tutankhamun, as well as Akhenaten, the female Pharaoh Hatshepsut, and Khufu, builder of the Great Pyramid (the last standing wonder of the ancient world), remain on the lips of schoolchildren and scholars alike. The ruins of ancient Egypt continue to be discovered and restored, although my Egyptian friend Ashraf Masoud recently told me that many Egyptologists believe 90 percent of ancient Egypt’s past has not yet been excavated. What has been found captures our imagination.

Part of this, I think, is our fascination with the rise and fall of civilizations. They grow, they thrive, they fall—as ancient Egypt did, and as the Greeks and Romans did after them. They disappear, and sometimes bits and pieces of them are rediscovered. This is the cycle of all civilizations. It will happen to our civilization, too.

In late 1817 or early 1818, the English poet Percy Bysshe Shelley—his wife, Mary, was the author of Frankenstein—wrote a poem that spoke directly to this. Shelley knew of the work of the Greek historian Diodorus Siculus, who was born in the first century BC. In his Bibliotheca historica (Library of History), Diodorus endeavored to narrate the history of civilization, both mythical and real, in regions around the known world. Book I is devoted to Egypt.

In Book 1 (chapters 47 and 49), Diodorus described a massive monument in Thebes, near modern Luxor, with pylons, columns, and a huge seated statue of Osymandyas. The name Osymandyas is a Greek/Hellenized form of the throne name of Pharaoh Ramesses II, Usermaatre Setepenre. Diodorus does not give the statue’s height, but he says its foot measured over seven cubits. A Greek cubit in his time was about 18 inches. Extrapolating from that measurement, scholars today conclude that the seated statue Diodorus described would have been between 56 and 62 feet high—about the height of a six-story building—and, had the figure been standing upright, it would have been over 100 feet tall.

Diodorus described the statue’s impact:

And it is not merely for its size that this work merits approbation, but it is also marvelous by reason of its artistic quality, and excellent because of the nature of the stone, since in a block of so great a size there is not a single crack or blemish to be seen.

Then he gave the statue’s famous inscription:

The inscription upon it runs: “King of Kings am I, Osymandyas. If anyone would know how great I am and where I lie, let him surpass one of my works.”

This is a stunning statement of hubris, but we have heard words like these from many leaders over the millennia, from ancient times to today. The irony is that the massive colossus of Ramesses II in his temple, the Ramesseum—scholars believe this is the statue Diodorus described—is now a toppled ruin.

The fallen statue of Ramesses II at the Ramesseum, Thebes, Egypt. Photo by Francis Frith (1857).

Now, fast-forward eighteen centuries to get back to Percy Shelley. Born in 1792, Shelley died in 1822, a month before his thirtieth birthday. During his lifetime, England was busy building empire. Impressed by Diodorus’ account of the colossal statue of a Pharaoh, Shelley wrote a poem about the fall of the powerful that is now considered one of the greatest works of literature in the English language:

Ozymandias
by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1817)

I met a Traveller from an antique land,
Who said, “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is OZYMANDIAS, King of Kings.”
Look on my works ye Mighty, and despair!
No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that Colossal Wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Here is the poem as it first appeared in print (below), from the January 11, 1818 issue of the London newspaper, The Examiner. Shelley submitted it under a pseudonym, Glirastes.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ozymandias. As it first appeared in The Examiner (London), Vol. 524, January 11, 1818, page 24.

And so it goes, year after year, century after century, millennium after millennium. Kingdoms rise and kingdoms fall. Some, like ancient Egypt, have left us extraordinary ruins that cause us to pause and wonder. Others have vanished without a trace. The “mansions of millions of years” all eventually disappear. I am reminded of the words of John Ellerton who, in his great hymn written at the height of the Victorian-era British Empire, “The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, Is Ended,” stated:

So be it, Lord; Thy Throne shall never,
Like earth’s proud empires, pass away.

We all pass away. All empires pass away. Like ancient Egypt, we may remember them, study them, and learn from them, but only God remains eternal—for more than “millions of years.”

The fallen statue of Ramesses II at the Ramesseum, Thebes, Egypt. Photo by Tim Adams (2019). A cropped version of this photo appears at the top of this article.

Egypt. It is amazing.

by Douglas Yeo (February 5, 2026)

It was 1963—I was eight-years old. While visiting my grandparents, I picked up a copy of National Geographic Magazine, dated October 1963. Yes, I read National Geographic when I was eight-years old. When I held a copy of the magazine in my hands, I was always transfixed.

The cover of that issue had two photographs: a man ascending to the summit of Mount Everest, and the golden mask of Tutankhamun. I started reading. The article about Mount Everest was dramatic and thrilling. But Tutankhamun’s golden trove of treasures? I was entranced. The issue also had a map of “Countries of the Nile.” I studied it for hours. Egypt had me in its grasp.

National Geographic, October 1963

A few years later, in May 1966, I read another issue of National Geographic. The article, “Saving the Ancient Temples at Abu Simbel” got my attention. Ancient monuments in Egypt that were soon to be under water with construction of the Aswan High Dam? And people were going to cut the monuments apart, build a new mountain, move the pieces to the new location – 100 feet higher so they would not be under water – and put them together again? It sounded impossible.

National Geographic, May 1966 and May 1969

But the May 1969 issue of National Geographic was triumphant: I read another article (you are getting the idea: I love to read), “Abu Simbel’s Ancient Temples Reborn.” I wanted to go to Egypt. I had to go to Egypt. I wanted to see this with my own eyes. As the years went on, my desire to visit Egypt increased, in part because in 1976, my grandmother – she with the National Geographic magazines – visited there.

It took over 60 years since Egypt first came to my mind in 1963, but last month my wife, Pat, and I went to Egypt. It was a remarkable, transformative trip.

Arizona State University Alumni Travel/AHI Legends of the Nile brochure

In fall of 2025, I received a brochure from Arizona State University alumni travel. I didn’t graduate from ASU but from 2012–2016, I was ASU’s full-time Professor of Trombone. Those were wonderful years of teaching with engaged, talented students, and working with superb colleagues. I still have a courtesy affiliation with ASU and as a result, I receive mailings from the University from time to time. Like a brochure about a tour of Egypt, “Legends of the Nile,” with AHI Travel.

It took Pat and me fewer than 24 hours to decide to join the trip. The itinerary checked every box on my life-long imagined trip to Egypt. With a highly reputable tour operator, AHI, first-class accommodations, a superb Egyptologist, Rafaat Khatab, and a truly remarkable tour director, Ashraf Masoud, the trip promised a memorable experience. But I was wrong. It wasn’t memorable: It was life-changing.

Here are a few of the highlights, many photos with commentary that just scratch the surface of our trip. Unless otherwise noted, all of the photographs were taken by me:

The Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

Pat and I decided to go to Egypt a day earlier than the group so we could have an extra day to explore the Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM). We’re so glad we did. Years in the planning, the museum had a soft opening a few years ago but the most remarkable of its galleries – the ones with all 5,000+ treasures from the tomb of Pharaoh Tutankhamun, were not yet open. That had to wait for the grand opening of the museum that was delayed multiple times. Happily, the museum fully opened in November 2025, in time for us to visit.

Gallery Guides for the Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

Our day at the GEM was eye-opening. We had tickets to start our visit at 11:00 am. Thanks to Ashraf and his massive portfolio of connections – really and truly, I believe he knows everyone in Egypt – he arranged for us to enter the museum at 8:30 am, before the official opening time. We stood astonished at the huge statue of Pharaoh Ramesses II (carved from a single piece of red granite) in the museum’s courtyard:

Statue of Ramesses II, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

We were ushered to the Tutankhamun galleries where we viewed the iconic golden mask – by ourselves. A private viewing. No crowds. Amazing.

Douglas and Patricia Yeo with the mask of Tutankhamen, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

National Geographic magazine came alive:

The mask of Tutankhamen, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

We spent two hours with “King Tut.” We marveled at his golden throne:

The throne of Tutankhamun, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

All three of his golden coffins:

One of Tutankhamun’s three golden coffins, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

The golden four golden shrines that surrounded his sarcophagus:

Patricia Yeo with the largest (outermost) of the four golden shrines that surrounded Tutankhamun’s sarcophagus and coffins, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

From Tutankhamun’s golden mask to the last of the four golden shrines, there were nine layers in his burial – the golden mask over his mummy, three coffins, the quartzite and granite sarcophagus, and four shrines. Here’s how they were put together (with thanks to Ashraf Masoud for sending our group this informative diagram):

We also saw Thtankhamun’s golden chariots:

The golden chariots of Tutankhamun, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

Jewelry, jewelry, and more jewelry:

A few of the hundreds of pieces of jewelry of Tutankhamun, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

And something that was very, very important to me, the oldest surviving metal ancestors of the trombone, the two trumpets that were discovered in Tutankhamun’s tomb, along with the decorated wooden inserts that were kept inside the bells to keep them from being damaged when they were not in use:

Douglas Yeo with the Tutankhamun trumpets, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

The bronze and gold trumpet of Tutankhamun, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

The silver and gold trumpet of Tutankhamun, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

The museum had more. Much more. The Grand Egyptian Museum was overwhelming in its scope of Egyptian history. Statuary abounds, and the descriptive labels were always informative.

Statue of Queen Hatshepsut as Pharaoh, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza. Six – seven!

Statues of cats, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

We saw the “solar boat” of Pharaoh Khufu, found buried next to the Great Pyramid.

Douglas and Patricia Yeo with the 4,500 year old “solar boat” of Pharaoh Khufu, Grand Egyptian Museum, Giza

After our visit to the Grand Egyptian, we went to the Egyptian Museum. Built in 1901 at Tahir Square, Cairo, it still houses many important pieces of Egyptian history that have not been transferred to the new Grand Egyptian Museum.

Egyptian Museum, Cairo

The Egyptian Museum’s main Gallery, Cairo

The museum’s collection included one of the most important part of Egypt’s history, the Narmer palette, showing Narmer, the first King of a united (upper and lower) Egypt, dating from about 3200 BC.

The Narmer Palette (front), Egyptian Museum, Cairo

The Narmer Palette (back), Egyptian Museum, Cairo

We returned to the Grand Egyptian Museum again the following day with our whole tour group — we were so glad we had gotten to Egypt a day early so we could enjoy this remarkable museum twice.

The rest of the tour unfolded like a National Geographic television special, but in real life. We visited Saqqara, where the first pyramid (a step pyramid, build for the Pharaoh Djoser around 2650 BC) was constructed:

Legends of the Nile tour group at the Step Pyramid of Djoser, Saqqara (photo by Ashraf Masoud)

Then, we visited the Pyramids of Giza. I don’t know if there is anything in the world more iconic than the Giza Pyramids.

Our tickets to enter the Giza Pyramid area

We went inside the Great Pyramid of Khufu. There isn’t much inside – only the broken, empty sarcophagus of Khufu. Still, it was a thrill to be INSIDE the last surviving wonder of the ancient world. Getting to the burial chamber of the Pyramid was a real adventure through narrow tunnels.

Entrance to the Great Pyramid of Khufu, Giza

Douglas and Patricia Yeo inside the Great Pyramid of Khufu, Giza

No photograph in a book prepares you for the monumental size of the Great Pyramid. It is 480 feet tall, and each side is 756 feet long. Think about that. Each side is longer than two football fields. It truly boggles the mind – and we still don’t know exactly how they were constructed. Seeing these amazing structures was thrilling beyond words.

I’ve always loved “before and after” photographs. Many individuals in the nineteenth century captured some of the ancient monuments before they had been restored, or when they were partly – or mostly – covered with sand. Francis Frith took many photos in the 1850s and throughout this blog post, I’ll include some of his images next to my photos. The comparison is striking.

Pyramids at Giza

Pyramids of Giza by Francis Frith c. 1858

I have to say, though, seeing the Pyramids was even more thrilling when seen from the back of a camel. Seriously!

Patricia and Douglas Yeo on camels, Giza

Legends of the Nile tour group at the Pyramids of Giza (photo by Ashraf Masoud)

A visit to the iconic Sphinx was a thrill. The main body and head were carved from a single piece of rock that was already there at the site.

The Sphinx, Giza

The Sphinx and the Great Pyramid by Francis Frith, c. 1858

After we visited the Sphinx, I sent some photos to our daughters, who have cats. One of them sent us this composite, below. I guess cats are cats, even if they have a human head!

I think that one of the things about this trip is that when we saw Egypt up close – whether we saw huge monuments or items in museums – our sense of scale was enlightened. When you see photos in a book, everything looks the same size. When you see them up close in person, you see them as they really are.

While in Cairo, we spent a day visiting Coptic Christian churches and Muslim mosques, as well as the oldest synagogue in Cairo (photography was not permitted in the synagogue). Given the many references to Egypt in the Bible – Joseph and his family, Moses before and during the Exodus, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph on their flight from the slaughter of the innocents by King Herod – as well as the life of Saint Mark (who came to Egypt and wrote the Gospel of Mark), we found this day’s excursion to be fascinating.

The (Coptic) Cavern Church of Saints Sergius and Bacchus (Abnu Serga), Cairo. This church was built on a traditional site where Jesus, Mary, and Joseph stayed while in Egypt.

Legends of the Nile tour group at El-hakim Mosque, Cairo (photo by Ashraf Masoud)

From Cairo, we flew to Luxor to begin our cruise up the Nile River (remember that the Nile flows from south to north, so upper Egypt is in the south and lower Egypt is in the north). On our way to Cairo airport, Ashraf had a surprise for our us: we stopped by the grave of President Anwar Sadat and Egypt’s Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. This powerfully moving site is across the street from the place where Sadat was assassinated in 1981 while viewing a parade. Sadat was a courageous hero who, along with Prime Minister Menachem Begin of Israel and President Jimmy Carter of the United States, was a signatory to the Camp David Accords and the Egypt-Israel peace treaty in 1978. Sadat and Begin shared the 1978 Nobel Peace Prize.

The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and grave of Anwar Sadat, Cairo

The grave of Anwar Sadat, Cairo. The inscription, in Arabic, reads:

In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful

“And do not think that those who were killed in the path of God are dead.
Rather, they are alive with their Lord, receiving provision.”
(Qur’an 3:169)

God Almighty has spoken the truth.

The Believing President
Muhammad Anwar al-Sadat

Hero of War and Peace

He lived for the sake of peace,
and was martyred for the sake of principles.

Born: 25 December 1918
Martyred: 6 October 1981

Looking across from Anwar Sadat’s grave to the site of his assassination in 1981.

Luxor is home to the Luxor Museum and many ancient Egyptian sites, including Luxor Temple. Once again, we were fascinated by the sculpture in the museum. We sailed by felucca (boat) to Luxor Temple, enjoying sunset along the way. Luxor Temple was our introduction to the many huge temple complexes in Egypt. The carving, the architecture, and the sheer scope and scale of the complex is tremendous.

Statue of King Thutmose III, Luxor Museum

Coptic grave stone (6 – 7 century AD), Luxor Museum. The inscription, in Greek, reads, “O Lord, help your servant Taimios.”

Statue of King Akhenaten, thought to be the father of Tutankhamun, Luxor Museum

Sunset on the Nile River on the way to Luxor Temple, with felucca boats in view

Luxor Temple, pylon and obelisk

Luxor Temple entry pylon and obelisk by Francis Frith, c. 1858. Note how the sand has covered the statues at the gate up to their shoulders.

Luxor Temple used to have two obelisks, one on either side of the entrance to the temple. In August 2025, Pat and I traveled to Paris to celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary and saw the other Luxor obelisk, erected at Place de la Concorde, the site of the guillotine used during the French Revolution. It was given to France in 1830 by Muhammad Ali Pashar and installed in 1836.

The second Luxor obelisk, now in Paris, Place de la Concorde, 2025

From Luxor, we traveled to the Valley of the Kings and Valley of the Queens. The highlight of this excursion was seeing the tomb of Tutankhamun. Having seen the treasures from his tomb at the Grand Egyptian Museum in Giza, seeing his tomb – and seeing how small it was – was enlightening. Tutankhamun’s mummy and his granite sarcophagus are still in the tomb, along with the brightly painted walls. Having read many books about Tutankhamun and his treasures, seeing his tomb in person gave us a memorable, unique perspective.

Patricia and Douglas Yeo at the entrance to the tomb of Tutankhamun, Valley of the Kings

Douglas and Patricia Yeo inside the Tomb of Tutankhamun

The granite sarcophagus of Tutankhamun

Who can forget the iconic “King Tut” routine by Steve Martin, from Saturday Night Live in May 1978. OK, it’s silly and irreverent, and it makes no sense (no, Tutankhamun was not “born in Arizona, moved to Babylonia”). But engaging with the REAL “King Tut” brought him from a comedy routine to a real person who lived and breathed.

The Mortuary Temple (Deir Al Bahari) of Queen Hatshepsut – who ruled as Pharoah – is dramatically set under a high cliff. We also visited the Colossi of Memnon, huge statues of Amenhotep III that, having been toppled in earthquakes in antiquity, have been significantly restored.

The Mortuary Temple (Deir Al Bahari) of Queen Hatshepsut

Douglas and Patricia Yeo at the Colossi of Memnon

Following our visit to the Valley of the Kings and Queens, it was time to board our ship – the Abercrombie & Kent Sanctuary Nile Adventurer – for our cruise up the Nile. We had never been on a river cruise before and all I can say is that this particular experience was memorable beyond words. We were greeted on the dock by a group of Egyptian musicians.

The food, the accommodations, the way the ship was laid out – everything was first class and beautifully, efficiently, and superbly done. Click HERE to see a video about the Sanctuary Nile Adventurer. The video is true to our experience. It was wonderful.

The following morning, I got up early to take a hot air balloon ride. I had never done this before – I’m not wild about heights but I figured that if I didn’t take advantage of this opportunity at this time, when would I ever do it? So I did. It was fantastic. I loved watching the balloon be inflated, and then silently floating above the Temple of Hatshepsut and other sites. Memorable.

Heating air in the balloon before we rose up

Other balloons seen from our vantage point aloft

In the air over the Temple of Hatshepsut (in the upper left hand corner). The Nile River can be seen in the upper right hand corner.

We did so much more. So so so much more. We visited Karnak Temple, The Temples at Edfu and Kom Ombo, and the Temple of Philae:

Temple of Karnak

The Great Hall at Karnak by Francis Frith, c. 1857

Douglas and Patricia Yeo at the Temple of Karnak

Temple of Karnak

Douglas and Patricia Yeo at the Temple of Karnak. We are posing in the position Pharaohs often assumed in sculptures (and when they were mummified!).

Temple of Edfu

Douglas and Patricia Yeo at the Temple of Edfu, the Great Pylon

Temple of Edfu, the Great Pylon by Francis Frith, c. 1858

Temple of Edfu

Legends of the Nile tour group at the Temple of Edfu (photo by Ashraf Masoud)

Temple of Kom Ombo

The boat to the Temple of Philae. Our captain (far left) was 13 years old.

Philae from the boat. The temple was moved from Philae Island to nearby Agilkia Island when the temple was threatened by water with the construction of the Aswan High Dam.

Temple of Philae

Temple of Philae by Francis Frith, c. 1857

We had a party on the ship where we all dressed up in traditional Egyptian clothes, the galabeya. Everyone got in on the fun and there was dancing, food, and a lot of laughter. The crew of the Sanctuary Nile Explorer was so great to all of us. The cruise was absolutely fantastic from start to end.

Douglas and Patricia Yeo dressed in Egyptian galabeya

One night, the 1978 movie adaptation of Agatha Christie’s Death on the Nile was shown on board the ship. We watched it and then watched it again when we got home. It was so fun to view the movie – much of which was shot on location in Egypt at the Pyramids and Sphinx, Karnak, and Abu Simbel – knowing so much about the sites. And this was funny: In a scene early in the movie, Linnet Ridgeway-Doyle (played by Lois Chiles) and her husband, Simon Doyle (played by Simon MacCorkindale) ride horses from the Pyramids to the Sphinx. They stop at the Sphinx and then continue riding away. Only if you’ve been to Egypt will you laugh at the impossibility of the scene: After riding FROM the pyramids to the Sphinx, they continue riding off AWAY from the pyramids. But the pyramids are in front of them! Have a look at the sequence below. We still don’t know exactly how ancient Egyptians built the Pyramids. But Hollywood figured out how to move them!

Scenes from Death on the Nile (1978)

But there was one more stop on our tour, and it was a highlight of the highlight of the highlight for me. Abu Simbel. This huge, remarkable monument to Ramesses II and his wife, Nefertari, was threatened with being submerged with construction of the Aswan High Dam. It was the moving of Abu Simbel – to dry land about 100 feet higher – that was one of the things that captivated me long ago while reading those issues of National Geographic magazine at my grandmother’s house. The size of the monument is truly breathtaking, and it’s nearly impossible to see the seams where it was cut apart and reassembled. I confess I got a little emotional at the sight. The Pyramids, King Tutankhamun’s treasures, and Abu Simbel are three things I have dreamed about seeing for six decades. And I finally got to see them. Amazing.

Abu Simbel

Our superb Egyptologist, Rafaat Khatab (who accompanied us on the entire tour), discussing Abu Simbel with our group

Abu Simbel. One of the monumental statues of Ramesses II was toppled in antiquity by an earthquake.

Douglas and Patricia Yeo at Abu Simbel (photo by Ashraf Masoud)

Douglas and Patricia Yeo at Abu Simbel. We are close to the statues of Ramesses II; you can see just how huge they are. These seated statues are 65 feet tall; by contrast, the monumental standing statue of Ramesses II in the courtyard of the Grand Egyptian Museum (shown earlier) is 36 feet tall. If the Abu Simbel statues were standing, they would be about 125 feet tall – the height of a 10–11 story building and taller than the Statue of Liberty (without its pedestal).

Inside the Temple of Ramesees II, Abu Simbel

Douglas and Patricia Yeo outside the Temple of Nefertari, Abu Simbel

Inside the Temple of Nefertari, Abu Simbel

Legends of the Nile tour group at Abu Simbel (photo by Ashraf Masoud)

From Abu Simbel, we flew to Cairo and the next day, we flew home to Illinois.

Throughout the trip, in the midst of all of the remarkable things we saw, experienced, and learned, my maternal grandmother was on my mind. Remember her, she of the National Geographic magazines I read in my youth? 50 years ago, in 1976, she visited Egypt. At that time, she seemed so adventurous to me, and her trip seemed so exotic. She loved seeing the world, and she went to some of its most interesting places. Greece and Rome, Egypt, safari in Africa, the Trans-Siberian Railroad, China, Machu Pichu, Easter Island, and Antarctica. Twice, because she loved penguins. She was an inspiration to me. She never took a camera on her trips; she always said her eyes and mind were the best camera. But I’m grateful that others on the tour took a camera and snapped a few photos of her. Because as Pat and I traveled through Egypt, we followed in her footsteps, a very precious memory of my dear grandmother:

Virginia York Spangler and Douglas and Patricia Yeo at the step pyramid of Djoser, Saqqara (1976 and 2026)

Virginia York Spangler and Douglas and Patricia Yeo riding camels, Giza (1976 and 2026)

Virginia York Spangler and Douglas and Patricia Yeo at the entrance to there tomb of Tutankhamun, Valley of the Kings (1976 and 2026)

This is the longest blog post I’ve ever written. Not because of the number of words in its text, but because of the large number of photos. But I have just touched the surface of our trip to Egypt. I took hundreds of photos and videos, but the most important images from the trip are the ones that are imbedded in my mind. My grandmother was right: photos don’t do justice to a place like Egypt. You have to be there and see things for yourself.

Many other experiences aren’t even mentioned in this post – visits to many more tombs, our visit to Chicago House of the Institute for the Study of Ancient Cultures at University of Chicago (that has been documenting inscriptions, carvings, and paintings in monuments in Egypt for over 100 years), the Aswan High Dam, a visit to a rug factory, an alabaster factory, the papyrus institute, the hotels, restaurants – the food food food! – the parties, the wonderful weather, the hotel and ship staffs, experiences with the new friends we made in our tour group, and much more.

Yet, after all of these words and photos, I have one more thing to say.

Legends of the Nile tour director, Ashraf Masoud (photo by Susan Throckmorton)

AHI planned a remarkable itinerary for us. Accommodations were first class. The food was outstanding. Service was superb in every way. But Pat and I reserve special thanks and praise for our tour director, Ashraf Masoud.

Ashraf is an experienced world-wide tour director. That we had a director with such expertise didn’t surprise us; we expected that. But Ashraf was so much more. He enlightened us with information about aspects of Egyptian life and history that you would not find on an “average” tour or in a history book. As a native Egyptian – and as a world traveler – he has unique, personal insight. He shared that with us. We asked him thousands of questions. He answered every one. Questions about Egyptian life in the cities and the countryside, the educational system, the political system (past and present), and his hopes and dreams for Egypt. He was kind, gentle, generous, hard-working, imaginative, a problem-solver, funny, fun, serious, and helpful. I will never forget his booming voice when he called our group together – LEGEEEEEEENNNNNNDS! He was fair-minded and informative at all times. It seemed that he knew everyone in Egypt. Everywhere we went – everywhere – people met him with a warm embrace and a smile. He had connections and he opened doors any other tour director could not open. Ashraf’s humanity – his care and love for people – including us – came through every minute. We learned so much from him – about Egypt, Islam, Egyptians, and the world – that we simply would not have learned anywhere else. Over the course of our 12 days in Egypt, Ashraf became much more than our tour director. He became our friend. We grew to love this remarkable man, and he shared his love with us.

We miss Ashraf. We miss Egypt. Even though we’ve been home for over a week, Pat and I think and talk about Egypt throughout each day. Now, reminders about Egypt are all over our house – paintings on papyrus, alabaster, photos, and decorative trinkets. They make us smile. Egypt became far more than an article in a National Geographic magazine, or a headline in the news. It jumped off the pages and became real, with real people, real events, real history. I run out of superlatives when I try to describe the trip.

I want to go back. I want to see the sites all over again, sail on the Nile River, and see my friend, Ashraf again. You must go to Egypt. When you go to Egypt, the trip will CHANGE YOUR LIFE. If you have the resources for a first-class tour, consider going with AHI. And be sure to ask if Ashraf Masoud is the tour guide. He is the best of the best of the best.

Now that we’re back home, I am doing the many happy, engaging things that occupy my life including activities with our family and church, research, writing another book, teaching, and making music. More travels are ahead for us. I have no complaints; God is good. But these days, Egypt is always on my mind.

Perhaps the words written under the pyramids cakes that we enjoyed at our last dinner on the Sanctuary Nile Explorer will turn out to be a prophecy. Egypt: I hope to “See You Soon.”

Pyramid cakes on the Sanctuary Nile Explorer

[Header photograph: The Sphinx and the Great Pyramid of Khufu, Giza.]

Why trombone players cannot trust artificial intelligence (AI) for historical information

by Douglas Yeo (December 17, 2025)

I am at work on a book for Oxford University Press, The Trombone Book, that will be part of OUP’s new series of books on musical instruments. This new series replaces OUP’s previous series of books on musical instruments that included Trombone Technique by my late friend, Denis Wick (London: Oxford, 1971) that has been out of print for several years. I am working up against several deadlines to get the book finished and submitted by the end of 2026, so I’m working on this every day. It’s slow going because I want the book to be helpful. And if it’s going to be helpful, it needs to be accurate.

Included in my new book are several chapters on the history of the trombone, its music, composers, and performers. I have over 2000 books in my library here at home, and I make ample use of inter-library loan (ILL, or ILLIAD), access to which is generously provided to me by the kind staff at the Library at my undergraduate alma-mater, Wheaton College.

Two of the seven bookcases about composers, musical instruments, and other music related subjects in my home office. In our basement, I have many more bookcases full of books.

When it comes to historical resources, many have been scanned and are available on IMSLP and Internet Archive. This is a tremendous resource for researchers, a real change from the microfilm/microfiche days of old. (I remember those days; it was not an easy time to do research.) When I can’t find a scan online, I acquire the book. If I can’t get the book through inter-library-loan, I purchase it. Even though many historical passages in treatises and methods have been translated into English by various authors (including David Guion, Howard Weiner, and Stewart Carter), I always want to see the original myself and do my own translation. In some cases, when I deal with old typography in various languages (16th through 18th centuries), it’s difficult to read, and artificial intelligence can be helpful in providing the original text in readable form. AI (I use ChatGPT 5.2, a paid service that is more advanced than the free ChatGPT 4.o) can provide a reasonably good text into modern languages from old typography, and it also reasonably translates text into English. In this, AI can be very helpful, However. . . after I read an AI-made translation, I always redo the translation myself and also confirm the translation with a native speaker of that language. Because I don’t trust AI.

I have written about this previously on TheLastTrombone and if you haven’t read my article, ChatGPT and the trombone: Is this the end of writing and research? I don’t think so., please take a minute to do so. In that article, I fed ChatGPT several questions about the trombone and other musical instruments. The answers will probably surprise you but my conclusion should not: You cannot trust AI when it comes to the history of the trombone.

There are three reasons for this:

First, AI only knows what it’s been fed. If it’s been fed junk — older readers may remember IBM’s early motto, “GIGO,” or “Garbage In, Garbage Out” — it will spew out junk. Frankly, there is a lot of trombone research out there that’s pure junk. And AI has been fed a steady diet of trombone research junk. Why that’s the case is another story, but suffice to say that when I read something about the trombone in a book or article, I always look for the footnote and I track down the source myself. Because machines aren’t the only thing that get things wrong: human beings get things wrong, too, or they’re sloppy, or they don’t cite a source correctly, or they cite a secondary source that cites another secondary source and when you go to the end of the rainbow, there is no primary source. I wrote about this — people making up something and presenting it as true because they didn’t actually track down the original source — on TheLastTrombone when I discovered that the Pulitzer Prize Committee had mangled a quotation by Joseph Pulitzer ON ITS OWN WEBSITE. Read about that HERE, in my article titled, “Words matter.”

Second, AI is getting worse, not better when it comes to history. When it is asked questions, AI tries to answer them. It rarely says “I don’t know.” Instead, it feeds on previous answers it has given to similar questions, even if those answers were wrong. In time, like a game of “telephone,” AI ends up with something that’s wrong but sounds plausible. It always writes with excruciatingly accurate grammar and punctuation, even if sometimes the sentence structure it uses is a little over the top and a little cringeworthy.

Third, AI hallucinates. It makes up stuff. All. The. Time.

I’m taking time away from working on my book today to share a recent interaction I had with AI regarding a 18th century text about the trombone. I’m working with multiple sources at the same time and now and then, I get confused about where I actually got a source. I have hundreds of PDFs of articles, treatises, and methods in several languages. I have many screenshots I’ve taken of text that I’ve then uploaded to ChatGPT to put into a modern typeface so I can read it better.

Today, I was proofreading chapter 2 of my book, “A Brief History of the Conception and Evolution of the Trombone.” The first part of the chapter concerns many of the myths about the history of the trombone, myths that have been repeated over and over again in papers, dissertations, and books. Starting out with what’s wrong about how the trombone’s history has been told allows me to correct false narratives. It also gives me a good starting place to get back to ground zero and write something about the trombone’s history without the fog of mis- and dis-information that has affected trombone research for hundreds of years.

While I was proofreading, I came across an origin story for the trombone that I had included in my chapter — a false origin story. I recalled that I had read an English translation of the text I’m including in the chapter in a book, but I couldn’t recall where. My citation was for the original treatise; at least I THOUGHT it was the correct citation. But something in the back of my mind wondered if I had it right, so I re-uploaded the text to ChatGPT and asked what the source was. Here’s the text I needed to identify:

It’s the first paragraph that interests me. It’s a false narrative about the origin of the trombone. I translated it like this:

According to the testimony of Philo, the trombone was invented by the great, God-beloved prophet Moses, around the year 2400 of the world 200, just as Jewish writers ascribe the psaltery and cither to the first musician, Jubal. So, it is beyond dispute that the trombone is one of the most ancient musical instruments.

In my citation, I had given this as the source:

Johann Philipp Eisel, Musicus autodidactus, oder der sich selbst informirende Musicus (Erfurt: Wülfingische Buchhandlung 1738), 70.

But I wanted to be sure. So I asked ChatGPT. What follows are screenshots of my interaction with AI just a few hours ago, today, December 17, 2025. It begins with my uploading the passage (above) and my asking AI to identify it. I told AI that it had previously worked on this passage for me. My comments are on the right side of each screenshot, in a shaded box; ChatGPT is on the left:

AI identified the passage as from Daniel Speer’s important treatise Grund-richter Unterricht der Musikalischen Kunst (Fundamentally Correct Instruction in the Musical Arts) (Ulm: Georg Wilhelm Kühne; Christian Balthasar Kühnen sel. Erben, 1697).

AI said it was NOT from Walther’s Musicalisches Lexicon. Walther’s book, Musicalisches Lexicon oder Musicalische Bibliothec (Leipzig: Wolfgang Deer, 1732). I don’t know why ChatGPT said the text was not by Walther. AI must have thought I might have thought the quotation was from Walther’s book even though I had not referenced that book in any of my previous interactions with ChatGPT. A red flag went up in my mind.

In any case, ChatGPT continued to explain its confidence in identifying the passage as by Daniel Speer. It wrote:

That sounds pretty confident. And raise your hand if that answer would be good enough for you to include AI’s attribution to Speer in your paper about the trombone. I see your hand up!

But I wasn’t so sure. This all sounded a little suspicious. AI didn’t give any REAL source for the attribution to Speer. It said the passage “is characteristic of Speer,” it is out of “Speer’s Biblical-historical framework,” “Josephus” appears in Speer’s work, etc. It didn’t seem right, even though it confidently told me where I could find the text in Speer’s book. So, I asked AI to give me more:

First, here you can see the “fake news” in this passage, now that it’s translated into English. It cites the Hellenistic Jewish Philosopher, Philo of Alexandria, who, the passage says, testified that the trombone was invented by Moses — yes, THAT Moses, he of the 10 Commandments — in the year 2400 OF THE WORLD (not BC or AD, but OF THE WORLD) — and that “it is beyond dispute that the trombone is one of the most ancient musical instruments.” You can see why I’m including this text in my book where I talk about the myths of the trombone’s origins. It. Is. Not. True.

Second, ChatGPT’s translation of the passage into English is a little different than my own translation that I’m including in my book, as mentioned above. That’s because there are many ways to “do translation.” Word-for word, or thought-for-thought, or a combination. Once again, here’s my translation. It isn’t better or worse than the one that AI gave, but it’s a little more literal. The important thing is that the sense of the original comes through loud and clear and nothing new is added to the author’s intent:

According to the testimony of Philo, the trombone was invented by the great, God-beloved prophet Moses, around the year 2400 of the world 200, just as Jewish writers ascribe the psaltery and cither to the first musician, Jubal. So, it is beyond dispute that the trombone is one of the most ancient musical instruments

OK, back to AI. . .

I looked at my original citation for the text as I had written it in my book chapter. I had it identified as by Johann Eisel, as mentioned above. I was having doubts about Chat GPT’s confidence that the passage was from Speer, and I was gaining confidence in my original citation of Eisel.

I went back to my files and found Speer’s treatise. ChatGPT said the text in question came from page 221 of Speer’s book. I found the page; here’s what Speer wrote about the trombone on the bottom of page 221 and top of page 222:

Page 221 and 222 (incipts) from Daniel Speer, Grund-richtiger, kurtz-leicht- und nöthiger, jetzt wol-vermehrter Unterricht der musicalischen Kunst. Oder Vierfaches musicalisches Kleeblatt… (Ulm: Georg Wilhelm Kühne; Christian Balthasar Kühnen sel. Erben, 1697)

Here, below, is an English translation of these passages. You’ll notice that Speer is writing about the trombone in A, that the trombone has only three slide positions, and that alto, tenor, and bass trombone parts can all be played on a tenor trombone. I’m not going to unpack those things in this blog article; that’s a long conversation for another time (read about them in my book when it comes out!). Here’s what Speer wrote:

On trombones.

How does one ordinarily play a trombone?
A trombone is played by blowing and by means of the slide.

How many slide positions does a trombone have?
The principal slide positions of the trombone are in three places, apart from several others which should also be added.

Since on a tenor trombone one can play alto, tenor, and bass, this instrument shall therefore be described first.

First, one should know a trombone consists of two parts, namely the main section and the slide tubes, which lie within a sleeve. The main section is fitted onto the slide tubes, and the entire trombone is held with the left hand — a customary manner of holding which the instructor will already demonstrate to his pupil. With the right hand, however, one grasps the sleeve between the fingers.

This instrument has three principal slide positions. The first position is at the mouthpiece and consists of the following notes, as the appended example shows:

Interesting stuff, for sure. But there’s nothing on these pages about Philo. Nothing. Nothing about Moses. Nothing.

So I questioned AI about this:

Well, AI sure put me in my place: “Your screenshot is not from Eisel.” That sounds pretty definitive. But I pulled up my sleeves. I was ready for battle.

“OK, machine,” I thought. “Game on.”

By then I knew I was right and ChatGPT was wrong. I remembered where I first saw the quotation: it is in David M. Guion’s book, The Trombone: Its History and Music, 1697–1811 (New York: Gordon and Breach, 1988; reprint, New York: Routledge, 2013). David’s book is invaluable for a lot of reasons, including the fact that he reproduces comments about the trombone from many historical books and treatises. I turned to page 41 of David’s book and found the passage in question in the original German alongside David’s translation to English. If you’re a trombonist and you don’t have this book, ask Santa Claus to bring you a copy, or get it from the library. Here’s the passage from David Guion’s book; this is where I first read about Eisel’s story about Philo and the supposed origin — NOT! — of the trombone:

Excerpt from David M. Guion’s book, The Trombone: Its History and Music, 1697–1811 (Gordon and Breach, 1988; reprint, New York: Routledge, 2013), page 41.

As you can see above, David’s English translation is a little different than the one ChatGPT made and the one I made. All three give a good sense of the original. But even though David’s a really good researcher and scholar (and a fine trombonist, too), I wanted to see the original with my own eyes and make my own translation. I’ve seen enough instances where someone has missed a word—I’ve done it myself. It’s really important to me to get to the original source if I can find it. So I went looking for Eisel’s original.

Now it was time for me to ask ChatGPT another question. It had hallucinated — it had made up that the passage was by Speer. I wanted to know why, and I let the machine have it right between the eyes—or between semiconductors:

It took 44 seconds for ChatGPTto “think” and then write one of the most difficult sentences in the English language: “You’re right, and I was wrong.” AI went on to explain WHY it was wrong. Its answer was revealing. It didn’t check for the source of the quotation in question. It used a pattern-matching algorithm to attribute the quotation to Speer. Further, it was “overconfident.” When I challenged the attribution, instead of checking again, AI argued with me. It thought it knew the right answer and I didn’t. But AI was wrong.

I wasn’t going to let AI off the hook. In hopes that this “conversation” with a machine might help it make better decisions in the future, I scolded ChatGPT:

OK. A gold star for Douglas Yeo. A failing grade for ChatGPT. But, actually, this isn’t funny. This kind of thing goes on ALL THE TIME. ChatGPT’s conclusion is actually exactly correct:

If AI is to be useful in serious scholarship at all, it has to be treated — and behave — as a fallible research assistant, not an oracle.

Yes. Read these words over, and over, and over. This is important.

I hope that this short diversion from my afternoon of working on my book is both revealing and helpful to readers who engage in research and writing. AI is really useful for a lot of things. But it is also really BAD for a lot of things. We simply cannot rely on it for historical information. As AI tools evolve, they are getting more and more confident. That confidence is often misplaced. As I said earlier, AI’s answers often are like a game of “telephone.” Over time, AI’s overconfidence causes it to use its own hallucinations and misinformation and pile it on top of other misinformation on top of other misinformation. When dealing with AI, individuals are increasingly seeing that it is wise to employ the same phrase that Ronald Reagan used when he was negotiating a nuclear arms reduction treaty with the Soviet Union in the 1980s: “Trust but verify.” Actually, forget the trust part. You can’t trust AI. Verify everything. Everything.

The importance of getting trombone research right isn’t on the level of working to prevent nuclear war. But for a student who relies on AI, the consequence of a failing grade, or being responsible for continuing to perpetuate falsehoods, ought to be enough to cause one to think twice, then three times, then four times, or seventy-times-seven times before trusting anything AI delivers. If you’re a college professor, please consider forwarding this article to your students and on your social media platforms. We must recognize the limitations of artificial intelligence. We must get the world out. As ChatGPT said:

AI is a fallible research assistant, not an oracle.

That’s the most accurate thing I’ve heard from ChatGPT in a long time.

The Last Trombone – Douglas Yeo