Category: teaching

The Lebedev Concerto for tuba (or bass trombone): clearing up some questions

by Douglas Yeo (September 10, 2026)

The first Concerto for Tuba and Piano by A. Lebedev is one of the most popular pieces in the repertoire for tuba and bass trombone players. I have performed it on many occasions, in recitals in the United States, Europe, and Asia, and I recorded it on my compact disc recording, Two of a Mind (link to Hickeys Music Center). Despite its popularity, Lebedev’s concerto raises a lot of questions, especially for bass trombone players.

Recently, my friend Brad Edwards—Professor of Trombone at Arizona State University—asked me some of those questions. With Brad’s questions fresh in my mind, I think this is a good time to do something I’ve thought about doing for many years—put together some of what I’ve learned about Lebedev’s concerto. Maybe what you read here will help answer some of your questions about the piece.

WHO WAS LEBEDEV?

First, we should straighten out the man’s name. In various publications and biographies, I have seen his name given as A. Lebedev, Alexej Lebedjew, Alexei Lebedev, and Alexey Konstantinovich Lebedev. The last one is a full, correct, English transliteration of his Russian name, and it is the way his name is spelled on the website of the Moscow Conservatory. That said, friends of mine who are native Russian speakers and readers have told me that Alexei is equally acceptable. “Lebedjew” has appeared on German editions of the concerto but that that’s a uniquely German rendering.

Alexey Lebedev (1924–1993) was a Russian tuba teacher, performer, and composer. A full biography of Lebedev appears on the website of the Moscow Conservatory (in Russian). In 2001, when I went looking for biographical information about Lebedev, the Conservatory had an English version of Lebedev’s biography but, unfortunately, that does not seem to be available today, and it was different than the version that appears in Russian on the Conservatory’s website today. Here is a printout (below) I made of the Conservatory’s English biography of Lebedev as it appeared on its website in 2001 (if you try the URL at the bottom of the bio’s page, you will see the link is broken today):

Biography of Alexey Lebedev as it appeared on the Moscow Conservatory website, December 5, 2001.

In 1998, the Tubists Universal Brotherhood Association, or T.U.B.A. (in 2000, the Association was renamed the International Tuba Euphonium Association, or ITEA) posthumously awarded Alexey Lebedev its prestigious lifetime achievement award. At that time, the T.U.B.A. Journal published a short article about him with some biographical information (ITEA Journal 26, no. 1, Fall 1998, 22), “T.U.B.A. Gives Lifetime Achievement Award to Lebedev.” Since then, the ITEA has published several other tributes to Lebedev, including “Alexei K. Lebedev: Tubist, Pedagogue, and Composer” (September 1, 2022), and “Alexei Konstantinovich Lebedev’s 100th Birthday Celebration“ (January 8, 2025). None of these articles have an author attribution. These articles are available to ITEA members and membership in ITEA is required for access. Join ITEA now for immediate access to these resources.

THE FIRST PUBLISHED EDITION (1950)

Among Lebedev’s many compositions are two tuba concertos and a Concert Allegro for tuba. They are among the most popular and frequently performed works ever written for tuba, and bass trombonists—who have always looked for excellent repertoire composed for other instruments that might lend themselves well to performance on bass trombone—also play them. It is one particular adaptation of Lebedev’s first Concerto for Tuba and Piano that has caused a great deal of confusion for bass trombonists, and that edition, by Allen Ostrander, is the primary focus of this discussion.

Lebedev composed his Concerto for Tuba and Piano in 1947 when he was a student at the Moscow Conservatory. It was first published in 1950 by the Soviet Union’s State Music Publishing House (Moscow and Leningrad, catalog 21014). It was only after the publication of Lebedev’s second tuba concerto that the first concerto was renamed Concerto No. 1, although that was not the only name the concerto has been known by, as discussed below. The 1950 first edition does not have measure numbers or rehearsal letters, and tempo markings are in both Italian and Russian, as seen on the first page of the piano score, below:

• • •

Title page and first page of Alexey Lebedev’s Concerto for Tuba and Piano (Moscow and Leningrad, 1950)

THE SECOND PUBLISHED EDITION (1954)

In 1954, the concerto was republished by Friedrich Hofmeister of Leipzig (catalog 30219) which, at the time, was in what was known as East Germany. In this edition measure numbers are given, Lebedev’s name is given a German transliteration (Lebedjew), and the Russian tempo markings have been removed:

• • •

Title page and first page of Alexey Lebedev’s Concerto for Tuba and Piano (Leipzig: Friedrich Hofmeister, 1954).

THE 1995 EDITION

Hofmeister issued a new engraving of the concerto in 1995 (catalog FH 2317), two years after Lebedev’s death. This publication states that this edition is “revidierte Fassung 1980” (revised version 1980) and it is therefore reasonable—but not certain—to assume that Lebedev approved the several changes that appear therein. In this publication, the title was changed to Konzert Nr. 1 für Tuba/Baßposaune und Orchester (Concerto No. 1 for Tuba or Bass Trombone and Orchestra). A new, four-measure introduction was added (based on the concerto’s second theme), and measure numbers and the years of Lebedev’s birth and death were also included.

Title page and first page of Alexey Lebedev’s Concerto No. 1 for Tuba/Bass Trombone and Piano (Leipzig: Friedrich Hofmeister, 1995).

The 1995 edition also includes a significant change in the piano accompaniment in measure 30 of this edition compared to the parallel place, measure 26, in the 1950 and 1954 editions. Look at and compare these measures:

Alexey Lebedev Concerto for Tuba (1950), measures 24–27.

Alexey Lebedev Concerto No. 1 for Tuba/Bass Trombone (1995), measures 27–29).

THE ORCHESTRA ACCOMPANIMENT (1999)

In 1999, Hofmeister issued an orchestra accompaniment for Concerto No. 1 (FH 8234). It is faithful in all musical respects to the 1995 edition, which was, again, positioned as “revised version 1980.” No arranger of this orchestra accompaniment is listed. Did Lebedev himself create this accompaniment? We don’t know. This orchestra accompaniment is available for rental on the Friedrich Hofmeister Musikverlag website. and the full score is available for purchase (the link is to Hickeys Music Center).

First page of the orchestra accompaniment for Alexey Lebedev Konzert No. 1 for Tuba/Bass Trombone and Orchestra(Leipzig: Friedrich Hofmeister, 1999).

ALLEN E. OSTRANDER AND THE LEBEDEV “CONCERTO IN ONE MOVEMENT”

In 1960, Edition Musicus (New York) published the Lebedev Concerto for Tuba in an edition by Allen E. Ostrander. Ostrander’s edition was the first publication of the concerto outside the Soviet bloc and it quickly became its most frequently performed version. Among many changes Ostrander made (discussed below), is this: he changed the title of the concerto to Concerto in One Movement.

First page of A. Lebedev Concerto in One Movement, rearranged and edited by Allen Ostrander (Edition Musucus, 1960).

Allen Ostrander (1909–1994) graduated from Ithaca College (then the Ithaca Conservatory of Music) with a B.S. in instrumental music education in 1932. He subsequently was a member of the National Orchestral Association in New York City and joined the National Symphony Orchestra (Washington D.C.) as its bass trombonist in 1935. He was a member of the Pittsburgh Symphony for one season (1937–1938), a member of the NBC Symphony from 1938–1946 (he served in the U.S. Army from 1942–1945), and then was bass trombonist of the New York Philharmonic from 1946–1975. Ostrander then joined the faculty at his alma mater, Ithaca College, where he served as its trombone professor for a short time.

I knew Allen Ostrander. I grew up in Queens and Valley Stream, New York (I lived there from 1955–1971), and heard many concerts by the New York Philharmonic during those years. In 1972, after my family moved to New Jersey, I had several lessons with Ostrander in a music store in Teaneck, New Jersey where he taught private lessons. In the early 1990s, I had some correspondence with Ostrander. I was interested in acquiring a number of his trombone ensemble publications that had gone out of print. I asked if he had plans to re-issue them again. Unfortunately, I received an angry letter from him in which he complained bitterly about the “pirates” who had cheated him by photocopying much of his music and depriving him of royalties, and that he would not publish anything again. He had done so much for the bass trombone; the several versions of his bass trombone method book were very important to the evolution of bass trombone pedagogy in the mid 20th-century. His bitterness was a sad coda to a very influential life.

[An aside: For some insight into Ostrander’s early bass trombone method and its place in modern bass trombone pedagogy, see Jeanette Velasco, “A Comparative Analysis of Bass Trombone Method Books,” DMA document, Texas Christian University, 2025.]

I had heard that Ostrander discovered a copy of the Lebedev Concerto for Tuba in the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C. However, while working on his Doctor of Musical Arts monograph, “The Life and Work of the Orchestral Bass Trombonist, Allen Ostrander, and the Development of His Bass Trombone Methods and Solos” (Louisiana State University, 1992), Ronald G. Smith interviewed Ostrander about many subjects. Citing a letter he received from Ostrander dated January 13, 1985 and his interview with Ostrander (conducted between January 13–16, 1990), Smith wrote:

Another solo which Ostrander edited for bass trombone was a piece originally written for tuba, Concerto in One Movement by A. Lebedev, also published by Edition Musicus in 1960. He purchased from a music store a copy of the Russian edition for the tuba several years before the United States publication. (Smith, 136)

This telling of the Concerto in One Movement’s origin story is not wholly accurate. Ostrander could not have purchased a piece by A. Lebedev titled Concerto in One Movement because Lebedev himself never used that title. That title was Ostrander’s creation. However, it is entirely plausible that Ostrander purchased a copy of a Russian edition of the concerto in a music store. He would have been in New York City at the time and there were certainly several music stores that might have stocked some publications from the USSR. Ostrander’s account of how he first obtained a copy of the Concerto for Tuba puts to rest the Library of Congress story.

Ostrander subsequently edited the concerto and it was published by Edition Musicus in 1960. At that time, the Soviet Union did not recognize or respect international copyright conventions. The Universal Copyright Convention had been signed by most countries in 1952 but the Soviet Union did not sign it until 1973. Before 1973, publishing companies in both the East and West published—a less polite word would be “stole”—music that was under copyright in one country but that copyright was not respected in another. Subsequently, many USA publishing companies published dozens and dozens of works without paying royalties to composers from the Soviet bloc. Pirates. And the Soviets did the same thing with music by American and European composers. Pirates. Did Edition Musicus pay royalties to Lebedev for Concerto in One Movement? I don’t know. I haven’t seen the payment ledgers. But we do know that Edition Musicus put a copyright notice on the Concerto In One Movement. That was not legal; Ostrander did not “materially change” Lebedev’s concerto enough to qualify for it to appear under copyright. Edition Musicus could have published Ostrander’s edition under license from the USSR’s State Music Publishing House but it did not. Instead, it published the concerto in the wild west of the Cold War’s murky copyright reality.

There is another important aspect to Ostrander’s edition: its printing is identical to that of the 1950 Soviet editions. It as if Edition Musicus used the same engraving plate for Ostrander’s version that had been used when the concerto was first published. Ostrander made some editorial changes to the piece (discussed below) but with two notable exceptions, the actual printing of the music in Ostrander’s edition is the same as the first published edition.

OSTRANDER’S CHANGES TO LEBEDEV’S CONCERTO FOR TUBA

In his interview with Allen Ostrander, Ronald Smith discussed Ostrander’s arrangement of Lebedev’s Concerto for Tuba:

After playing it [Lebedev’s Concerto for Tuba] and deciding that he [Ostrander] liked it, he made a few changes in the music to fit the bass trombone. He felt that the notes were fine as they were for bass trombone, so he simply added some style markings, breath marks, and suggestions for using the valve. (Smith, 136)

Let’s look at the changes that Allen Ostrander made to Lebedev’s concerto.

In addition to changing the concerto’s title to Concerto in One Movement, Ostrander added 30 breath marks. Lebedev had no breath marks in his original. To the opening phrase (measures 1–14) of the concerto, below, Ostrander added six breath marks, far more, in my opinion, than the musical idea supports (by comparison, I take 3 breaths in the same phrase):

Alexey Lebedev, Concerto in One Movement, rearranged and edited by Allen Ostrander (Edition Musicus, 1960), mm. 1–20.

Ostrander also added two suggested slide positions in measure 9, and he bracketed Lebedev’s trill marking in measure 13 for tuba alone, not for bass trombone. [Bass trombonists, you can actually make this trill work really well if you play the B-natural in seventh position and then use the first valve—the F-attachment—for the C, also in seventh position. With a little practice, you can make this trill work nicely.]

Now, have a look at measure 17, above. Ostrander added a rit. (ritardando) on the third beat; he did the same thing in measure 58, below. Lebedev did not indicate a rit. in either of those instances. But this is an old trick for players: slow down the difficult parts.

Alexey Lebedev, Concerto in One Movement, rearranged and edited by Allen Ostrander (Edition Musicus, 1960), mm. 52–59.

Throughout Ostrander’s edition, he continued adding breath marks, making a few slide position suggestions (usually limited to suggesting that an individual play B-flat2 in third position using the F-attachment), marking the return of the trill in the recapitulation as for tuba only, and marking the pedal E1 as optional for bass trombone. All of these relatively minor editorial choices made sense to him and they can make sense to today’s players. However, Ostrander did make some radical changes to Lebedev’s concerto that dramatically changed the character and demands of the piece.

In measure 18–20, Lebedev dramatically interrupted the motion and contour of the melodic line by writing seven quarter and half notes for bass trombone and piano—in unison. This line is downward from its beginning at the second note of measure 18 (D-flat3) to its conclusion on the pedal E-flat1 (which both Lebedev and Ostrander marked as optional; a player can play the note an octave higher, an E-flat2). Here is what Lebedev wrote:

Alexey Lebedev Concerto for Tuba (1950), measures 17–21

Ostrander, on the other hand, changed the low C-flat1 to a pedal A-flat1 :

Alexey Lebedev, Concerto in One Movement, rearranged and edited by Allen Ostrander (Edition Musicus, 1960), mm. 17–21

As a result, Ostrander changed a descending line to a descending and then ascending line. When we look carefully at Ostrander’s edition, we can see that Edition Musicus did a crude “cut-and-paste job” to change the A-flat to a C-flat. The staff lines are not exactly lined up, and the flat symbol for the A-flat in the pianist’s right hand is slightly cut off. It’s not very elegant, but the intent is clear.

Ostrander made another significant change in measures 50, 51, and 52. In Lebedev’s own publications of the concerto, he wrote triplets on the first and third beats in each measure (only the first beat in measure 52):

Alexey Lebedev Concerto for Tuba (1950), measures 49–53

Ostrander changed the triplets to two sixteenth notes. Once more, like he did by adding rit. in several technical passages, Ostrander changed a difficult part to make it easier to play:

Alexey Lebedev, Concerto in One Movement, rearranged and edited by Allen Ostrander (Edition Musicus, 1960), mm. 49–53

These changes—changing the pitch of a note and changing the rhythm of several notes—are not small things. While Allen Ostrander is no longer with us and we cannot ask him to explain or defend his decisions, bass trombonists have asked this question over and over again, “Why did Ostrander make those changes?” We have some clues.

WHY DID OSTRANDER MAKE THOSE CHANGES?

Ronald Smith’s interview with Allen Ostrander addressed the changed C-flat:

He did change one note, a low C-flat to a pedal A-flat in the twentieth measure. Also, the accompaniment was changed in that particular measure because it played in octaves with the solo. (Smith, 136–137)

Ostrander did not, however, explain WHY he changed the note. But he alluded to “the low C-flat/B-natural problem”:

A low B was left in the last measure because Ostrander thought the bass trombonist had time to pull the valve tuning slide so it could be played in tune. (Smith, 137)

This sentence needs some unpacking and a little historical context.

Today’s double-valve bass trombone was born in 1938 when F. E. Olds Company of Fullerton, California, added a second valve to a single-valve bass trombone, thereby creating an instrument in B-flat (using no valves), F (using first valve alone), and E (using first and second valve together). This was a “dependent valve” bass trombone—the second valve had no impact on the pitch because it was dependent on the first valve being activated. This was the first double-valve bass trombone that was able to play a low B-natural 1 with the hand slide fully extended while using two valves.

F and E bass model (later named Super B-flat/F/E model, and still later, Model S-23) by F. E. Olds and Son, c. 1940. Collection of Jon Moyer; photo by Jon Moyer.

Olds was a niche market company on the West coast of the United States. As such, it was far from the large populations in the East and Midwest where most major orchestras in the country were found, such as Boston, Chicago, Cleveland, New York, and Philadelphia. The Olds double-valve bass trombone was not widely adopted at the time of its invention; most bass trombonists of the first six decades of the twentieth century continued to use a single-valve bass trombone with an F-attachment.

With a single-valve bass trombone with an F-attachment, the lowest possible note with the hand slide fully extended (before playing pedal tones) is a low C2. It is not possible to play the low B-natural1 on a single valve bass trombone; the instruments’ tubing simply isn’t long enough. However, many manufacturers made their F-attachment tuning slide very long. By pulling the F-attachment tuning slide out, the F-attachment became an E-attachment (E2 played in first position when activating the valve) and—voilá!—the low B-natural could be played with the hand slide fully extended.

So, the B-natural WAS available on a single valve bass trombone, but you needed time to pull the F-attachment slide out, and then you needed to remember a new set of positions for any notes on the former F-attachment which was now an E-attachment. It worked, but it was cumbersome.

Alexey Lebedev, Concerto in One Movement, rearranged and edited by Allen Ostrander (Edition Musicus, 1960), mm. 98–120

Lebedev wrote a low B-natural1 in the last measure (measure 120) of his concerto (above). Ostrander evidently felt that because a bass trombonist could pull out the F-attachment slide to make it an E-attachment and therefore play the low B-natural1, he would leave the note in, and not change it to something else like he did earlier in the piece. But just where would the player pull out his F-attachment tuning slide? Way back in the four-measure rest that began in measure 100. That would make for many notes played on the E-valve, and it would have been a bit of a brain twister for most bass trombonists to remember the new slide positions. But it could be done.

But we have to ask ourselves: Why was Allen Ostrander assuming that players would be using a single-valve bass trombone with an F-attachment? After all, with a double-valve bass trombone of any configuration (dependent or in-line), the low-B natural is quite easy to produce without any slide pulling gymnastics.

We learn the answer by understanding the development of the double-valve bass trombone. When Olds developed and began marketing their double-valve dependent model bass trombone in 1938, most players didn’t notice. Meanwhile, on the east coast, bass trombonists Kauko Kahila (Boston Symphony Orchestra 1952–1972), Allen Ostrander (New York Philharmonic, 1946–1975), and Louis Counihan (Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, 1944–1968) began working with the Roth-Reynolds Company (Cleveland, Ohio) to develop a dependent double-valve bass trombone in B-flat/F/E. That instrument, the Roth–Reynolds Stereophonic Contempora model 78-X (and model 72-X) was introduced in 1958. Here is an advertisement from 1959 that features Allen Ostrander endorsing his double-valve Roth–Reynolds bass trombone:

Roth–Reynolds trombone advertisement featuring Allen Ostrander, 1958. Courtesy of ElShaddai Edwards.

In 1960, when Ostrander published his edition of Lebedev’s concerto, the double-valve bass trombone was new, notwithstanding Olds’ mostly overlooked contribution over twenty years earlier. Most bass trombonists did not adopt Reynolds’ double-valve model right away; it wasn’t until the late 1960s that bass trombonists widely began embracing the double-valve bass trombone. In fact, Ostrander himself didn’t immediately use his Roth–Reynolds double-valve bass trombone much. In 1960, Ostrander, Kahila, and Counihan were featured in advertisement for Reynolds bass trombones, but this time, it was the Roth–Reynolds Contempora Philharmonic Model bass trombone—a SINGLE-VALVE bass trombone—they were endorsing. Even the players who worked with Roth–Reynolds to develop their double-valve bass trombone did not embrace it wholly in its early years.

Roth–Reynolds bass trombone advertisement featuring Kauko Kahila, Louis Counihan, and Allen Ostrander, 1960. Courtesy of ElShaddai Edwards.

Given that most bass trombonists in 1960 had probably never heard or, or seen, or much less played a double-valve bass trombone, Ostrander probably felt that changing the low C-flat1 in measure 18 of Lebedev’s concert was a very practical concession. If he had left that low C-flat 1 in the part, most bass trombonists of the era would have either taken the note up an octave (not, in my opinion, a viable option musically), or lipped a low C-2 with the hand slide fully extended down to pitch as a C-flat1 (another questionable decision). Hence, the note was changed to an A-flat1.

A quick aside: For more about the evolution of the double-valve bass trombone—including how today’s modern “in-line” double valve bass trombone came to be—have a look at my article, “Evolution: The Double-Valve Bass Trombone,” International Trombone Association Journal 43, no. 3 (July 2015), 34–43. You can read it HERE. It unpacks a great more about the development of the double-valve bass trombone including the invention of the earliest known trombone with in-line valves, a concept that was applied to a contrabass trombone (not a bass trombone) in Germany 1921. That it took until the 1970s for the in-line concept to be applied to bass trombones is a head-scratcher, and part of the story I tell in my article.

Back to Lebedev. . .

We still have to ask ourselves why Ostrander changed the triplets in measures 50 and 51 to two sixteenth notes. The same for his adding rit. on two technical passages. I can’t read his intentions, but my guess is that he concluded that most players would find the sixteenth notes easier to play than the faster triplets, and slowing a brisk technical passage was simply an easier way to make it work. Ostrander was not known for having a blistering technique; maybe he felt they were easier for himself, too. We don’t know.

WHAT EDITION SHOULD WE PLAY NOW?

Today, two editions of the Lebedev Concerto for Tuba are available: the 1995 edition by Hofmeister (the link is to Hickey’s Music Center) or Ostrander’s 1960 adaptation as Concerto in One Movement (the link is to Hickey’s Music Center). For me, there’s no question that we should play the Hofmeister edition. It is faithful to Lebedev’s intentions in every respect. Ostrander’s arrangement was useful during a time when, in the West, the USSR and East German editions of the concerto were simply not widely available. With the modern advances in bass trombone development—both the instrument and the individuals who play it—today’s players have no reason to play Ostrander’s simplified version, unless one wants to play it “for old time’s sake.” I recorded the 1995 Hofmeister edition and I have always encouraged my students to play that edition ever since it was published. Thankfully, we longer have Cold War music distribution challenges. Acquiring Lebedev’s concerto in an edition he approved is now as simple as clicking a mouse.

Still, this conversation about Alexey Lebedev’s Concerto for Tuba provides us with a glimpse into Cold War musical politics, the development of the modern double-valve bass trombone, and how players (and arrangers) often make changes to a composer’s intentions for practical reasons.

Now you know the answers to some of your burning questions about the Lebedev concerto. You did have burning, questions, right?

Baseball, the Chicago Cubs, and Egyptian Pharaohs. Seriously?

by Douglas Yeo (June 26, 2026)

I live in the Chicago area and a few weeks ago, I went to Wrigley Field to see a Chicago Cubs game. But this was not an ordinary sporting event for me. I took part in the playing of the National Anthem before the game with the University of Illiniois Trombone Choir, conducted by Dr. Jonathan Whitaker. I was trombone professor at University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign from 2022-2024 while the University was conducting a search for a new trombone professor. I was thrilled when Jon Whitaker was hired to the position and when the Chicago Cubs invited the UIUC trombone choir to play the National Anthem on June 2, — part of the Cubs’ annual University of Illinois night at Wrigley Field — it took me exactly one second to accept Jon’s invitation for me to play with the group.

The University of Illinois Trombone Choir conducted by Dr. Jonathan Whitaker, Wrigley Field, Chicago, June 2, 2026. You can see me fifth from right among the bass trombone players (photo by Matt Dirksen/Chicago Cubs).

The day was very special for me. I’ve played the National Anthem at dozens of professional and collegiate sporting events during my lifetime. It’s always been a thrill to be on the field or at center court in a stadium and this was a chance to enjoy the moment with some of my former students at Illinois who were also playing the Anthem. CLICK HERE to view the official video of the performance (on YouTube) that was provided to the University of Illinois Trombone Studio by the Chicago Cubs.

With my former trombone students Sam Murray, Louis Gray, and Derrick Neal. Wrigley Field, Chicago, June 2, 2026.

Before the game, I stopped in a sports shop in Wrigleyville and picked up a copy of a new book, Chicago Cubs 150 Years: The Official Illustrated History. I flipped through the pages and my eyes popped out when I saw a two page spread with photos of baseball players playing a game at the Pyramids and Sphinx in Egypt. Seriously.

Scott Gummer, Chicago Cubs 150 Years: The Official Illustrated History (Skybox Press, 2026).

Baseball game at the Pyramids of Giza. Chicago White Stockings (Chicago Cubs) vs. All America All-Stars, February 9, 1889.

Members of the Chicago White Stockings (Chicago Cubs) with members of the All American All-Stars at the Sphinx, Giza, Egypt, February 9, 1889.

Given my interest in Egypt (readers of TheLastTrombone can read my articles about Egypt HERE, HERE, and HERE), I started looking for more information about this. I found that the story has been told HERE (“The surreal afternoon a baseball game was played among the great Egyptian pyramids”), and, for detailed accounts with team rosters, the schedule, results of games, and much more, HERE (February 9, 1889: A Wondrous Ball Park: The Pyramid Game in Giza, Egypt”), and HERE (“The Great Base Ball Trip around the World in 1888–’19”).

The Chicago Cubs were founded as the Chicago White Stockings in 1870 and in 1876, the team joined baseball’s National League. In 1890, the team took on the name the Chicago Colts and by 1902, they adopted the name Chicago Cubs.

From October 1888 to April 1889, Chicago White Stockings team owner Albert Spalding took the team on a world tour where the White Stockings played exhibition games against a “All America” team of National League all-star players. The tour, which started in the United States, took the teams to New Zealand, Australia, and Europe, and included a game in Sri Lanka (January 26, 1889) and one in the shadow of the Great Pyramid of Giza (February 9, 1889) before returning to the United States to finish the tour. Three players on the tour were later inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame: Cap Anson, John Montgomery Ward, and Ned Hanlon. In addition, Albert Spalding and Henry Chadwick, who accompanied the teams on the tour, also were also inducted into the Hall of Fame.

Seeing these photos seems almost surreal. As if that wasn’t enough, as I was looking for more information about the games, I came across a page on the website of Because Baseball that implied that a type of baseball may have been invented and played in ancient Egypt. And they included a photograph to support their argument:

Photo courtesy of Because Baseball.

Well, it sure LOOKS like someone with a baseball and bat. Yes? This led me to dig more deeply and learn that there are a number of such representations in Egyptian temples. The photo above is captioned “400 BC relief from the Temple of Philae in southern Egypt: Baseball has deep roots in ancient Egypt.” I visited Philae in January 2026 when my wife and I took a tour of Egypt. We did not see this relief (there was so much to see on Philae. . .) and after doing some research, I learned that it appears in the Temple of Isis at Philae, on the outer east wall of the sanctuary/nous.

Here is the location of the relief:

The Temple of Isis at Philae, Egypt. Bertha Porter and Rosalind L. B. Moss, Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Texts, Reliefs, and Paintings: VI. Upper Egypt: Chief Temples (Excluding Thebes), Abydos, Dendera, Esna, Edfu, Kôm Ombo, and Philae (Oxford: Griffith Institute, 1991), 230. The location of the relief is circled in red.

And here is an epigraphic drawing that shows the relief in context:

Georges Bénédite, Le Temple de Philae, Vol. 2 (Paris: Leroux, 1895), plate XXIX.

Carl E. DeVries described the scene (Carl E. DeVries, “A Ritual Ball Game?,” in Studies in Honor of John A Wilson (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969), 30.):

The second register on the exterior of the east wall of the temple of Isis [at Philae] has nine scenes of offerings made by Augustus. The eighth scene from the left shows the ruler striking a ball before Sekhmet, who is seated on a throne at the right. The king wears the double crown above horns, as in the first Edfu relief described above. Again he holds the ball in his left hand, while in his right he holds a stick which is more accurately described as a club or bat since it is considerably thicker at the striking end than at the handle. The position of the arms and the grasping of the club are more realistic than in the earlier representations.

It sure looks like baseball to our modern eyes. And there are some scholars that think that it’s plausible that some kind of game may be in play at the scene. However, recent scholarship seems to point to an act where the King — in the case of the Philae image, Caeser Augustus dressed as a Pharaoh — engages in a ritualized act of destruction, not a sport. The “ball” is not there to be played with; it is the evil eye Apophis (an ancient Egyptian diety of chaos and darkness). It is a symbolic enemy to be destroyed. The “bat” is not a baseball bat; it is a club or stick whose power derives from royal and divine violence. The setting is the temple wall, before the god Sekhmet (an ancient Egyptian diety of war and healing), within a series of offering scenes. Here, “hitting the ball” is an act of violence and royal protection whereby the King (Augustus) destroys a hostile power. For more on this, see, Panagiotis I. M. Kousoulis, “Some remarks on the ritual of ‘striking the ball’ in the liturgical environment of the Ptolemaic temples,” in ed. Ben Haring and Andrea Klug, Ägyptologische Tempeltagung, Leiden, 4–7 September 2002, Function und Gebrauch altägyptischer Tempelräume (Wiesbaden: Harrossowitz, 2007), 153–166.

And here is something else that’s important. Because Baseball’s article on baseball in Egypt dated this relief to 300 BC. That’s not correct. Rome conquered Egypt in 30 BC, and Augustus’s rule in Egypt was from 30 BC to 14 AD. The temple of Isis at Philae was erected in the third and second centuries BC during the Ptolemaic era of Egypt’s history but the Augustus reliefs were not made until the Roman era, several centuries later.

All of this is an interesting intersection of ancient Egypt and today’s modern sport of baseball. Things are not always as they appear but letting our imagination run wild — even if it flies in the face of historical accuracy — is fun. I will be visiting the Temple of Philae again when we return to Egypt next year and I will be sure to take some photos of the scene and then revise this article. For now, we’ll continue cheering for the Cubs (in baseball) and the Egyptian national team (in soccer/football). Go Cubs! Go Egypt!

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.

Just published: “More Than Bordogni: The life, work, and influence of Joannès Rochut”

by Douglas Yeo (January 4, 2025)

I have been researching the life, work, and influence of the celebrated French trombonist, Joannès Rochut, for nearly 40 years. Rochut, as readers of The Last Trombone know (see my previous blog posts about Joannès Rochut HERE, HERE, and HERE), played principal trombone in the Boston Symphony Orchestra from 1925–1930, and he published three volumes of “Melodious Etudes for Trombone” from the vocalises of Marco Bordogni. Rochut’s books are among the most influential study material for trombone ever published.

In May 2024, I gave a presentation about Rochut at the International Trombone Festival, held at Texas Christian University in Fort Worth, Texas. Yesterday, my full research on Rochut was published in the January 2025 issue of the International Trombone Association Journal (Volume 53, No. 1). The issue—with my article—is now available to all ITA members on the ITA’s website. Members who also subscribe to the print version of the Journal will receive their copy later this month.

If you are not a member of the International Trombone Association, I’d like to encourage you to join. I’ve been a member of the ITA since its founding in 1972. I was a senior in high school at the time, and when I learned that the ITA had been established, I joined right away. Over the years, I’ve written many articles for the ITA Journal, have served on ITA committees, and have attended and presented at many International Trombone Festivals. I’m very grateful that the ITA bestowed its ITA Award on me in 2014, and its Lifetime Achievement Award in 2024. Members of the ITA receive the Association’s quarterly Journal, a regular e-newsletter, and stay connected with the world-wide community of trombonists. As soon as you join, you’ll have access to the current issue and the archive of past issues of the ITA Journal. This is a rich resource that informs our knowledge about trombone activities in the last half-century. The ITA also has a Facebook page where you can keep up to date on the latest activities of the Association and trombonists around the world.

The ITA has several levels of membership. Student membership is heavily discounted, and a further discount is applied if a member does not want to receive the print edition of the ITA Journal (all ITA members have access to the online version of the ITA Journal; it is an exact reproduction of the printed version). Discounts are also available for multi-year membership and 65+ year old membership, and lifetime membership is also available (I became a paid life member of the ITA in 1983). To learn more about all of the ITA’s membership levels and join the ITA, click HERE.

My article about Joannès Rochut is the longest article ever published in the ITA Journal. At 70 pages, with 80 images and 210 endnotes, I am deeply grateful for the commitment th ITA’s executive board to publish my article in nearly a double-sized (112 page) January 2025 issue of the ITA Journal. If you’ve ever played a vocalise by Marco Bordogni, own a copy of one of Rochut’s books, are interested in learning more about trombone teachers and students at the Paris Conservatoire in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, want to know more about the history of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, read about Rochut’s quest for the perfect trombone, or learn about Joannès Rochut’s other trombone publications and the students who studied trombone with him at New England Conservatory of Music (they include Ida Isabella Bisbee–the first woman to graduate from New England Conservatory with a degree in trombone performance—and John Coffey), you’ll find all that and more in my article. Here are a couple of sample pages from my article:

It’s all there—and more—on the International Trombone Association’s website, trombone.net, and members receive all of the benefits the Association has to offer.

I’m already at work on several more articles for the ITA Journal that will publish in late 2025 and early 2026. If you’re an ITA member, you’ll find them there when they publish. Stay tuned.

The Last Trombone – Douglas Yeo