Davis Cup Disaster

You can never be absolutely certain of anything … I’m certain of that.

What is it about tennis that doesn’t go with trumpet playing? I’ve been asked to play for the Davis Cup final twice in my life and both times it’s been, shall we say, less than perfect.

The first attempt was in 1993 in Düsseldorf, where Australia met Germany. I was invited to play ‘Advance Australia Fair’ on centre court just prior to the start of the first match. This would be watched by millions around the world on television and by thousands in the Exhibition Hall.

I didn’t really have to worry too much about a gig like this; all I was going to do was play the anthem with a nice big sound and walk off. It wasn’t as if it was a hard tune or anything, it wasn’t fast or tricky in any way, it just needed to be done well. (Therein would lie the problem.)

My German agent was sitting in the stands, waiting eagerly for the start—not to hear my trumpet playing (he’d heard plenty of that), but to see the tennis. He was a big fan. I walked in a dignified manner out to the centre of the court and turned to face the official delegation. On cue, a voice came over the PA. ‘Please be upstanding for the Australian national anthem, played by James Morrison.’

I took a deep breath, placed the trumpet reverently to my lips and began. All went well for the first ten seconds or so.

The trumpet has three buttons (or valves) that you use in combinations to make all the different notes. These valves are pistons that go up and down and require oiling to keep them moving smoothly. I’d oiled them just prior to walking out and they felt good. There’s more than one combination for most notes, so you have what are called ‘alternate fingerings’. I was playing the anthem in the key of E flat, which uses only the first two valves; the third one shouldn’t be used at all.

As I came to the second phrase of the song I felt a slight catch in the second valve— not good. I gave them all a bit of a ‘shuffle’ (that’s when you press all the valves quickly to loosen them up). The third valve chose this moment to stick down! I was now standing in front of all these people (and the TV audience), including the Australian consul, trying to play the national anthem with one valve permanently down—the one that you don’t push down at all when playing this song! I quickly started using alternate fingerings but realized to my horror that there isn’t an alternate for the note named G. You wouldn’t believe how many Gs there are in that key. Each time I came to that note I had to play something else. I was improvising on my country’s anthem at an official occasion, something generally considered to be bad form.

The Australians I could see were all looking puzzled and staring at me in a way that said, ‘Are you kidding?’ I died a thousand deaths as I fought my way through the rest of the piece. Finally it was over and I just wanted to become one with the surface of the court. As I walked off I caught the eye of the Australian team and smiled weakly—they just looked at me in disbelief.

I got back to the stand and sat beside my German agent. ‘That anthem of Australia’s is quite “jazzy” in parts,’ he said.

The second time made that look like a roaring success.

It was well known that when Australia faced Spain in the final of the Davis Cup in 2000, incidents had occurred that created bad blood. This made it extremely important that when they met again, three years later (this time on Australian soil), things should go smoothly to show there were no hard feelings.

It’s customary with international sporting events for the visiting country to have their national anthem played as a recording (unless they’ve got a dud trumpeter to play it for them), whereas the host nation would normally have a live performance for their anthem. To go the extra mile and really roll out the red carpet for the Spanish delegation, Tennis Australia decided it would be appropriate to have the guests’ anthem played live by yours truly. (I guess they’d forgotten Düsseldorf.)

Now I didn’t know the Spanish national anthem any better than you do (unless you’re Spanish, in which case bear with me as this explains everything), so I asked for a copy of it to allow me to learn the tune. What would you do if someone asked you this? You’d probably go down to the local record store and buy a CD of national anthems—which is exactly what some poor, unsuspecting soul from Tennis Australia did. When I received the disk, I carefully counted the tracks to make sure I didn’t listen to the wrong one. The following track was the Swedish anthem and it would never have done to play that by mistake. In an attempt to make sure the version I was listening to was fairly standard, I searched the Internet and found a website where I could hear a sample of the music. It all checked out, so I went ahead and memorized the whole thing (it’s quite long).

The key it was recorded in was less than ideal for trumpet but I decided to learn it that way anyway, because it was probably how they were used to singing it—and I wanted to do the best job possible. After much study, the Spanish anthem was ready. Wait till they heard this! (Indeed.)

On the morning of the big day, I had a rehearsal at the Rod Laver Arena in Melbourne to check the sound. It was almost right but I spoke to the technicians and we decided a little less reverberation would sound even better—this was going to be a perfect performance. Needless to say, I oiled my valves six times and went over all the alternate fingering possibilities I could think of. This wouldn’t be a repeat of last time.

The moment arrived and I walked out onto centre court (no déjà vu) and faced the Spanish team (straight across the net). They stood solemnly while I began to play—at least, they stood solemnly for about four bars, then they started to scowl until finally the look of open hostility was unmistakable. High in the stand I saw a Spanish dignitary shaking his fist as he walked out! What was the matter with these people? Did they want it played faster? Was it too low? I’d like to see them play it better; some people are just so hard to please.

I finished, quite pleased with how it had gone. The sound was excellent and my valves had been superb. The fact that the Spanish tennis players out on the court had failed to sing along just confirmed my opinion that you can’t be good at everything. They were, after all, among the world’s best players; why should they be able to sing?

I walked back into the corner of the arena where my agent was waiting and said, ‘I thought that went rather well.’

He had that ‘rabbit caught in the headlights’ look in his eyes and said slowly, ‘I think we have a problem.’

The Spanish team manager walked purposefully up to me and stood far too close for normal polite conversation. ‘That thing you played,’ he hissed, ‘was not our national anthem!’

I was confused; it sounded like he’d said that I’d played the wrong tune. That was impossible. I mean, I’d just played it on international television; the King of Spain himself had been listening. It couldn’t have been the wrong tune.

It was.

If I’d played the Swedish national anthem by mistake, or some other country’s, that would only have been extremely embarrassing and an international faux pas. This was much worse. I had played the Spanish anthem—but the wrong one. The song I’d played was a revolutionary hymn that encouraged people to overthrow the King; it was about as disrespectful as you could get without actually singing the words.

Two security guards guided me quickly towards a waiting car and said, ‘We’ll take you directly to the airport, Mr Morrison.’

‘Why?’ I protested. I wanted to get on the microphone and make an apology.

At that point we were told that the Spanish team were refusing to leave the court until they heard the correct anthem. ‘It’s best if you leave now Mr Morrison, there are a lot of Spanish fans in the arena.’

As I was driven away we heard a recording of a very different anthem being played.

The final was played and Australia won. Unfortunately, there were those who felt Australia had played the wrong anthem deliberately as a payback for the unpleasantness in Barcelona; nothing could be further from the truth. Various politicians called for an official apology from the Australian government (why do they always do that?) and I demanded to know where the recording I’d studied had come from. When the dust settled it appeared that you could buy copies of the incorrect anthem anywhere in Australia, but that, strangely, the right one was almost impossible to come by.

I received many emails after this fiasco. You’d be thinking that they were from outraged Spaniards—not so, I had one email saying I should have learned the right tune. All the others, and there were many, were messages of congratulation! It appeared that a number of separatists had heard the broadcast and I was now their hero for helping with their long-awaited rebellion. One even said (and I quote), ‘When you are planning your next event to further the cause, let us know and we’ll support you.’

I found this horrifying. After all, I’m a musician not a revolutionary!

I patiently await my next opportunity to attempt the Davis Cup, but I’m not holding my breath.