Origin of The Tune
It was originally written in 1901 by Alex Lithgow as a jig type tune for Symphonic band. No research can find if that tune had a name but it was known to be rejected in that format by a publisher.
When Invercargill hosted the national brass band contest in 1909, Alex’s brother Tom asked for a test piece for the contest and Alex offered this piece (re arranged). On the music he wrote:
“ | To Invercargill, the Southernmost City in New Zealand (End of the World), and its Citizens, I dedicate this March as a momento of the many pleasant years spent there in my boyhood. | ” |
That re arrangement commenced in 1908 and tested out at a rehearsal that year in Bathurst NSW. It was sent to his brother Tom in Invercargill for comment and changes were made before it was finally sent to Invercargill in 1909 and first played publicly at Rugby Park Invercargill on 3rd November 1909 by the massed bands at the national New Zealand Brass Band contest.
Read more about this topic: Invercargill March
Famous quotes containing the words origin of the, origin of, origin and/or tune:
“In the woods in a winter afternoon one will see as readily the origin of the stained glass window, with which Gothic cathedrals are adorned, in the colors of the western sky seen through the bare and crossing branches of the forest.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson (18031882)
“The origin of storms is not in clouds,
our lightning strikes when the earth rises,
spillways free authentic power:
dead John Browns body walking from a tunnel
to break the armored and concluded mind.”
—Muriel Rukeyser (19131980)
“The origin of storms is not in clouds,
our lightning strikes when the earth rises,
spillways free authentic power:
dead John Browns body walking from a tunnel
to break the armored and concluded mind.”
—Muriel Rukeyser (19131980)
“See where my Love sits in the beds of spices,
Beset all round with camphor, myrrh, and roses,
And interlaced with curious devices
Which her apart from all the world incloses!
There doth she tune her lute for her delight,
And with sweet music makes the ground to move,
Whilst I, poor I, do sit in heavy plight,
Wailing alone my unrespected love;”
—Bartholomew Griffin (d. 1602)