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I played Glockenspiel for the high school marching band one year, but soon gave it up because the experience of being noticed was almost more than I could handle; whereas the flute is usually pummelled senseless by the brass and drums, and its breathy voice never actually reaches a listener’s ear, the silver ping of each glock note travels unobstructed, piercing every eardrum in a radius extending from the fifty-yard line clear out to the parking attendant.