play horn again

An ad in the paper for auditions – they are looking for horn section players, but I can’t possibly be prepared by August 12, and I’m out of town that week. Something to shoot for, for next year?

I remember few things about the night we chose instruments – did we listen to records prior to walking into the room where all the gleaming silver and brass lay in cases lined in blue and black velvet? Did I beg my parents first for a flute, a woodwind which I most certainly would have been unfaithful to as I couldn’t bear high pitched things even then? Did they steer me to the gleaming brass beast coiled so elegantly in its case or did I march straight up to it and say this one? That is what I remember – walking straight up to the horn, knowing its rich dark tone already. My mother remembers simply that I chose the most expensive thing there.

After a few weeks, I hated it. It weighed as much as I did, and I had to haul it onto the school bus every morning and night. I rammed people with it; the case wouldn’t fit in the seat or the aisle; it was awkward, a behemoth, and I was saddled with it for years. In time, I treated it miserably. Left it outside, in the weather. Didn’t clean it or oil the valves. Beat on the bell with a ballpeen hammer. Shoved a tube sock up the bell so far I had to use a straightened hanger to pull it out.

I still have that student horn, a single F Conn. I’d been playing it nearly every day a few years ago, after an infinitely long layoff that began in my senior year of high school and continued for almost 20 years. I picked it up ever so briefly, a terrifying flirtation of a few months, when all the adoration and anguish of dedicated play flooded back to me and I closed the case again and turned my back. My reasoning: I didn’t want to dally with it; if I were going to play again, I would play with resolve, daily, joyfully. I would play with a focus on performance and musicality.

There was about 6 months, over three years ago, when life and my schedule were settled enough to attempt it. I practiced for a few weeks, amazed at the range and tone I could achieve. Then I found a local teacher and enjoyed three months of lessons before all hell broke loose in my work life and again I closed up the case. Then, a year later, life settled, I was fixed in one place for the time being, and it was time to play.

What surprises me still is how quickly things returned – tone, range, fluidity. What astonishes me is how much improved the skills I never fully mastered 25 years ago: sight reading, the very low range, support in the upper register, musicality. I could be so relaxed with the music and it flowed so well most days. I skipped practice on days I couldn’t focus because of work stress or headaches, and regretted it. I started toying with the idea of buying a double horn. I scared myself by buying books of progressive etudes and researching local symphony auditions. I’m not ready for performance, but I’m ready to acknowledge that is what I’d be working toward. There is nothing like it.

my one talent in life has escaped me. i should say i left it behind. i picked up the french horn at the age of 11 and could play it well the first day i touched it. in one year i was playing with the high school band, and local college ensemble even though i was still in jr. high. i loved playing. i love playing. i have stopped playing. i am 34 now and while the list of my regrets is long, this is at the top of the list.