By Eric Reed

Identity and Balance: Who am I, really?

Is anyone feeling a little disoriented these days? not sure who you are, or which way is up? You’re not alone.

On April 2, 2021, a year into the pandemic that caused a major shift in the lives of all artists, I caught a glance of myself in the mirror of a cluttered practice studio and unexpectedly said aloud, “I feel like a horn player again.” This practice session had not contained any breakthrough aside from that one. I can’t remember what I was practicing or why. But when I saw myself in the mirror that day, my identity, or the way I saw myself, had changed from what it had been for many months prior.

Like many artists I know, I took long stretches of time away from the horn during the previous year. Practicing has never come easily to me, but during a time when I had little if nothing for which to practice, I struggled with motivation. Consequently, my identity as a horn player was up for debate. If I don’t play my horn in concerts, and if I’m not motivated to pick it up just for fun, how can I call myself a horn player?

During this time, like many people, I picked up many old pastimes and discovered some new interests. The list looks a lot like what you would imagine: sourdough, meditation, crossword puzzles, Netflix, etc. Playing horn did not make the short or even medium list, which was unusual and disorienting. I had been calling myself a horn player since age 10!

What does balance have to do with identity? I believe that the answer is in the things we choose to do with our time. The choices we make each moment of each day help determine our satisfaction with life. There is an adage with which many of us are familiar: “You are what you eat.” This is literally true, of course, and I would argue that, especially when it comes to our lives as functional musicians and members of society, we are what we do.

Some readers might be thinking “I am a horn player, I’m good with doing just that, and I want to get better.” I would argue that highly motivated and dedicated craftspeople also need balance to succeed. Whether that means making time for rest and recovery or finding other interests which complement our work as horn players, or simply learning to balance our practice sessions so that we can improve most efficiently, we definitely need balance in our habits.

Three practice sessions in a day, spread out, with time and other activities in between, has been the most successful time-management plan for me and my students. An ideal practice day might look like this:

Morning: 30-45 minutes of fundamentals. Simplicity is key. Examples: breathing, note attacks, slow scales, long tones;

Midday: 45-60 minutes of technical work, patterns. Examples: scales with articulations, etudes, arpeggios, flexibility;

Evening: 45-60 minutes of repertoire. The juicy stuff. Examples: solos, excerpts, ensemble music.

What you do between these sessions is also obviously up to you. I like to encourage getting outside, doing some type of exercise, reading, resting, listening to music—this is YOU time. Of course, this is in addition to meals, rest, work, family time…basically everything else your life might contain. So, you must make adjustments to suit your lifestyle. Vary the length, time of day, and content to suit your needs.

Within each session, strive for balance and manage time wisely. I suggest using a kitchen timer to limit the time spent on each piece or technique. Stay organized and keep it flowing. If something isn’t where you want it to be, that’s okay. It’s a process. Move on and reassess in the next practice session. Your balanced approach has a funny way of making you better even if you don’t recognize it in the moment.

In truth, identity is complex, even if being a horn player is all we want to be. I am a father, husband, teacher, colleague, writer, and amateur baker. As horn players, we are soloists, chamber musicians, accompanists, collaborators, roots, thirds, fifths, low- and high-horn players… ALL these things depending on the circumstance. Isn’t it wonderful?

I am Eric Reed, and I am writing this. I also play and teach the horn—among many other interests and priorities in my life. I’ll never forget that day last April, when the balance in my life shifted, and I recognized that horn player in the mirror. You are what you do. What are you doing today?

Eric Reed
www.ericreedhorn.com

Eric Reed is the horn player of the American Brass Quintet, and he serves on the faculties of The Juilliard School and New York University. Eric performs regularly with the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center, Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, and the Orchestra of St. Luke's. He is a former member of the Canadian Brass and Carnegie Hall's Ensemble Connect as well as of the New Jersey, Harrisburg, Oregon, and New World Symphonies. Mr. Reed holds degrees from Rice University and The Juilliard School, and he resides in the Bronx with his wife, violinist Sarah Zun, and their sons Oliver and Elliot.

by Charles Gavin

The retirement receptions have been held, the gold watch presented (or in my case, a much more thoughtful remembrance of a gift card to a local craft distillery), the last studio class and juries are done. You lock the studio for the last time and turn in the keys. Now what?

I have been asked to share some observations on the transition from what is likely the longest journey of our lives to the beginnings of the new journey. The decision to retire was made easier by the fact that my institution offered a generous “early separation” package; it was too good for me to turn down. While I am yet in the beginnings of the transition from forty-years in academia to retirement, I have found some of the routine to be quite familiar, but other aspects do require adjustment.

One “re-invention” can be defined by paraphrasing the lyrics of a song by the band Chicago: Time: Does anybody really care about time? Indeed time, or the sudden freedom from the constraints of a schedule, was initially a challenge. As a musician and professor, I have found life is very much schedule-driven: all the time devoted to hours of practicing and listening; rehearsals marked by the clock in the wings of the stage; lessons and classes dividing our lives into sixty-minute segments.

Suddenly, that schedule-driven lifestyle does not exist. This new freedom was a bit of a shock! No more daybreak individual practice routine, no more early morning group warm-up, the day no longer neatly contained in those hour boxes. What should I be doing? Is “recreational reading” before evening hours really allowed? Why did I feel like I was wasting time enjoying a morning walk with my dogs on a beautiful fall day?

It is certainly different for all; the struggle was genuine for me. It did take time to rid myself of guilt when I was not investing time in something that just weeks before would not have been acceptable in my previous time-driven life.

My solution was to intentionally allow myself to decompress and free myself from as many responsibilities as possible. Gradually, I have become more open to accepting that it is okay to to ignore the clock and guiltlessly enjoy the new life with far fewer responsibilities. What a revelation that was (and my blood pressure is almost normal again)!

Following decades of commitment to teaching, the question for me became does one suddenly stop cold turkey? Being involved with students keeps me engaged, and it provides a sense of purpose. I contacted a local high school before retirement to see if they would be interested in having me involved with their horn students. I now teach there one afternoon a week. Additionally, I have a small number of select private students. It is still exciting to see these young people suddenly “get it” and become more confident horn players and musicians. Those of you who have established outstanding careers teaching junior and senior high school students might find this unusual; moving from collegiate did take a bit of “re-inventing” my approach to teaching. That “time” issue strikes again. It was definitely an adjustment shifting gears from the collegiate hour-slot to half that time for a lesson. Adapting to a new pace is yet an evolving process.

Another adaptation I needed was a more “kind and gentle” approach to teaching. My new students are not enrolled in a college class for grade credit. I do not feel I can issue a stern warning and send the student to a practice room as I would have likely done with a college student for not being prepared! This is not to say I am not striving for the most each student can accomplish; it is simply a different pursuit of the same goal.

On to the horn. Well…maybe off of the horn! I do feel a bit guilty with this admission, but it is refreshing to relax the time (there is that theme again) devoted to practice. I no longer feel the need to keep the endurance needed for quintet or other performances. I still do an extensive daily routine, and I am enjoying the attempt to improve some things (like that often-ignored mid-low range) and having the opportunity to study new repertoire when the mood strikes!

Our profession, by necessity, is one of human contact. From conversations in the halls to rehearsals and lessons, we are surrounded by people with similar goals and ideals. It truly is culture shock going from this setting to one where you must proactively initiate contact with others. I suppose, in some bizarre way, that the Covid 19 shutdown of our universities served as a preparation for this.

Attending concerts has created a personal dilemma since I chose to remain in the same community where I had worked for so many decades. I truly want to hear and support my former students. On the other hand, I do not want my presence to hinder their bonding with the new professor. I consider myself fortunate in that my successor welcomes me to performances; however, I do my best to stay as far in the background as possible. It is also a different experience to attend faculty quintet performances—I was a founding member of both the brass and wind quintets. After thirty-seven years of being on stage with them, it was akin to an out-of-body experience. It did not take long to learn to “let go” and enjoy the music.

I certainly do not mean to infer these transition speedbumps cloud the freedom and joy that come with retirement. Just imagine, no more banal faculty meetings; no more annual faculty reports; no more NASM accreditation visits; no more assessment rubrics; and no more HR trainings! I am realizing that it is indeed acceptable to live life without the governance of a clock. My community has given me so much throughout my career; I now have abundant time to give back by working with local service organizations and charities.

I am still early in this re-invention of life. There are some music projects I would like to pursue on my own without the need to feel driven by an academic regimen. And, I can now invest time indulging my primary hobby…to become a better chef! Freedom to enjoy life on your terms, whatever those may be, is an amazing thing. You will love it!

by Rick Seraphinoff

Corno da Capo, the first historical novel written especially for horn players, is now available worldwide on Amazon. My intention in writing the book was to present all the current research into horn history and natural horn playing technique in a fun adventure story that will be enjoyable to read. You’ll get to meet the most famous horn duo of the 18th century, Johann Palsa and Carl Türrschmidt, as well as other prominent horn soloists like Beate Pokorny and Giovanni Punto, with guest appearances by Punto’s dog Hans-Joachim, Mozart’s dog Bimprel, (Mozart really did have a dog named Bimprel!) and a host of other composers, musicians, and historical figures. Horn players and all musicians interested in late 18th century performance practice can enjoy the fun and adventurous story while learning about a pivotal period of horn history and what it was like to be a court musician and traveling horn soloist at the time. The well-researched story is based on what we know about the actual lives of these prominent 18th century horn soloists – with a large dose of creative license. Documentation of their lives, historical notes, and a bibliography appear at the end of the book so that serious students of horn history can sort out fact from fiction.

Richard Seraphinoff is Professor of Horn at Indiana University in Bloomington, Indiana. For nearly 40 years, Professor Seraphinoff has specialized in crafting and teaching instruments of the 18th and 19th centuries.

www.seraphinoff.com