by Mike Harcrow, Editor

I hear too many players—mostly, but not always, students…and certainly not always just horn players—do a half-hearted warm-up or practice session, one in which breaths are not full and in which distractions are present (primarily cell phones with social or streaming media running), one in which “noodling” is allowed to count for something more productive. I will confess that I have been guilty of falling into cycles of these things myself, and I do make the conscious effort to resist such temptations.

What quickly creeps into disengaged playing are bad habits: inaccuracy, poor energy, erosion of the ability to concentrate, and possibly even the loss of positive gains made—not to mention the time we are stealing from our own good learning.

Keep phones and laptops separate from productive time. Most of us have useful tools on our devices (tuners and drones, metronomes and rhythm generators, audio-visual feedback, model recordings, etc.), so this is a difficult demand to make of ourselves. I understand this; but we must be disciplined to use only the app[s] necessary for a particular practice session and for a specific reason, then silence the device and put it out of sight. Designate “viewing time” or “listening time,” apply what is being studied, then be done with it for the time being. Thorough maintenance (or, if needed, restoration) of the sensory engagement required to make the best music is crucial just to maintain our standards…and all the more so to continue advancing them.

The flute professor at the university where I teach plays an incredibly beautiful warm-up. She will isolate herself as best she can, just herself and her flute, and play a variety of long tones—just long tones, often with her eyes closed…and they are truly gorgeous sounds, whether high or low, loud or soft, straight-tone or with vibrato. She is focused, intentional in breathing and production, and deeply mindful of her tone. It is so simple yet truly inspirational.

Cloak yourself in the music! Work for performance-quality playing at all times. Create your best sound with ease and energy. Eliminate the onset of tension in any part of the body. Engage your ears. Imagine a connection between the tongue and fingers in tricky articulated passages. Concentrate happily. Find a willing and well-disciplined accountability partner who will help you keep yourself in check.

Mentally- and sensorily-engaged playing shows excellent discipline. Much more can be accomplished in 20 minutes of complete and intentional awareness than in an hour of perfunctory swipes at a passage or technique.

by Katy Carnaggio

You are asked to do something extraordinary. Across the full spectrum of human performance, very few domains demand both precise, real-time execution in front of an audience and the transmission of meaning. Not just visible success, but emotional impact. In sports, emotion is a byproduct. In music, it’s the point.

Throughout this series, we’ve explored how musicians develop the ability to anticipate sound and sensation before playing by building internal models through imaginative, preference-based practice. It’s execution with feeling built in.

In music, sound is the measurable, verifiable outcome. You play the written pitch. You follow expressive markings. You stay within stylistic norms. Or you don’t. You can train this endlessly, but it only gets you partway. Because at the same time, you’re asked to do something immeasurable: make people feel something.

Other artists manage the task of creating meaning through process. They draft, delete, and revise. They can pick up a pencil, draw a white chair, and change it until it speaks.

But musicians perform in a single, irreversible moment where every choice is final and every outcome witnessed. In those conditions, certainty can become more tempting than creation. Instead of making the leap to believe a white image will emerge from graphite, we search for a white pencil—something to guarantee the result, but in doing so, forfeits connection.

No amount of technical preparation replaces the leap of belief required when the audience arrives. To train the other half of the ask, you have to practice the leap. You can do that through relational surrender: the act of releasing self-protection, outcome management, or overcontrol to allow authentic connection with the music, the moment, or another person. It’s a conscious choice of yielding in service to something higher than self.

Relational surrender is not the absence of control; it is the calibrated transfer of control from conscious monitoring to internal models built through disciplined preparation. It’s a skill initiated deliberately, developed through practice, and integrated through performance over time as the nervous system learns to meet uncertainty without bracing.

It means:

• Choosing sincerity over self-presentation
• Remaining open to being shaped
• Allowing love, rupture, or disconnection without forcing a narrative
• Risking loss for the sake of integrity
• Withholding in spaces that demand self-erasure

To explicitly train this skill, you must first develop an internal model you can trust. It starts by developing a vivid, compelling musical intention. So, let’s imagine you’re in the practice room, trying to find a quality of sound that sets Brahms apart from Mozart and from Strauss. And while it’s not yet clear, the sound you’re looking for reminds you of one of your favorite traditions: Saturday morning pancake breakfasts with your family. Maybe it was the way sunlight streamed through the window that brought it back. The warmth in a place that felt familiar and full. But you also remember looking down at your plate and watching the butter melt into every edge. And you realize that’s exactly how you want each phrase to feel: rich, connected, and saturated with warmth. Then, with each bite, there’s structure, yes, but the texture is fluffy. Like a centered core to a sound that’s full but never heavy. And of course, the syrup. Golden, bright, and alive on your tongue. The sparkle of overtones that adds lift and complexity without losing warmth. All qualities of a Brahmsian horn sound you can distill into one word: pancakes.

Training the model means tracing the mechanics backward from your now clear musical intention to sensation. Starting from sound, you imagine how it would feel to produce in your body and bring that guess to the horn. Observe, adjust, return. Through this process, you try on breaths and discover what’s too shallow, too generous, or too cool until you find the one that enables your intention. You notice where you still grip for control through your right shoulder or throat or legs, and you learn to surrender even those places to your intention.

Just as you know valve combinations and when to use them, anytime you want to create the precise sound you’ve mapped, you can scan from head to toe until your body, mind, and breath are primed accordingly. You find what needs to release and what needs to support until you have embodied your intention so completely that it radiates from all of you like the moment Beast transforms into a prince in Beauty and the Beast. The horn simply amplifies what’s already present.

Practicing the leap means surrendering to your internal models. Performance stops being proof of your preparation and becomes a question. What does this sound mean here? in this hall, with these people, in this unrepeatable moment of your life?

Relational surrender is performance at its most complete. It’s what allows performer, colleagues, audience, and music to become co-participants in a shared experience.

You can surrender in an audition and discover the hall is adding delightful nuances in your tone and projection that no practice room has revealed. Now your Brahms may always carry a bit of a great concert hall.

You can surrender in an orchestra and hear a colleague phrase differently than expected. You respond without hesitation, and suddenly a well-worn passage reveals new emotional terrain. Now your phrasing will always remember that person, that moment of shared breath.

You can surrender in a recital and sense the audience’s focus is sharpening your own, allowing you to lock in a tricky rhythmic passage. Now that phrase will always pulse with the energy you borrowed from the room.

But stop at execution, and you miss it. Connection is not extra. It’s the reason you showed up.

by Jennifer Montone, IHS 57 Featured Artist; Principal Horn, The Philadelphia Orchestra

The music field is a wonderful but sometimes stressful place. We constantly ride the rollercoaster of striving for artistic excellence while accepting the sobering reality of our own humanness. Our mental well-being is hugely important to the quality of our playing. We perform better with "cheerleader" voices in our heads instead of "critics." We perform more expressively, bravely, freely, musically, and excitingly when we feel supported and respected. It's simply more joyous to collaborate musically in friendly environments. Research consistently shows that working in open, inclusive, supportive, safe, and collaborative musical environments is better for our growth, happiness, health, and excellence.

Yet, perfectionism, pedestal thinking, and power dynamics often complicate things. One powerful solution is the concept of holding space: "Creating a safe, non-judgmental environment where someone can feel seen, heard, and understood without being interrupted or controlled." What a beautiful sentiment!

Embracing Imperfection for Excellence

"Excellence is the result of caring more than others think is smart, risking more than others think is safe, trying more than others think is wise, and expecting more than others think is possible."

In this age of recordings and YouTube, where perfection sometimes feels more valued than expression, we often feel paralyzed by the fear of failure. We might feel judged by colleagues, harangued by self-doubt, berating ourselves mercilessly for mistakes, weeping into our pillows, and joking about FOMO (fear of missing out) and imposter syndrome. It's hard to ever feel "good enough" or "perfect enough."

Awesome antidotes to perfectionism include internal pep talks, meditation, yoga, proactive phrasing, using musical adjectives, playing with love, riding excitement waves, singing from the heart, and simply having fun. It's also helpful to remember: we don't choose our friends, spouses, pets, or homes for their perfection; we love them because of how they make us feel. The same is true with music. True excellence, beauty, and passion manifest in incredible, human, and therefore beautifully imperfect ways. By holding space for ourselves, we honor and celebrate every artistic attempt—big or small, close to perfect or not. We celebrate our commitment, heartfelt caring, brave risk-taking, and hard work towards excellence.

"May I feel safe, healthy, at peace.…"

Learning from Everyone: Beyond the Pedestal

"Every person is my teacher in some way: in that, I learn from them."

We live in a world of categorizing and comparing ourselves, and for most horn players, often worrying we aren't measuring up. While "pedestal thinking" can sometimes inspire us, it can also brutalize us. We can all be more mindful of how we navigate this.

The alternative to an invisible caste system is to purposefully empower and lift up ourselves and others, honoring lifelong learning from all sources. Let's celebrate every success around us, whether prestigious, high-paying, or not directly in the music field. We know that everyone who plays music is a musician, an artist—sharing their gifts, making the world a better place, inspiring, provoking thought, and opening minds and hearts. This is true no matter the location, level, title, income, or percentage of playing versus other employment. With appreciation for the specialness of each artistic voice, we hold space for each other, celebrating all types of successes based on the concept of inherent worth: each person deserving of great respect.

"May you feel safe, healthy, at peace.…"

Navigating Hierarchies with Respect

"Sometimes, courage doesn’t roar. Sometimes, courage is the quiet voice in the night, whispering, 'I will try again tomorrow.'"

Our field has natural hierarchies that organize how we learn and work together. However, these can unfortunately lead to dangerous and harmful power dynamics. We've all experienced teacher/student, coach/chamber group, conductor/orchestra musician, principal/section member, and contractor/freelancer hierarchies. These roles necessitate colleagues respectfully promoting safe, supportive atmospheres. Thankfully, this is mostly the case.

But we are all human, and many of us have also experienced or witnessed disrespectful, inappropriate, mean-spirited, or demeaning behavior—designed to make one person feel smaller or less worthy than another—for all kinds of reasons. We can collectively acknowledge the pain and inequity in our institutional past, and together, we can navigate, heal from, and move past it to change the culture for the future.

Horn players are caring, warm, and supportive individuals, giving us a unique opportunity to bond together and address problems in our own workplaces and schools. We celebrate how we hold space as a community: ensuring that people of all races, genders, ages, and orientations are treated with respect; creating an environment where it feels safe to disclose things, to say "I'm sorry, I messed up. I want to do differently next time," or "Hey, are you okay?" and to discuss equity and to problem-solve collaboratively.

"May we all feel safe, healthy, at peace.…"

The Power of Collectively Holding Space

Holding space—for ourselves, each other, and the whole world—can profoundly help with perfectionism, pedestal thinking, and power dynamics. With this collective spirit, we create safe spaces for us all to bloom personally and artistically.

I am part of an amazing new nonprofit, the Coalition of Musicians for Ethical Change, and we hope you'll consider joining us! We are a community of musicians supporting the establishment of safe and supportive work and school environments where musicians of all ages, genders, and races can thrive musically and professionally. We offer educational programs at schools and festivals, provide support if you need it, and host town halls to discuss these topics in a warm, open, inclusive, non-judgmental forum. For more information, please visit: https://www.musiciansforethicalchange.org/

Additionally, at IHS 57, as in the past few years (thank you, wonderful IHS leaders, for promoting these important sessions!), there will be a panel discussion about equity in the horn world. I hope you'll all come for an uplifting, collaborative conversation about how we can experience more joy through holding space for ourselves, each other, and our entire field!

by Ricardo Matosinhos

This is the first in a series of short articles dedicated to low horn.

“Man shall not live by bread alone, nor the horn player by high notes only.”

The low range is an essential register to develop. It forms the foundation of proper embouchure formation and tone production. For that reason, it must be practiced from a very young age; otherwise, players may regret it later in life.

Historical background: the natural horn influence

Traditionally, horn methods and solo pieces begin around middle C and tend to rise toward the stratosphere. This tendency can be traced back to the natural horn, where the harmonic series becomes more practical above middle C. In that register, the intervals between harmonics narrow—from thirds to seconds, and eventually semitones around high G—allowing for melodic playing with little to no hand-stopping.

The invention of valves in the 19th century expanded the horn’s chromatic possibilities, especially in the low range. Notes that previously required a combination of right-hand technique and lip bending could now be played open using valves. One might expect that this would immediately lead composers to write extensively in the low register, but tradition proved more resistant.

There was, and to some extent still is, an unwritten rule that music written for valved horn should remain playable on the natural horn. This idiomatic approach persisted well into the valve era and had several side effects—especially regarding notation.

The clef conundrum

Music for the natural horn was mostly written in G clef (treble clef), with F clef reserved for very specific low passages—usually around the second and third overtones (e.g., low C and G). To further complicate matters, older notation systems used the F clef an octave lower than the current standard.

The horn’s range is naturally centered in the middle register. Yet because of the traditional use of G and F clefs, the horn never adopted the C clef, which could have offered a more efficient notational system for this range.

The old-style F clef allowed players to read over an extended low range without frequent clef changes—very similar to how C clef works for other instruments. But with the demise of the older F clef notation, modern horn players are left to navigate between treble clef, bass clef (in its modern form), and numerous ledger lines below the staff.

Some treatises on orchestration recommend using treble clef for horn except in the extremes of the range. This makes sense when considering the natural horn repertoire. For instance, Oscar Franz’s method notates very low notes in treble clef. But reality is more nuanced. As chromaticism and extended techniques became more common, these guidelines slipped into a gray area.

Ask any horn player: once you reach the fourth ledger line below the treble staff, it becomes a struggle. In complex textures, or when multiphonics are involved, using both G and F clef in parallel (as in piano notation) could be a useful alternative. I have adopted this solution in some of my compositions, although it remains far from standard practice.

Challenges of clef reading—and why it matters

Horn players must be prepared to read treble clef, bass clef (both modern and old notation), and deal with multiple ledger lines—often combined with stopped notes and transpositions. It’s demanding, but it’s necessary.

Understanding the historical use of clefs across the horn’s range gives valuable context to the importance and challenges of low horn playing today.

In the next issue, I will focus on the opportunities and struggles of low horn today.