by Marty Schlenker
Dear Fellow Ambitious Amateurs,
Welcome to our second column. In the first column, I introduced myself as a middle-aged guy whose enthusiasm for horn exceeded the time and focus required to channel it during the 22½ years since our oldest child was born. As she and her younger sister and brother have become adults, I foresaw more time available for horn and decided it was within reach to “up my game.” The pot’s been on simmer for a long time. Let’s see if I can turn up the heat….
Previously, I didn’t mention my intended audience: it mostly isn’t you. If you’re reading this column, you know what the IHS is, and you’ve taken the initiative to receive Horn and More each month…and you actually read it! If you’ve made it this far, you’re pretty invested in your horn playing. You’re probably the leader in your cadre of amateurs. You probably already know most of the things I will be discovering (or rediscovering) in the coming months. If you learn something new here, wonderful! At least let my experiences inform and affirm yours.
Instead, I’m writing for your community band section mates or fellow pick-up quartet players who have far more potential than they’ve ever considered. I am writing on faith that small tweaks and self-belief will take them a long way. I intend for this to be conveyed here as I document my post-peak-parenting horn journey and then to be transmitted by you. With your encouragement, your section (or quartet or whatever) will become more accomplished, more committed, and more joyful.
Back to the plot. I called Dr. Harcrow…with some apprehension. Why? Because it had been so long since I’d taken a lesson that I really wasn’t sure how much of my playing was ‘right’ vs. ‘wrong.’ I expected to have to go backwards in order to move forward, taking a more diligent approach to detecting and avoiding bad habits. But what if the prescription was to start over? What if Mike took one look at my open bite (ridiculously wide) and said, “Wow. You should have been a woodwind player. Not much I can do here…”?
Before I called him, a good thing happened. I figured I should get ready for our meeting, so I practiced more often, and I practiced a few etudes repetitively for polish instead of randomly going where my muse took me. This helped, a little. More air from more regular practice improved fullness of tone and marginally improved my upper register. More repetition improved accuracy. Folks, pass this on: the benefits of jumping back into lessons start before the first one even happens.
We had a very enjoyable introduction and first lesson. I could describe what I wanted: a more reliable upper register, a punchier bass clef, and more flexibility, for starters. Oh, and more richness and commanding presence of sound. I didn’t put it to Mike exactly this way, but I wanted to sound like all four members of the American Horn Quartet put together. Ambitious? Oh yes…yes indeed! I had formed hypotheses about where the opportunities for improvement lay. I expected that the discussion would dive quickly into micro-details of embouchure.
But that’s not how it went. Much of the lesson was spent on phrasing and musicality, using the Strauss Nocturno and Belloli Etude #8.
Having spent three summers in drum corps, and the last 20 years in a community band with a horn section of 3-4 members but with a trumpet section of 8-13, I was under the impression that I was never loud enough, never working hard enough. Mike: “Well, actually.…” Revelation #1 was that I was far louder than I understood myself to be. Prescription #1 was to work on expanding dynamic range on the softer side before the louder side.
Sounds easy, right? Perhaps for some; but for me, this prescription ran headlong into a corollary of the sound concept I mentioned above. Along with thinking I wasn’t loud enough, it was also really important to me to initiate every note very squarely, which I accomplished by tonguing hard, and very far forward, basically at the tip of my upper teeth.
From a discussion about sound, a significant technical prescription arose. My aggressive tongue was in the way, attempting to substitute for work that should have been done by my air. Move your tongue back. A-ha! Friends, pass this along too: a lesson may not go how you expect it to go.
Okay, this is getting long, and I should go. One thing first, though: I want to hear from you and relay highlights of your journey too! The one person I heard from after column #1 was Marilyn Bone Kloss who graciously invited me to receive her Cornucopia newsletter. (I would recommend it to all. Lots of neat stuff.)
Next column: the realities of splitting time between Pennsylvania and Los Angeles…and tonguing.
Marty Schlenker, Amateur Hornist
