by David Griffin
Dale Clevenger and David Griffin together in Salzburg, Austria.
(photo credit Todd Rosenberg)
Many people will remember Dale for his epic Mahler and Strauss horn calls, his fearless rides into the stratosphere, and his endlessly long lyrical lines. Of course, those are all very true and memorable, but I will most remember Dale for his kindness and patience when I was a new member of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra horn section.
Rather than pointing out shortcomings, Dale did whatever he could to encourage and welcome newcomers. Suggestions were few and far between, which greatly helped a new player feel comfortable in an unfamiliar situation. On the rare occasion when Dale addressed the horn section in rehearsal, he always phrased the request in the politest form possible.
After I had been in the CSO for about a year, I mentioned to Dale that he never seemed to be worried about anything. He looked me straight in the eye and said, “David, I’m a very good actor.” I suppose so, because his outwardly carefree attitude, during even the most high-pressure situations, demonstrated to the section that communicating the musical content took precedence over just hitting right notes on the horn. In my lessons with Dale, he spoke about “controlled abandon” as a goal for performances. Later as a colleague, what incredible joy it brought me to hear him up close in the orchestra, performing so fearlessly and with controlled abandon.
Dale’s spot-on imitations of conductors kept us laughing. Speaking of conductors, none ever rattled him. Rather, the occasional inexperienced conductor might quickly learn not to try and fix what wasn’t broken.
Everyone has their own favorite playlist of Dale’s greatest moments, on which I cannot improve. An interesting comparison, though, would be to listen to Mahler’s Third Symphony with then-Music Director Jean Martinon conducting the orchestra in a live performance from 1967, Dale’s “freshman year.” He sounds very good, but in hearing that recording, there’s no way to imagine the type of musician and horn player into which Dale would evolve. Given the chance to serve as CSO’s principal horn, Dale seized the opportunity and performed in a manner that raised expectations for all horn players in ways previously unimagined.
The 20th century is well documented with many commercial and live recordings of the entire orchestral repertoire. No one sounded like Dale prior to his tenure—although not long after establishing himself in the CSO, everyone was trying to sound like him. Dale was a pivotal artist who forever changed orchestral horn playing.
Some have described the first horn role as “either bored to death or scared to death.” Nothing could be further from the truth for Dale who lived for the finest details: smooth, legato lines with a clear sense of forward direction, an infinite variety of articulations, and the most dramatic dynamic level for the moment. He took equal pride in accompanying colleagues in a breathtaking pianissimo as in riding on top of the full brass section in a massive Bruckner chorale.
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| CSO horns section in St. Petersburg, Russia April, 2012. Clevenger, Jim Smelser, David Griffin, Oto Carillo, Sue Gaunt, and Dan Gingrich (photo credit Will Berndt) |
Like his music-making, which was always moving towards a higher level, Dale became his best person in his golden years as evidenced by a selfless devotion to his students and a genuine care for others. I will miss Dale’s unexpected phone call just to check in on me and catch up on the news.
Thank you Dale! Your glorious horn playing and passion for great music making will continue to inspire me forever.
Topics Ideas:
Topics Ideas:
Contributing Artist Lectures, Solo and/or Chamber Performances, Warm-up Session Presentations, plus Horn Ensemble Performing Groups at the Professional, University, and Pre-University levels
All proposals must be submitted by April 1, 2022 at the IHS54 Marketplace Store. *Presenters must be registered for the entire week of IHS54 before proposals are accepted and scheduled. Presenters for Youth Days must be registered for August 5-6. All presenters are responsible for their own travel, lodging, and food expenses.
by Gary Kuo
(photo credit Aaron Weber)
Facebook’s 10-Year Challenge invites participants to compare and share portraits of themselves from a decade ago with those taken recently. While I don’t believe my physical appearance has changed much since 2012, one thing definitely has: the number of real world friends I’ve made who are horn players. When reflecting on the meaningful connections I’ve established since the launch of social media, I’m delighted and amazed at how many corno compadres I now have. I don’t even play the horn.
I’ve always had a curiosity for all things mechanical, including instruments. Having started violin in third grade, I understood how each member of the string family worked. It was the intricate key and valve design of the winds and brass, however, that would continue to fascinate me over the years. As a result, I would occasionally let my mind wander during youth orchestra and marvel at how brass players could produce so many notes with so few “buttons” and how horns worked so well in the disco versions of “Star Wars” and “Close Encounters.” There’s nobility in their sound I thought, gazing at their complex network of pipes that were both beautiful and a bit daunting.
During my undergraduate years at Juilliard, I spent a summer as concertmaster of the All-American College Orchestra at Walt Disney World, where I got to see just how versatile musicians in the other sections could be. It was enlightening to try and grasp the concepts of transposition and doubling and seeing my colleagues perform those skills with ease inspired me to learn more. Exposed to a wider range of genres, I began listening to music from an entirely different perspective. Instruments, both electronic and acoustic, became individual colors within a massive tapestry of sound, and there was so much more to discover: my existing love of blinking lights, knobs, and switches had evolved into a passion for creating new music. The following year, I completed my bachelor’s in performance and went on to pursue a master’s in composition for film and television.
After graduating from the two-year Media Writing and Production program at the University of Miami in Florida, I moved to Los Angeles, where I began composing for network TV and played violin as a freelancer, doing session work on occasion. Performing on soundtracks gave me the rare opportunity to see some of the industry’s greatest composers and recording artists in action. I often had the privilege of watching studio legend James Thatcher play and lead his section as they produced that amazing Hollywood sound we’ve come to know and love. It was also the first time I really took note of the steps required to remove water from a horn. If you ever write for that instrument, I told myself subconsciously, give the performer enough time at regular intervals to execute all those moves with care and precision.
And that sound. Hearing all those horns playing together? It was a sonic experience I would never forget.
The exclusive use of technology by composers, while convenient and frequently expected, sadly removes human interaction from the creative process. So, when Dr. Michael Harcrow, professor of horn at Messiah University and a good friend from graduate school, reached out in 2012 and asked me to write something for his students, I welcomed the opportunity. “What’s the instrumentation?” I asked. “Just horns,” he replied. Really? Is that a thing, I wondered? After doing a little research, I learned it was not only a thing, but also a very, very beautiful thing. Recalling my experience sitting near the horns on the scoring stage, I was eager to create a work that might incorporate some of the most gorgeous sounds I had heard over the years.
In the summer of 2013, Mike’s students premiered “Mountain Spires” for six-part horn choir at the 45th International Horn Symposium in Memphis, Tennessee. I was honored to have my music included in their program and excited that they won second place in the large ensemble competition. Little did I know that Mike’s invitation for me to contribute to this weeklong celebration of all things horn would profoundly change my life and open up a whole new world of possibilities and friendships.
The first two horn professors to reach out asking about my piece were Tulsa Symphony member Lanette Lopez Compton and Canadian Brass member Jeff Nelsen who teach at Oklahoma State University and Indiana University, respectively. Their interest and enthusiastic support were heartwarming and the thought that I might have something to offer educators was really exciting. I owe much of the direction I’ve received in life to my music teachers and I’m convinced that, without their guidance and wisdom, I’d have wandered off aimlessly like some buggy video game character. So, along with a performance and recording generously provided by Los Angeles-based hornist and engineer Preston Shepard, I released the music online. (You can hear Mr. Shepard’s performance here. MH)
Before long, I started connecting with professors and students across the United States as they heard about and began programming my five-minute piece in their studio recitals and concerts. It was a blast and so very satisfying. Most of what I compose, television underscore, is produced in complete isolation and often so quickly I forget what I did just a few hours ago. Writing concert music, by contrast, places me in a different frame of mind and provides far more time to savor the entire process. In addition, the feeling of knowing one’s work will be performed for an audience is akin to seeing your child return from a birthday party with a big smile and a fistful of colorful balloons.
The 47th International Horn Symposium was scheduled to take place in Los Angeles so Mike suggested I attend. Annie Bosler, who was co-host of the annual event and Jeff, who was then president of the International Horn Society, thought I should write something for Jeff to perform as soloist with concert band. By now, I had been invited to the Facebook Horn People group, where I was learning a lot more about this great instrument, as well as some of the technical challenges and musical preferences of its members, both amateur and professional. I knew there could be no offbeats in this new work. No, this composition was going to be one in which all horns on stage would be heard.
In August of 2015, Jeff gave the world premiere performance of “Wingspan” with the Colburn School Adult Wind Ensemble in the closing concert of IHS 47. It was a fantastic way to end the week. I had spent the previous few days listening to interviews, performances, and meeting many of the new friends I had made since the release of “Mountain Spires.” It was also fun to rub elbows with a few superstars, including Jeff. He and I had spoken about his new piece in the months before the convention, but being able to spend time with him in person, watch him work, and hear his thoughts about other artist-related topics, was extra special.
That academic year, the University of Kansas Wind Ensemble led by Dr. Paul Popiel accompanied Jeff in a second performance of “Wingspan” which I shared on YouTube. In the months following the release of the video, I felt as if a wish from my days as a teen was becoming a reality: I was finally getting a chance to work with the kids in band. Horn players, from high school students to seasoned professionals, along with their teachers and music directors, were discovering and performing my little piece, and with each concert came an opportunity for me to meet someone new, learn about another school or community group, and in the case of international artists, use Google Translate. In 2019, “Wingspan” went on tour throughout America with several military bands including the United States Army Field Band. I had heard soloist Sergeant Major Robert Cherry and his fellow horn players perform at IHS 47 and was honored he would choose to share my work with his audiences. How I wish that my parents, who immigrated to the US, had been alive to attend one of the band’s concerts. I can only imagine how proud and excited they would have been.
My artist friends, who increase in number each year, have greatly expanded my knowledge base, worldview, and further clarified what it means to be a musician. They’ve even helped realize the commissioning of new works for orchestra and band, along with a world premiere at Carnegie Hall. This year, in 2022, both of my compositions for horn head to Texas, where “Wingspan” will be performed by the East Texas Symphonic Band featuring soloist Dr. Andrea Denis while “Mountain Spires,” now on the University Interscholastic League’s prescribed music list for the Texas State Solo-Ensemble Contest, will be presented by her students before the concert. I’m just thrilled.
Although I’ve always known how music can unify and foster relationships between people, I am deeply grateful to the community of horn players and the sense of camaraderie it projects. This fellowship continues to connect me to wonderful individuals all over the globe, and provides some very welcome solace during these trying times.
Gary Kuo is a six-time Emmy award-winning composer and violinist based in Los Angeles.
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.
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