Tone
It’s been years since I put the horn down. I was rather good at one point, so they say. I got my undergraduate degree in horn performance and played principal horn in various school orchestras. I did it rather dramatic fashion, ending my music studies and moving across the country to fling myself into a new career. I didn’t even pack my horn when I moved. Clean break.
The last time I went back to Oregon I grabbed my two horns from the storage unit. They’ve sat undisturbed for the most part, though I took them out now and then and tooted on them. But I’ve always stopped short of picking it up again. I started guitar 5 years ago now and am able to strum fairly well. My voice isn’t bad and it’s great fun to sing and play for my own amusement.
But there’s always been the curl of the horn, gleaming in the corner, saying “you can put me down, but you’re not going to get rid of me. I’m more a part of you than you are ready to admit.” And it’s right. Ever since that fateful day when I decided I was too lazy to wait in the long line to play saxophone, the horn and I have linked our fates.
In my life, in the past years, I’ve been trying to figure out what I’m all about, what the point is, if there is one. A spiritual quest? Who knows. For some almost cruel reason, something is pushing me towards the 16 feet of metal I left behind. But while the horn is the same, the hornist is a very different man.
Horn playing, especially solo horn, is not for the faint of heart. My teacher in college told me on my first lesson, with a thousand-yard stare, that the horn “is really hard.” I remember the fatalism that crept into my visage, the almost recklessness in my attitude that came by walking the line between a glorious sound and a train wreck. The horn is about talent and skill coupled with a healthy dose of luck and a teaspoon of bravado. So let me throw down the gloves and say: I’m taking the horn up again. I’m going to get my tone back, figure out where the heck it fits in in my life now, and go from there. No problem.
July 13th, 2010 at 9:56 pm
It took me eight years to pick the cello back up (though I did play intermittently during that period–maybe four times. Only marginally regret putting it down but have never regretted picking it back up.