Le HA

Los cuatro oboistas del apocalipsis--luz de luna

2010-04-28T16:29:00.000-07:00

luz de luna (los cuatro oboistas del apocalipsis)

Attacking "on the wind"

2010-03-06T19:59:00.000-08:00

Patty from oboeinsight commented on an earlier post contrasting the experience of performing from music vs. improvising. She said:

"I have my students improvise. I started doing this because I found that when I improvised (I used to do this with the simply worship songs a church I attended sang) I didn't EVER have problems with note attacks. Yet with printed notes sometimes the attacks were tough (due to fear, I'm sure). So I thought, 'I should approach written music with the ease I approach improvisation.' It doesn't always work, but it does seem to help."

I've always wondered about the way we experience playing music via the printed page, as opposed to playing it without the music--not necessarily improvised, since memorized music could be in this category. Surely there's a significant difference in which part of the brain is working.

But another reason I was delighted with Patty's comment is that, speaking of attacks, I had sort of a breakthrough recently. ("Attacks" and "breakthrough" make it sound like something militaristic is going on, but no, it's just the same ol' trench warfare with the oboe.)

Admission: despite the fact that I've had excellent teachers over the years, I've never really felt that I understood attacks on the oboe.

But for some reason, something from the Tabuteau book has been sticking with me, where he talks about starting the breath slow and speeding it up, like a locomotive, while the lips go from tight to looser as the breath speeds up. Last week I thought of combining this idea with attacking a note: make the actual beginning of the note the commencement of the airstream, before the sound, so the tongue operates "on the wind" to bring in the sound. I've been trying this the past week, and it seems to relax me to have the airstream started before the tongue flicks the reed and starts the sound.

Okay, I realize that by saying this I'm probably exposing myself to all kinds of "well, duh, you didn't know that?" I've always been told to "play on the wind," but I've never had it connected to attacks. I've always inferred from the way I was taught that an attack begins ab nihilo, by removing the tongue from the reed and blasting the pressurized air through, kind of like having a nozzle on a garden hose closed off when you turn on the water, and then opening it up. My "discovery" last week--ignorant though it may be--operates on a very different principle.

Ob-pression

2010-03-06T05:47:00.000-08:00

Word coinage rules! There are some things you can only convey with a new word.

The new word of the day is "obpression." This is a feeling unique to oboe players. Okay, so maybe not absolutely, as you will see, but we can claim it.

Obpression is that heavy funk (depression) brought on by the weight (oppression) of knowing that the instrument you're best at (oboe) is the most fickle of instruments, due particularly to the temporary and transitory nature of its mouthpiece, a.k.a. "reed."

As I said, yes, this condition could be shared by other instrumentalists of reed instruments, but let me tell you: I've played all of them and dealt with their reeds, and they, sir, are no oboe.

I have been on a playing "down" for weeks, and it's not just the wintry weather. It's been self-induced to some extent. IOW, blame the reed. IOW, I don't have time to do much reed-making. IOW, I pretty much suck at reed-making anyway. IOW, the reeds I buy to fill in the gaps, well, some of them are actually pretty good, but the sound or response isn't quite right. IOW, the person coming out the end of the oboe bell just isn't me. IOW I'm alienated. IOW there's not enough water on Mars to soak reeds and saliva just breaks them down quicker.

But last night I decided not to suffer obpression any longer and went to my trophy case where I keep my buffalo antlers and elephant gun and soloandensemble medals ... and my concert reeds. or reed, as the case is now.

Ah, what a pleasure! Smooth sound, easy articulation. Joy.

New word needed? Reed-emption?

Bowtie vs. red nose

2010-02-21T10:21:00.000-08:00

I just realized something that's true, for me anyway, about the "perceived" quality of a performance of improvised music vs. a performance of notated music:

After performing notated music, I always have a lingering sense of letting it down, due to some kind of imperfection that crept in somewhere, usually in an exposed spot or solo. The corollary to this is that the dress rehearsal usually goes really well.

The opposite seems to be true in improvised music. The dress rehearsal leaves me feeling unsettled, but the performance is like getting shot out of a cannon ... and enjoying it.

Maybe it's the clown costume that makes a difference.

Playing Sufjan Stevens's "The Transfiguration"

2010-02-14T19:39:00.000-08:00

Ascension Sunday, a Presbyterian church, contemporary Christian music. Is the ensemble a "praise band" or a "worship team"? I don't know, but they're good at what they do: drums, bass, keyboard, two electric (rhythm) guitars, three vocalists. I add a lead obbligato instrumental voice.

Most of the music is in some kind of pop or rock genre. It's fairly standard fare haha of the type: verse chorus verse chorus bridge chorus tag. Keys are mostly guitar-friendly. The lyrics seem to feature the word "awesome" quite often, or are quite frankly like love ballads--which makes some people uncomfortable. I guess basically if you could sing the same song to your girlfriend or to Jesus, maybe it's problem.

My brother visited today. Most of the songs were of the standard variety. Afterwards he said that his violin teacher told him that this kind of music is musically very limited. This strikes me as being unfair. Sure, it's limited. But it's certainly not unique in that regard. It's a genre. Any genre you can think of--particularly if it's a popular or a folk genre--is limited in its style and its approach to music. Blues, bluegrass, klezmer, Celtic ... you name it, it's limited.

But we did one song that was not of the type--Sufjan Stevens's "The Transformation." The words came straight out of the Bible. It starts out in a swing 4 (he does it on banjo) that turns into a 6/8 when (on the recording) two oboes come in with straight, accented eighth notes. As the song progresses, the two meters overlap and play against each other (although the 6/8 eventually predominates).

Stevens is well-known for his use of oboe, so I actually had a part to learn (although my part also included the trumpet part, the melody of the "voice of God" from the scripture). It's very repetitious but has a lot of additive layers, in the style of much minimal music. Congregational singing it isn't. In fact, the congregation was quite puzzled by it, I think, but it had an impact because it was out of the ordinary.

Lincoln's Birthday Master Class

2010-02-14T08:39:00.000-08:00

I tried to tell them that one of Abe Lincoln's nicknames was The Reedsplitter (it was really The Railsplitter). Actually, I think they sort of believed me until I said I was joking.

There were two students there and the faculty member, who brought her bassoon. That meant we could have a quartet of three oboes and a bassoon! We had a good time, mostly with the hymn (Hanover)--taking turns on tenor-alto improvisation--which we also did with the 4-bar loop: the bassoon played an ostinato, two of us at a time played the highly syncopated, horn-style oboe rhythms, while the third took a turn at improvising, with the oboes rotating parts every 4 bars. We could've danced all night haha.

We talked a lot about what influences sound and tone and style. When it comes to sound influences, I've been influenced as much by other instruments as by oboe players, and even there I branched out: though trained in the American school of oboe playing, I listened to a lot of Heinz Holliger and Pierre Pierlot (baroque oboe). But other instruments that I've consciously tried to "model" are klezmer/bellydance clarinet, uilleann (Irish) bagpipes, and Jimi Hendrix electric guitar.

Master classes are great. You get exposed to new and different people and ideas. I've had master classes with Joe Robinson, Alan Vogel, Paul McCandless, Elaine Douvas. I always carry so much away from one session with people like them. The impression is permanent.

Even when I disagree: I remember Paul McCandless (fusion/New Age oboist/English hornist) saying that the oboe was best played with a clean tone and precisely placed notes. Given my non-oboe influences--the smears of the klezmer clarinet and the bends of the Hendrix guitar and the odd warbles of the uilleann pipes--I wanted something beyond a clean oboe sound. I just thought that was a limitation that unnecessarily left out all kinds of possibilities for expression. Anyway, I always think of McCandless when I play yin to his yang. In spite of the polar opposition, I am thankful for having heard him articulate his approach to playing.

Oboe jobs at monster.com for eager beavers?

2010-02-07T17:15:00.000-08:00

Well, the Super Bowl ad from monster.com has a fiddlin' beaver hitting the bigtime. So why not an oboist? I went there and did a nationwide search for "oboist." One hit: the executive director of the Newark, NJ, school of the arts is retiring. He's an oboist. But the job isn't for an oboist. My guess is that he's moving on ... so he can play more oboe.

Guess I'll head back out to my street corner. Maybe the fiddlin' beaver will wander by and drop some spare change in my oboe case.

beYOnd classical mUsic: the alt.oboe master class

2010-02-06T12:28:00.000-08:00

The purpose of the master class is to get oboists to build on and go beyond the classical style and techniques that tend to define the known limits of the oboe world, so that oboists will be encouraged to broaden their horizons and create opportunities for themselves in composition, live performance, and recording.

I. A little history.
   A. Ideas from other instruments.
   1. The influence of the lute "broken style" on Baroque composition.
   2. Orientale: Ottoman music and the classical orchestra.
   B. Freaking: the birth of improvisational jazz in New Orleans.

II. Celtic style.
   A. Bagpipe "finger articulation."
   B. Fingered pitch modification.
   C. Circular breathing.
   D. Play: "Devil in the Kitchen."

III. Middle Eastern (klezmer/belly dance) style.
   A. Lip bends.
   B. Different time signatures.
   C. Play: "Yoshke, Yoshke."

IV. African-American (blues/jazz/rock) style.
   A. Freaking and the aesthetics of tone.
   1. Embouchure ambush.
   B. Alternative fingerings.
   C. Double tonguing (percussive thinking).
   D. Play: "Tout Seul."

V. Improvisation.
   A. Hymnbook "tenor-alto" improvisation.
   1. Play "Hanover."
   B. Drones, loops, and changes.
   1. Play "Freakbois."
   C. Improvised accompaniments of singers.
   1. Playing "fills."
   2. Pretend it's a Bach obbligato (if they let you).

VI. Step up and enjoy your oboe!

Anybody interested in such a class can contact Le HA.

Sound Purgatory

2010-02-06T11:11:00.000-08:00

It's another coffeehouse gig, only this one is being recorded for a program that runs on local-access TV. It's with a band--singer/songwriter/guitarist (male), singer (female), electric bass, drums, and oboe. I get there in plenty of time, because sound prep really is important at something like this. And wouldn't you know, the sound system is fucked.

Is it a mic, a cable, a plug? A demon, a genie, a dybbuk? There's general messing around with equipment for about an hour. I don't even know if they get it right. The show goes on. The oboe wails. Who knows what the audience hears?

But, behind the oboe, I'm wailing that it's not a pristine, acoustic setup. Where everybody can hear the true sound, not what's coming out of speakers.

Then again, I'm wailing in front of manic rock drumming; I'm subsumed in a strong, fast current of percussion. Whitewater music. Where, without the speakers, I'd just be a ghost.

Which, as fucked up as the sound system seems to be tonight, maybe I am. WTF. All I can do is wail, and dance with the demon, the genie, the dybbuk. Fuck it.

Written in stone

2010-02-02T19:46:00.000-08:00

So basically you go into the recording studio with a sense of the song. You've heard the rhythm guitar accompaniment and the melody, which the songwriter has given you on a CD of a home recording. Maybe you were listening to it as you drove up to play. You've riffed with it and have some ideas, but this is going to be work.

The studio is in a rundown cinderblock extension jutting out from the back of a music store. It's got a beaten up, faded green door with a knob that doesn't latch, so there's a padlock to keep the equipment from walking away. You go inside and there's a strong odor. Around the corner in the mixing booth is the engineer and songwriter, smoking reefer in a pipe. That would completely cloud the issue, so to speak, with what you're needing to do, so you refuse the proffered hit and find out if it's time for you to warm up.

Chances are, it's not. Chances are you have to wait for the songwriter to do 5 or 6 takes of the rhythm guitar or the vocals, if not both. There's a lot of waiting at this studio.

Finally you go in to the booth, put on headphones, get the mix right for your take. There's no drums yet, so you have to put up with a click track. Click tracks suck, but they really help the additive recording process.

It's not an uncomplex song. It's got three distinct sections that challenge you to provide three distinct styles. What come out are dixieland, Haight-Ashbury, and Bach aria obbligato. But it's one thing rough out the parts as improvisations, and quite another thing to get them down to your satisfaction on a recording. Recording is quite unforgiving.

Finally, after an hour of hard blowing, you say you're done, and your stoned listeners--including the songwriter--seem quite happy with your work. You wish it could be better.

The irony of it is that, once you get it down, that's the way the songwriter wants it in live performance. You go out on stage, and what you want to do is follow the inspiration of the moment--now that you know the song--and see what comes out. The songwriter wants what you did on the recording. It was an improvisation in the studio, more or less, and you want to see where the song can take you. But to the songwriter, it's now a composition. It might as well be written down.

You're not sure what you think about this. Sure, it's what you "wrote," so to speak, but hey, it was an improvisation, and an imperfect one at that. Why not make it even better?

Stepwise aside, pistolero

2010-01-13T19:59:00.000-08:00

Running a river of notes
Circular bubble blowing
Whitewatertorrent
Where does it go?
Improvise.
Stay alive.

Freak it

2010-01-05T12:49:00.000-08:00

I mentioned "freaking" the oboe in my last post and just wanted to make sure anyone reading this understands that it's quite a respectable term from music history.

It was used by early jazz musicians in New Orleans as a word for the liberties they were taking with types of sounds they got out of their horns and the way they got them. Freaking was an important part of the playing showdowns that would pit one band or musician against another in contests of musical skill and showmanship.

No freaking, no jazz, no uniquely American music. Take some liberties today. With your oboe!

This star-strangled putriotism brought to you by Le HA!

Circular (breathing) logic

2009-12-30T08:32:00.000-08:00

A couple of guys in the band were asking me about circular breathing and how difficult it is. I told them the really hard part for me came when I realized that it meant (on the oboe) circular breathing *out* as well as in. Of course I explained to them how much breathing out (I call it "venting") oboe playing requires.

This is always a revelation to people. It was to me. The oboe looks like it takes huge amounts of air, when of course it takes huge amounts of pressure behind a small amount of air. This image of the the playing oboist, inflated like a balloon (Harold Gomberg on NY Phil's young people's concerts), influenced my early and erroneous breathing practices, which went uncorrected by any instructors (???) and lasted until I went to a master class with Joseph Robinson (also of NY Phil), the mantra of which class was "breathe out before you play" and of course I was like "what?"

Yeah, talk about a revelation. Once I got used to it, I found that I could play without my head exploding. Having an un-exploded head has its definite upside, including mostly the fact that your brain doesn't splatter all over the wind section of the orchestra in the middle of a concert, but also including the fact that it is easier to think with an un-exploded head, and even to carry out feats of logic, as was never the case before, when in fact I was capable of doing some quite bizarre, illogical things, such as taking up the oboe in the first place.

As for circular breathing, it's essentially an oral-cavity-bypass-system whereby balanced respiration is achieved via the nose while the cheeks do the bladder-pipe work of feeding enough pressurized air to keep the reed buzzing until the regular supply of diaphragm-supported air can be brought back into play. "Balanced respiration" of course means breathing out as well as in. I find that once you jump-start the system, muscle memory kicks in and things work out, but there's always this initial period of re-inventing the wheel. Weird. (Well, it is circular, after all.)

The real problem is the drop of pressure that happens when you switch from the diaphragm support to the cheek support: the pitch wants to sag. If you're playing something that's going to be heard (as opposed to something that's in the middle of a herd), it's not a big deal if you're changing notes frequently (fast passages, ornaments). On a sustained note, yeah, it's a big deal. Personally, I don't risk circular breathing on an exposed sustained note unless I'm freaking the sound. If I'm freaking the sound, there's all kinds of sonic zombies that can be brought into play so it doesn't sound like breathing is what's going on. Yo, it's just a freaking oboe.

With bits o' brain splattered all over the place.

Midnight Mass, post

2009-12-25T19:23:00.000-08:00

So all day what I want to do is listen to recordings of Bach's shepherd's sinfonia from the Christmas oratorio, just because I played a stripped down version for oboe and piano at a little Episcopal church here in the sticks.

Love is wherever you are.

Midnight Mass, pre

2009-12-24T05:34:00.000-08:00

I haven't done one of these in a while. I don't usually do the réveillon because most of my extended-family-by-marriage-who-happen-to-live-in-the-vicinity are low church protestants who get up early on Xmas morning. But this year I'm helping out a little Episcopal church with a service tonight.

One thing that's interesting about it is the choice of prelude for the event: Quiet City by Aaron Copland, in a keyboard-reduction arrangement (keeping the principal solo voices--trumpet and English horn) that Copland himself did. But there's something that appeals to my ecumenical nature about using a piece written by a Jewish composer about New York City as the prelude for a worship service celebrating the birth of the Christian Messiah in the little town of Bethlehem.

And for communion--which has to go for a while, because people will be there who go to church once a year--I'll be playing an arrangement for oboe and organ of the Sinfonia from Bach's Christmas oratorio. The oboe part is essentially the violin part, which means that the parts in the actual piece where the "choir" of oboi d'amore e da caccia play the gently swaying siciliana/pastorale passage that forms the "chorale" around which the sinfonia is written, well, in the arrangement those parts are played by the organ and the oboist counts some beats of rest. It was a very odd sensation, to be counting those beats and hearing the oboe family sound in my head and wanting to play along.

The gig is down

2009-12-22T22:01:00.000-08:00

Due to a snowstorm last weekend, I had three gigs canceled: one Vivaldi Gloria and two church gigs. Since when did churches cancel services due to weather? It's happened twice so far this year--never before that I can remember. Hmm, it sort of adds a new twist to the expression "come Hell or high water."

We'll just have to see what happens with midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. One likes to think the show must go on.

Vivaldi Gloria

2009-12-17T20:27:00.000-08:00

I'm getting to play the Vivaldi Gloria this weekend. Whenever I play the Domine Deus aria for soprano with oboe obbligato, I remember the first time I played it waaaay back in high school: there was a bubble under a key when I played the very first "c" of the piece. The bubble popped soon enough to resolve up to the "c" before the note was supposed to end. Whew! Unintentional ornament, I guess.

I've played this piece so many times that my ornamented version of the reprise of the oboe solo at the end of the piece has become standardized. Okay, so it's no longer an improvised, ornamented version. But hey, Bach notated lots of his ornamented versions of things, so I guess I can too, right?

Backstage

2009-12-15T13:33:00.000-08:00

Maybe not the best combination (see last post), but a fun one: oboe, two guitars, mandolin, electric bass; multiple voices of course. The music is called "bentgrass"--some bluegrass, some Americana. We played at the state theater's Christmas community concert: Jimmy Buffett and kind of a Cajun-flavored "Ode to the Brandy Snifter on Xmas Eve" inserted into the "Cantique de Noel." Jammin' oboe--but most people around here don't even know that's what it is.

I wonder as I wander

2009-12-13T13:19:00.000-08:00

No, I didn't play the John Jacob Niles song today. It's just that it seemed an appropriate subject to the season and the weather (gray, rain) and the very real question that I was asking myself in the middle of a church performance today: what is the ideal musical combination for an oboe to be heard in?

It would be ridiculous to try to give a definitive answer to the question. But it's worth thinking about nevertheless because of all the different candidates for an answer that come to mind.

I know one answer that I would never give: solo oboe. Absolute monophony is too monotonous for my tastes.

But an answer that I would hold up for contention would be the combination I played in today: chorus, harp, and oboe. The pieces were settings of three carols by Stephen Paulus--The Holly and the Ivy, This Endris Night, and Wonder Tidings. All of the melodic material is new. The two outer songs are sprightly and rhythmic; This Endris Night is pensive, with a yearning sort of ethereality.

The harp part is wonderfully muscular and booming, even in the slow piece. It seemed like the kind of thing you might hear if you stuck your head outside the space station. It reminded me of Britten's Ceremony of Carols, which I love. The oboe part alternated between sprightly moments of scurrying mortality and (especially in Endris) the kind of soaring singing that makes the oboe such a good complement to the human voice.

It was a wonderful church, acoustically--a big, high rectangular box of brick and wood, wood pews, very little fabric anywhere (except for what we wore--the nudists stayed home). There were several high notes to be faded out. I'd end a note after a fade, and it's not that there was an echo, but there was still the sensation of the note. Delicious!

A listener said afterwards she'd been "transported." So had I!

Best combination? Who knows? But a damn good one!

Jouez, hautbois

2009-12-11T20:52:00.000-08:00

ok, so i go to the xmas concert of the local university choir and they sing il est né, le divin enfant in an english version that renders the bit about oboes playing as "tuneful oboes," which is good, but what do they do? they use, in addition to their piano accompanist, a flute! and i know there are oboists at that school. not that i have anything against flutes. it's just that too much is lost in translation!

(speaking of translation, they also did la marche des rois, the same tune bizet uses in the farandole movement of l'arlesienne. they sang this one in french, but included a translation in the program booklet. it was hilarious, like maybe the conductor had farmed out the job to a student who was "studying french" but who came up against a deadline and ran the words through google translate. what should have been translated something like "men-at-arms with thirty young pages" came out "people armed with thirty small pages." just the kind of enemy you want to face in battle: people who'll swat you with sheaves of paper.)

Make Straight in the Desert a Highway

2009-12-09T13:25:00.000-08:00

One clear sign that a recording engineer doesn't know what he's doing is when he puts the microphone for the oboe section at bell-level. Another clear sign is when he puts microphones everywhere in order not to amplify but to record a choir with a small chamber orchestra in a modest-sized church sanctuary.

One clear sign that a conductor doesn't know what she's doing is when she stops conducting when the choir stops singing, thus leaving the instrumentalists--who still have music to play--looking at one another with puzzled "wtf" thought balloons. Another clear sign is when, during recitatives, she sometimes, seemingly at random, completely abandons the struggle to the soloist and the instrumentalists, producing enough puzzled "wtf" thought balloons to float the entire ensemble from Appalachia to Australia.

These clear signs--and more--were blazing like warning lights at a railroad crossing out here in the sticks. An oncoming performance of the Christmas portion (mostly) of Handel's Messiah was hurtling down the tracks. It was going to be a train wreck.

And I had the good fortune to be there.

And yes, I do mean "good fortune." Because despite all the clear signs of looming disaster, the performance was a success. It actually turned out to be kind of fun, thanks to the veteran instrumentalists, who put their puzzlement in cheek, but mostly thanks to the inspired voices of the choristers. This was their first Messiah. They totally dug it, and they sang like they totally dug it.

The church was packed with people, many of whom were no doubt hearing their first live Messiah. I'm pretty sure that their experience had at least something in common with the woman who, as I was leaving after the performance, thanked me for my contribution to an event that had rescued the Christmas season for her: "I feel like I have something to celebrate now!"

Monday nothing

2009-12-07T07:18:00.000-08:00

Sitting in gloom, unlit Xmas tree at my elbow.

When since Friday I have been inside the cave of wonders and made it drip with perfectly-tuned a niente high notes, and when from there I have dived into an underground torrential steaming stream of rhythm and have matched every insistent current-driven drumbeat smack for smack up the febrile gushing spiral with nothing but craziness in my fingers, up into ...

Monday nothing. The bottom just drops out. ugh.

Oboe crusader

2009-12-04T19:29:00.000-08:00

Oboist's Advent Calendar bis

2009-12-03T20:41:00.000-08:00

Yes, the Bach Weihnachtsoratorio would be a good choice for an oboist's Advent calendar, and it probably could fill all the windows. Maybe someday I'll get to play it. Unlikely, though, this side of heaven. Unless they score it for banjos.

But I really can't complain: I do have the excerpts haha.

Also, nice things fall in my lap. Tonight I practiced some music I'm doing at a Presbyterian church in a couple of Sundays: three settings of Christmas songs for oboe and organ by Robert Buckley Farlee (Good People All, this Christmas-Time, a.k.a. the Wexford carol; Rejoice, Rejoice, Believers, based on a Swedish folk tune, Haf Trones, Lampa Färdig; and one featuring the beautiful Catalan melody El Noi de la Mare) and Three Nativity Carols by Stephen Paulus, for choir, harp, and oboe, with the three carols being The Holly and the Ivy, This Endris Night, and Wonder Tidings. I've done the Paulus before, once a long time ago. It's nice to see it again, like a Christmas card from an old friend you haven't heard from in a while.

So, waddya know, something behind some more windows in the oboe Advent calendar.

[btw I did some looking on the comments issue in Blogger and ... well, it turns out there are issues. Browser issues in some cases. But, playing with the function from a remote computer at some point today, I did succeed in getting a Captcha box the second time I hit the comment button, immediately after being turned down the first time.]

Oboist's Advent Calendar

2009-12-02T19:43:00.000-08:00

What would it look like? What would be behind the windows? So far the oboist's Advent calendar in my mind has only three windows: the overture to Handel's Messiah, the Domine Deus duet with soprano in the Vivaldi Gloria, and the Quia respexit duet with alto(?) in the Bach Magnificat.

Surely there's more. A 3-window Advent calendar is kind of a non-starter.

How about Bizet's L'Arlesienne? It's set at Christmas time and uses some traditional Christmas tunes (the Farandole), but the opera's story line is quite grim and un-Christmas-y.

What about recordings? This CD from some people over Carolina way has some good arrangements that include oboe. Are there others?

(btw Patty from oboeinsight -- her Advent postings gave me the idea for this post -- says she hasn't been able to leave comments. I'm going to try to fix that. How can I expect the oboe world to keep me on the straight and narrow if no one can send me guidance?)

Dial me, maneki

2009-12-01T06:06:00.000-08:00

You don't see a whole lot of these dial micrometers out there, but for the money, they're one of the best reed tools out there. "But for the money." They ain't cheap and last I checked they're not real thick on the ground, either.

The more common variety is the one used to measure the gouge of the cane. I don't gouge, so the kind I'm talking about is the freestanding kind with the tongue that inserts inside the finished reed and measures surface thicknesses of the two blades.

If you buy reeds, with this tool and a plaque and a knife, you can do lots to match scrape thicknesses. This way you're not scraping in the dark. It's really the quickest way to help a reed you haven't made from scratch.

And the maneki neko? Who else you gonna get to hold the reed? ;-)

Th-angst-giving

2009-11-28T08:51:00.000-08:00

Yes, I realize this is late, but for the last two days I've been blocked from the computer by a swarm of holiday activities, including eating, touch football, eating, board game (Settlers of Catan, lost), eating, sleeping, eating, hiking, eating, board game (ditto, lost again), eating, sleeping, and oh yeah 15 minutes of oboe playing somewhere among all the pies.

Which brings me to say that the occasion for all of this disjuncture from the usual run of daily events was to be thankful for something. And I don't know what this means, but I found myself being thankful for the generous spirit of oboeness that's out there in people like Laila Storch (for her beautiful book on Tabuteau) and oboe bloggers like Patty @oboieinsight and other players who sometimes struggle with their oboe addiction in relative isolation from daily contact with other oboists.

You know, that last clause might sound like I'm joking, but broadband will come to some parts of America eons before a culture of oboe playing does. Around here, people may think they know what an oboe is, but you're usually better off not finding out. (The closest thing that it resembles is a bassoon covered with kudzu.) It's where marching band is the reigning influence for instrumental concert music. (Go, mighty oboes!) Oboe things are thinner on the ground than tomatoes in February.

So thanks, all ye revanchistes du hautbois. Get comfort wherever you can find it.

Pseudonymity, or, The Gestation Period of a Whale on Saturn

2009-11-24T12:56:00.000-08:00

Patty Mitchell writes the blog oboeinsight, which is a place all oboists should frequent on a regular basis. I first found it looking for a list of people who teach oboe at the college level in the US. She's done/is doing exactly that legwork. Bravo, Patty! That's a valuable contribution that you've made at no small commitment of time.

She re-posted my recent musing on the elusive rewards of the oboe addiction, in which I said that smoking crack is more reliable. For the record, I've not smoked crack, or meth for that matter, but I have played tennis with Andre Agassi (joke! joke!). By reputation, though, the "reward" of crack, or meth for that matter, would seem to be quite a bit more immediate than that of the oboe, the reward for which has the gestation period of a whale on Saturn.

She also said she wasn't able to send me a message. I appreciate knowing that. Not wanting to be incommunicado, I have added my email address to my profile. I guess I thought that leaving the comments wide open qualified as being available. I'd love to get comments! Particularly from those of you who, like me, wonder just how long the gestation period of a whale on Saturn actually is.

Oboeinsight won't post a link to this blog, however, because I'm anonymous. :-( But I understand Patty's point about accountability.

Actually, though, I'm pseudonymous. And pseudonymous people have done very accountable things in the past, among them--and limiting myself to those whose first names start with "J"--Jane Austen, James Madison, John Jay, Johnny Rotten, and Jane Eyre (oops). So just consider me an addition to that list of accountable pseudonymites and link me!

Discounting the possibility of any such reward, however, I'll just go not smoke serves with Andre Agassi. Or meth for that matter.

Don't give up

2009-11-23T19:21:00.000-08:00

It's what I have to tell myself ... every day.

And I think, "what is this, some kind of recovery program, that I have to tell myself, 'one day at a time'?"

But every day I hear how sloppily I play, how much improvement I can make, how crappy my reed is. How much I need to learn (I remember so well when I went to a master class with Joseph Robinson and he was talking about needing to breathe out and I, who at that point had been playing for years, was going, "what's this breathing out stuff?").

Why do I put up with this?

Because, sometimes ... things fall into place. And when it happens, it's almost like I don't know why. Like there's some intangible something, in the air, as it were.

And then I want to do it again. Like smoking crack, only waaaay less reliable. Which explains the relatively small number of oboe addicts, I guess.

"A hard reed is like a hard chair."

2009-11-22T07:58:00.000-08:00

You said it, Maître Tabuteau!

I just read the quote in the subject line in Laila Storch's indispensable book that I can't seem to stop mentioning.

And apparently the maître knew from chairs. According to Ms. Storch, who spent many an evening with the oboist and his wife, Tabuteau liked to doze off after supper in a favorite easy chair.

No one likes a hard chair. As for a hard reed, why does it seem to some people to be a moral imperative? This seems to me to be an oboe version of a self-flagellating hairshirt masochism that says, "one must suffer to play the oboe."

Please. There's enough suffering with the oboe as it is without ratcheting up the pain level. If I don't have a reed that allows me to play expressively, I'm just exercising my lip. Which is getting closer to self-flagellating hairshirt masochism than I like to get.

Sure, everybody has to play on a crappy reed from time to time. Let's just not say that's what we should be playing on.

Another influential oboist, Josef Marx, once told me that you had to relax in order to play the oboe well. I don't know if he meant by that that you should be able to fall asleep in your favorite easy chair, but a free-blowing reed would seem to be a key ingredient.

If you've ever wondered "Can a reed slit a throat?"

2009-11-14T12:36:00.000-08:00

Well, the answer is "yes." It would be very messy. Even though we might want to think our laboriously-carved razor-sharp tip would do the job, in reality the whole cane portion of the reed would be destroyed. The result will be more a puncture wound than a slit. A single slash is relatively easy to think about, but getting a similar result basically by poking holes is quite a different thing.

So it's time to talk strategy.

If it's somebody else's throat, it'll be a lot easier in the long run just to use your knife.

If it's your own throat, stop and think a moment.

The wording of the question is loaded. The reed obviously sucks. It doesn't just suck, it contains within it all the negative energy of the universe. It has the kind of personality that is a cross between a demon and a black hole.

A reed like that, you have to realize, wants nothing more than to be used to slit your throat, or rather, to stab it.

It is a form of vampire! In fact, it is much worse than a vampire because it can strike at any time, not just when the full moon causes bats to turn into smooth-talking guys with slick hair.

What the vampire bad reed knows is that one puncture wound will not be enough, but that two will do, so that you will wind up dead with two holes in your throat. Now stop and think: what would that look like? Exactly! A vampire bite! Do you understand now?

Now, it might not be so bad to be rendered dead by a bite from a slick-talking guy with smooth hair, but think about it. Do you really want the kind of vampire that in reality is bad oboe reed to do this? What does a bad oboe reed deserve?

C'mon, let your imagination flow. I personally like the quick, tip-first smash on the table top followed by a fling at the wall. Maybe you'd like to burn it, ritualistically. Maybe a series of beheadings would repay all those hours of misery.

Remember, the reed has a heart. You could cut it out.

It's you vs. the forces of oboe darkness. You must not add any ammunition to the cause that wants its own Twilight series.

Maybe it's time to go universal with le Hautboïste Anonyme and start an organization: Oboists Anonymous. We will have our own 12-step program: to the bar and back. And our own mantra of centering self-survival: one reed at a time.

Go on, have a heart :-)

Oboe Hatred

2009-11-13T05:32:00.000-08:00

Rough patches. Stagnation. Epic fail. Extreme, reed-throwing frustration.

I've been reading this book on Tabuteau and trying to apply some of the ideas the book faithfully transmits. But. My !@#$%^&* reed!!!!

I can't say that it helps a lot to know that Tabuteau threw reeds sometimes in frustration. I can't say that it helps to know that he had a young John Mack (when Mack was his student) make reeds for him--saying that Mack had relieved him of an infernal burden or something to that effect. I can't say that it helps to know that Tabuteau said he hated the oboe for 44 of his 45 years of playing professionally.

Because when you get down to a passage that you've worked on for 44 of your 45 years of playing professionally haha and it still sucks--due to 1. the reed 2. the horn 3. your own sloppiness, all of them aided by 4. the influence of some unknown satanic nemesis that hitched a ride with your very first reed and latched onto you forever--well, when that happens, Tabuteau pretty much goes out the window along with your reed. And you feel like you should follow them!

But instead you (who is me haha) decide that what you need is 1. a better reed 2. a better horn 3. effective practice 3 hours a day (yeah right, but for now let's let this ride) and 4. add your satanic nemesis to a bowl of oatmeal and move on.

The reed, though, the reed. So much comes down to that. If only there were a central clearinhouse for oboe reedmakers where oboe players could go and shop. Reeds for different styles. Reeds for different embouchures. Reeds for different blowing strengths. Reeds for different moods. Reeds for different clothes. Designer reeds. Tattooed reeds. West coast reeds. Philadelphia reeds. Crappy, hard reeds (oops, not meaning to let my prejudice show). French reeds. German reeds. Dutch reeds. Czech reeds. Chinese reeds. Geisha reeds.

But yeah, even thinking like this, you're still looking out the window at where your reed landed.

Hey dig it: a book by an oboe

2009-11-10T16:20:00.000-08:00

did you know about this?

this just in (Tab 2)

2009-11-04T17:11:00.000-08:00

More about Tabuteau: at the end of the concert season, he put his oboe in the case and didn't get it out again until summer was oboe. Tab was the man!

Oboe Tab

2009-10-31T23:56:00.000-07:00

That's Tabuteau, of course. The apotheosized longtime principal of the Philadelphia Orchestra, the Frenchman to whom all American oboists trace their instructional lineage in a "seven degrees from Kevin Bacon" manner.

I know I've mentioned this book before, but I don't know if I've given a link. I haven't read the whole thing yet--picked it up once, it lagged a bit, but then I've picked it up again.

The book is really a jewel. Laila Storch has really done us a favor to bring Tabuteau back to life, as it were. Reading this, you clearly see why he was so influential, not only as an oboist who was revered well beyond the narrow sphere of the instrument, but also as a teacher with an unexcelled ability to impart a sense of how music should be "done."

Storch was Tabuteau's first female student--that is, the first one he accepted as a full-time student and the first one to complete the full course of study at the Curtis Institute. She happens to have kept a diary for part of the time; she was also a faithful correspondent to her mother. The diary and the letters provide wonderful glimpses of her life as a student of "the penguin" (Tabuteau's nickname) in Philadelphia during the early 1940's.

The best parts are the gems of insight that Tabuteau scatters somewhat helter-skelter. You should start a note like a train, slowly and gathering steam, with the lips helping the reed. You should practice scales as if they were spiral staircases, not steps.

He worked very hard and like all oboists had problems with reeds. He worked himself very hard. In one letter to a young admirer, he said he had disliked the oboe for 44 of the 45 years he had played it. At one point within the last ten years of his career, he had an accident that caused a hernia, but he carried on playing--although he did bring in a substitute and played only the exposed passages.

His reeds? They were easy to blow, says Storch.

And Vermeer used a magic lantern.

Godzoboe

2009-10-25T17:34:00.000-07:00

I did a church gig today--played the second movement from the Handel F major sonata as a prelude; an arrangement of Amazing Grace as an anthem; a very nice short, melodious piece for oboe and organ written by the church organist, Bob Greene, and called John, the Beloved Disciple; and finally as a postlude Ornament of Grace for oboe and organ by Bernard Wayne Sanders, which was last year's "event tune" for the American Guild of Organists' worldwide Organ Spectacular.

Big church, good choir, organist easy to work with--but mostly what I was thinking the whole time was "What's my reed going to do?" Fortunately, it let me perform, as it were, gracefully--hey, with all the grace going around thank goodness there was some left over for the reed. I don't know if it was part of God's plan or not.

You know, it always seems that it could go either way. There are some people who thank God when they wind up with a parking space close to the mall entrance--and then who die from a heart attack a week later because they didn't get enough exercise.

I don't claim to know anything for sure about transcendental matters. I do know that if God had wanted us to play oboes, He/She would've given us more patience.

Hey, wait. Maybe He/She did. But--that's me talking on a good reed day. Let me get back to you when it's really suckacious.

Voyez! Voyez! Ce sont des hautbois qui marchent!

2009-10-20T15:48:00.000-07:00

The title of this post was a battle cry during the French Revolution, I think. It's what the crowd exclaimed about the victims at the point of beheading: "Look! Look! Marching oboes!"

Yes, there were actually marching oboes in the show of the Dobyns-Bennett High School marching band last Saturday, when they performed an exhibition at their own hosted Taste of the Tri-Cities, er I'm sorry, I mean Tennessee Valley Showcase.

(It wasn't an accident that I attended. I was clued into it that an historic event was about to unfold.)

As it happened, two oboists marched. They actually walked and played at the same time, same as if they were ... saxophonists.

Because right after walking up to a mic to perform a nifty duet in a blistering 5/8, they then put their oboes down and picked up saxophones for the rest of the show, except for one who abandoned the filigree on the field and retrieved her oboe for a final kind of valedictory solo.

So yeah it was very cool in a way. (Actually, it was really cold, especially when the wind blew.) But there was also another oboist there that I knew. Except she was playing mallets and not even given a suggestion of a chance to march oboe. I guess because it's just not done.

Well, why the heck not? I mean, I'm thinking even some of the current crop of band oboists might rather play something else, but shouldn't you be given the choice? There are lots of reasons advanced, but I don't buy them.

As I mentioned in a previous post, the first regimental band in Great Britain was an ensemble of mounted oboes and tympani. Mounted oboes. And that doesn't mean they were being mounted by taxidermy or any other method.

Now, I will say that the oboist-in-disguise-as-it-were and playing mallets did a marvelous job with the mallets, and all things considered it's definitely a skill to have in your musical toolkit.

Still, more student oboists quit because of the diversions of marching band than for any other reason. I've seen it happen again and again. If marching band is necessary--as it seems to be in American high schools--then schools in communities without adequate orchestral opportunities should offer student oboists the opportunity to play the whole school year on their chosen instrument.

There, I've said it. Back to the guillotine!

Fun article

2009-10-14T15:31:00.000-07:00

I was tooling around in Google just now and found this, written in 1949 by Paul de Vergie, the son of Jean de Vergie, an oboist with the Boston Symphony.

The introduction sadly says that, in trying to get reprint permission, it was impossible to locate any of the family of Mr. de Vergie (père or mère or fils, presumably), but we can raise a glass in their collective memory for this wonderful reminiscence.

It has some wonderful lines in it:

Lots of men have wives. Only a luckless few have oboes.
An oboist's career is in two neat movements; he takes up the oboe, he spends the rest of his life regretting it.
Oboists are not necessarily crazy, but have every right to be.

Columbus Day

2009-10-13T17:04:00.000-07:00

I celebrated by not practicing. A silence for all of the aborigines of the Western Hemisphere who died in the holocaust of European colonization.

Or should I have played Gabriel's Oboe?

A variation on a classic oboe "Oh, shoot!" moment

2009-10-11T09:44:00.000-07:00

Surely, everybody who's played the oboe for any length of time has had the experience of dropping your best reed when you've needed it most.

Surely. Please tell me I'm not the only fumble-fingered oboist out there.

The experience is the one when, right before the big solo, when you're under the hot lights and your nerves are peaking and you're dry as a desert and starting to pant from fear and you have to take one last look at your reed, at your precious reed, at the lifeline between you and a moment of sublimity ... and you drop it.

Slow motion: you watch in horror as the reed falls to its certain destruction. Your life is over.

But by some miracle it lands on the tube side and bounces without hitting anything and in one swift move you retrieve the reed and smooth it out one last time before inserting it into its socket and taking it to sublimity ... or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

This morning I had a scary variant of the scenario. I didn't just drop my best reed. I dropped all three of them.

I have a regular church gig in what's called a praise band. This is basically a rock and roll unit--2 guitars (electric/electric or acoustic), bass, drums, keyboard, 2-3 singers, and me supplying an improvised part that, in a blow to my amour-propre and my oboist's birthright sense of superiority, is invariably compared to Kenny G.

We gather in a room beside the stage before we go on. It's dark. We wait until we hear a rumbling sound, like everyone in the building is going to be crushed by one of those giant pinballs from an Indiana Jones movie, and then we go on stage amid the rumbling.

We were in the dark waiting for the rumbling and I got this urge to get my reed out of the case before going on. And, yes, there in the dark I dropped the case. It wasn't the slow motion of the usual scenario only because it was dark. I'm sure it fell very slowly. I just couldn't see it. I got down on my hands and knees--the other people in the band joked and said it wasn't time to pray yet. Like hell. I found the reed case. Relief. Then the sound of the giant pinball happened and we walked on.

Out on stage, in the blue spots, I opened the reed case. What? Nononono. It was empty. Empty. Is this how Jesus's people felt on Easter morning when they saw the empty tomb? Well, I think they were happy about that, and the Bible does not record that they greeted the sight with a vulgar barnyard epithet. As for me and my house, I was in triple barnyard manure explosion mode: All three of my reeds were somewhere on the floor in the dark side room and were probably ruined.

I had no choice but to exit the stage and look for them. Would I find them in time? Would they be playable? Would I step on them?

I'm very tempted to stop here and declare this the end of the season on this series, so you have to wait until next fall to find out the answer.

Oh, but wait. It is the fall, and the marriage on The Office has already taken place, so I might as well tell you that I found the reeds, I did not step on them, they were not ruined, and the one that was moistened was ready to go, and I was back out on stage in a jiffy supplying a reasonable facsimile of oboistic sublimity to a congregation that is quite wonderful despite its regrettble tendency to compare an oboe to a soprano sax. (But then again, Jesus was crucified with thieves, wasn't he?)

But did it almost not happen that way.

Edition and Subtraction

2009-10-08T10:40:00.001-07:00

I just realized that I know where I'd ask to be transported if I ever won a ride on a time machine.

I haven't quite worked out all the details, but basically it'd be back to late-baroque Europe.

Of course I'd come out of the machine wearing the right clothes and possessing a baroque oboe, along with the ability to play it, and I'd have an ample supply of excellent reeds. And somehow I'd manage to be on the scene when they're hiring the orchestra for the first performance of Handel's Messiah. And naturally I'd be chosen to play oboe principale.

(Those are the details that I'm having to work out. I understand the eternal consequences of displacing whoever it was that actually did play oboe principale, and I'm prepared to deal with it.)

Anyway, how I realized this was the other day I was asked to do a Messiah gig in December. Now, there was a time in my life when Messiah gigs were thick upon the ground, and I supped well, perhaps to excess, and lo did I develop a dyspeptic attitude toward the work.

Part of the reason is that many of the performances used the Scribner edition, which is a spawn of Satan. I know there is a perfectly wonderful human being behind the Scribner edition, but in what can only be understood as a work of devilment, that person allowed clarinets into the Messiah.

Thankfully, as time passed and Darwinian improvements took hold--or maybe an angel of the Lord came upon them--choir directors began to prefer the Peters or Watkins-Shaw editions, which used Handel's orchestration and returned oboes to their righteous position as the only woodwind any orchestra really needs (with the possible exception of a bassoon).

My dyspepsia was cured! But, alas, Messiah gigs are nowhere near as promiscuous as they used to be. Maybe one a year? (Not counting the wannabe-midnight 11:00 service at the high Presbyterian church, where they have a congregational sing of the Halleluia chorus. Yeah, that's why I'm not counting it.)

So maybe this is this year's Messiah gig, at a community college. The choir director is using a string quartet, keyboard continuo, and wanted to use one oboe. I said she needed at least two (we gotta stick up for each other!), and by the way, what edition was she using?

Scribner.

Aack.

Okay, thinking quick, Scribner is probably okay on the string parts, but the oboe parts for sure are bowdlerized beyond recognition. So I asked if it'd be okay for me to use other editions for the oboe parts, which of course I don't own. Oh, she said.

The rest of the story (up to now) is that she's going to try to borrow those other oboe parts. And I'm looking for that time machine.

Why

2009-10-04T12:20:00.000-07:00

If you're an oboist, do you ever think about why you like playing it? (Assuming you do like it at all haha). And if you're not an oboist, do you ever wonder what it's like to play one?

I used to sing a lot as a kid. There was a lot of joy in singing, when I was a kid. I started playing oboe in 7th grade, when I was still singing. But more and more, I let the oboe do my singing for me. And did more and more singing on the oboe, until ... well, now the oboe is my voice. The oboe is me singing.

It's not really that unusual to be saying this. Systematizers and theoreticians of orchestration have been pointing out the similarity between the oboe and the human (soprano) voice practically since it was invented.

I stopped playing symphonies this year (life had other plans). I thought about going to hear a symphony concert last night, but there was somebody I wanted to be with who couldn't be there, and I wanted those ears as well as mine to hear.

So, instead, I stayed home and sang. Singing is better than vegetables.

Cimarosa pt. 2

2009-09-29T20:50:00.000-07:00

Anyone who ever played along with Music Minus One accompaniments knows how surprisingly bad they are, at least the ones for some of the Handel, Vivaldi, and Bach (Brandenburg) concerti. The pitch is quite sharp, a fault that the transfer to digital did not correct. For years, that's all there was.

Finally! Alternatives!

I thought I'd discovered a promising alternative when I recently (Lent) started punching Garageband rolls with keyboard accompaniments to oboe solos, but a bassoonist named Terry Ewell did the same kind of thing with some MIDI accompaniments (using a clavinova, I think) that are on the IDRS site.

There is a big advantage to the Garageband rolls--you can adjust the tempo. Ewell's MIDIs are real-time performances recorded directly onto digital. The tempo is fixed. With the Garageband rolls you just adjust a slider on the master track to change the tempo.

That aside, I practiced today twice with somebody named Cathy Meyer accompanying me on piano on the first two movements of the Cimarosa concerto. The tempo was very steady (I wonder if she used a click track?). There was plenty of dynamic contrast in the accompaniment, even though there seemed to be some disagreement between what she was playing and what was on my part.

Did you catch that? I practiced. Not once. Twice. Cathy Meyer played every bit as well the second time as she did the first!

Cimarosa

2009-09-29T06:30:00.000-07:00

It's "chimarosa," right? Like "bruschetti" is "brusketti," right? If you say "bruschetti" with a "ch" sound, you're pronouncing the Italian word "bruscietti," which means "little brushfires."

"Let's see, as an appetizer I'd like some little brushfires, please?"

Whatever. It was nice seeing the accompaniment of the first two movements of this concerto in the batch of IDRS shared MIDI files (that's sounds so jargonny. Love it.)

Growing up, I had a little 33 1/3 vinyl disc of my private teacher playing this piece, accompanied by a piano. It was something that she'd had recorded "after studies in Holland," the phrase she used to introduce herself and the piece she was about to play.

Several relocations later, I have no idea where this record is. It's a real shame, because the performance was a thrilling one that was a joy to listen to.

But I'm not without a connection. After all these years the only print version of this piece in my possession is an orchestral score. It's in terrible shape--all brown and brittle--but let's just say its condition has not worsened since I got it. I think it used to be hers; maybe she got it during her studies in Holland.

I think I'll drag it out and let it run.

Accompaniments online @ IDRS website!

2009-09-26T12:13:00.000-07:00

I now officially feel like Rip Van Winkle, just awakened from a looooooooong nap.

I haven't belonged to IDRS in a looooooooooong time (and I don't know if it'd make a difference if I did, since I don't necessarily pay attention to things I should), but it happens to be a very rainy day today, and as it is a very rainy day during marching band season, I was thinking about all those poor oboe players who are shackled to some kind of marching band juggernaut, in some soaked contest field somewhere, not playing oboe and cursing under their breath or muttering loudly about the injustice of a system that requires them, the players of the hardest instrument there is, to drag themselves and their mellophonarimbas (or whatever they play) through the sucking mud.

For some reason I thought that what some of these soggy erstwhile oboists might need is a bit of happy news at the end of the day, and, I can't really say why, but I wondered if I stirred myself from my hibernation from IDRS I might find something.

Lo and behold: midi accompaniments on IDRS

Now that I'm awake, I might as well make myself some coffee and see what's there.

!@#$%^&*

2009-09-24T12:10:00.000-07:00

Let's face it: oboists own frustration.

I don't know if there's a medical term for the mental state of feeling like your head is going to explode because you're trying to play a passage and what comes out of the horn, again and again, is vastly inferior to your silvered concert hall mental image of how it should sound--due to circumstances beyond your control (meaning, THE BLANKETYBLANK REED!!!), other circumstances beyond your control (meaning, THE BLANKETYBLANK INSTRUMENT!!!), and, finally, circumstances beyond your control (meaning, WHY AM I NOT PERFECT???).

There either needs to be a medical term for this condition, or they need to add another circle to Dante's Inferno. Or both. Then we could sit a lesser lake of Hell and share meds while we toss our reeds and our instruments into the fiery pitch, and then, in a fit of remorse, dive in and retrieve them, thereby adding to our suffering.

Oboists. jesus. We have a reputation for being OCD cranks. Well-deserved, probably. But if murderers plead insanity, we can plead hazardous levels of frustration. Although I'd rather have a medical term. Something Greco-Latin. So I can make a t-shirt out of it.

And wear it while I sit around the lake of Hell and practice the same blasted A-flat major 16th note run (starting on low E-flat and finishing on a high C), inflicted on me by Camille Saint-Saens (obviously the "Saint" in his name does not refer to a charitable disposition) and every now and then throw my reed and/or my oboe into the fiery pitch and then decide I can't live without it/them and jump in and retrieve them and then pop an antidepressant so I can tolerate the absurdity and go back to the same AAAAAAAAARGH-flat major scale.

What about "Oboe Reflux?"

garage bandaid

2009-09-22T19:08:00.000-07:00

Thank god for Garageband. I think I would've jumped off the bridge by now if technology hadn't jerked me off the railing and into its tinted-window limo for that fateful ride into virtual reality.

I guess the ride's still not over. Right now I'm humming along, working on the St. Saens sonata third movement. I entered the piano part--laboriously, note by note, since I'm not a keyboard player. Kind of the way they used to cut piano rolls, I guess. But anyway, there it is, and I can run the piece at any tempo.

I usually start at 88 and work my way up to 144. Ordinarily, I hate to practice slow (see above: suicidal notions). But with this infinitely patient accompanist to help, it's now sort of fun: lining up the triplets in the oboe against the quadruplets in the piano, for example, in mm. 3-4 and 7-8; do it slow and you can still really hear it when you speed it up.

So okay, enough for now. In the limo, practicing. Seeya.

Places in the heart

2009-09-20T22:36:00.000-07:00

The stage in the billiard hall was fun. It was big--there was lots of room so that the 5 musicians weren't falling over themselves or goosing each other with mic stands. And with somebody riding the sound, there were reports of good sound out in the room. The monitor sound seems to be iffy much of the time, always in a different way, but wtf.

But I started thinking about places I've played that have stood out in my mind for one reason or another. The one that's really stuck is the dining room of my parents' house, a cottage.

I was having to clear the place out to sell it (the denizens having become the dearly departed).

The dining room is not large--an 8x8 square with occupying a front corner. Two windows--one in front and one on the side, the latter having a bit of a bay. Plain walls. Wood floor.

It was last October. A beautiful warm fall day. Having long ago been inspired by François Leleux to play on oboe the unaccompanied fantasias originally written for flauto traverso by Telemann, I dragged out the horn and painted the room with many coats of music.

riddim n routes 2

2009-09-20T16:15:00.000-07:00

So it was that Fred the man in the street had the opinion that the girl singer (that's what they call her--girl singer. It seems chauvinist to me, but nobody seems to have a problem with it) needed to sing more and be brought out from behind the congas, which she hits occasionally. He said she had the charisma and the personality and the marketable element.

You mean, not let the songwriter sing as much? The guy? is what I asked Fred.

No, no, he shouldn't sing as much, said Fred. The girl singer. She's the marketable element. And it'd be better with a sax.

What? I asked.

Yeah, a sax, said Fred.

That's it, Fred. You are my poodle Marcel's next meal.

riddim n routes

2009-09-20T07:49:00.000-07:00

So you haul all your stuff to the venue--which is an upstairs bar in a bar, A/C pumping cool air thank god cuz actually it wasn't your shit you had to haul (not much to a little ol' Lorée) but the damn drummer's and somehow you wound up with the "hardware bag," which is shaped like and has the heft of an inhabited body bag, and hauling which up two flights of steps has you congratulating yourself that you have the carbon-dioxide-conditioned brain of an oboist but also regretting that your shirt has pretty much wicked all the moisture from your skin and the surrounding humid air to the point that you're now standing next to the A/C unit, letting the fan fill your shirt like a spinnaker sail, and you're thinking two things: 1. the prevailing fragrance of last night's beer isn't going to be upset by you contributing the scent of your labors, and 2. this is one loud fucking A/C unit. What will it do to the pristine sound of your oboe?

Well, not to worry. This is no place for pristine sound. This is Amplifitopia. Whatever you hear when you are playing (and you tend to agree with the two early-arrivers who shouted out during the sound check, "All we can hear is the drums!), it won't be what they hear out there in the bar. There's a guy riding the sound and it's all up to him, but all you know is that during the sound check (maybe to get back at the folks offering their constructive criticism) he unleashed a howl of feedback that grew and grew until you were sure it was the Final Asteroid, and you stopped your ears in alarm and watched the sound guy amble back to the sound board and silence it. And then much of the time there's this aura of hum going on, like the Final Asteroid is pissed off at being diverted and just wants to make a triumphant comeback. So you have to wonder. The name of the bar isn't Carnegie's, that's for sure.

And of course, as an oboist, you are responsible for knowing about mic placement and EQ of your instrument, because sound guys reflect the understanding of the world at large that what you're playing is either a clarinet or a bassoon. Yes, amazingly, a bassoon. And that is from the ones who are, in a way, better informed. And who, when you correct them, look at you like you're a fabloomin idiot who can't possibly know what you're talking about. Maybe it's because your aura has all the authority of a spinnaker-shirted sweathog plastered to the A/C unit and worrying about its noise. Hey, surprise: the symphony this ain't.

Where oh where

2009-09-17T19:18:00.000-07:00

For future reference at the moment I'm in Las Vegas on the James. In a hotel room. Without my oboe. A year ago I was doing some heavy text-messaging and wound up at Victoria's Secret. Long story. I can't say for sure it would've worked out differently if I'd had my oboe. In fact I can say that it would've worked out even more intensely if I had had it, but let's just leave the rest to Cosmo. Or Wired. Or Motor Trend. Your choice.

I'd be working on the G# minor harmonic minor scale right now if I could. Where I'm playing tomorrow--the R&R in Bristol--the songwriter has a love song that starts gypsy and morphs into celt, with the gypsy in g# minor and the celt in B major.

When we recorded it, the oboe had a sort of Italian accordion flavor to it, and the songwriter said it reminded him of The Godfather.

The view from the ledge

2009-09-16T19:46:00.001-07:00

Looking inward

Sex and the single oboe

2009-09-15T11:38:00.000-07:00

I'd rather play oboe than do just about anything else. The thing is, I don't think of practicing oboe and playing oboe as being the same thing. You practice alone. You play with other people (please be sure to give the italics the appropriate avoirdupois) regardless of whether those other people are listening or playing.

A duet is playing, not practicing. Yes, there is such a thing as practicing a duet, but, to me, that's playing. You, Aristotle?

(Now I do understand that there are legitimate questions as to the relative status in this regard of private lessons and pops concert symphony rehearsals. Let's leave that question to Aristotle.)

It never seems possible to play as much as I'd like to, which means that individual practice seems to be an inescapably inevitable ineluctability ... and I have a master's in alliteration to prove it. This trifecta of imperfection (help, I can't stop) has led me on a quest for the thing that can be done while practicing the oboe that will make it (practicing) seem less like what it (scutwork) is: the seventh circle of the Spanish Inquisition's Chateau d'If on Devil's Island.

Unfortunately, there are many things you can not do while you practice the oboe and still accomplish the objectives that you set out to accomplish by practicing (like, avoiding scales).

Now, I can't say for sure that nobody has had sex and practiced the oboe at the same time. I can just say that I haven't done it, and I can say that there's nothing in the Tabuteau book about it. Therefore I am simply agnostic on the subject. Except to say that it starts to verge on issues of performance.

(Not that it wouldn't be fun to speculate or learn from the experiences of others. C'mon, that's what the comment-on-blog thing is about! I am mostly interested in whether your partner preferred the hard or the soft reed. Aristotle might also like to know.)

Nor can I say whether anyone's slept and practiced the oboe at the same time. Sleeping and playing the oboe at the same time is hard enough, but I have accomplished it several times during rehearsals for pop concerts somewhere in the South Pacific. And no, Aristotle hasn't weighed in yet.

Eaten? I can't stand to eat before practicing or playing, so I can't imagine that I could tolerate eating and practicing at the same time. Still, I guess it depends on the food. (And here one runs through one's mind a whole series of creamy, soupy, gelatinous, or curdled foods and ... immediately vomits.) No, I guess it doesn't.

Reading? No way.

Talk like a pirate? I'd rather bowsprit my stern.

But hey now: watching TV: there you go. As long as it's commercial TV riven with ads. There will never be an oboe ad on TV, so what can you possibly care about it? Plus, if you turn the volume down, you can make those people say anything, or turn the sporting event into something positively balletic.

And even more: with TV, scales become magical. If you're one of those diehardly skeptical malcontents who see nothing in commercial TV other than a vastly Saharan Times Square, believe me: fruit-flavored lite beer is da bomb. I mean, da b-flat minor.

Or you can use Garageband to engage an accompanist. Virtually, of course. If not virtuously. But at least you're not alone any more.

Aristotle, how many centuries are you going to make me wait?

Not practicing

2009-09-13T15:30:00.000-07:00

That's what I've been doing. Went out of town. Didn't even take my oboe. Terrible.

Worse, I didn't even think about the fact that I wasn't practicing. This must mean that I'm a shameless slacker. Or a slackjawed shamus. Or shumthing slack that.

I did talk to somebody about marching band and how if you have to do marching band, they should figure out a way to add oboes. Does anybody know military regimental bands started with oboes? Mounted oboes! Were those guys kazooing through their horns? Doubt it.

Well, heck, can't delay any longer. Gotta practice for a roots/rock gig next weekend. All head music and improv. But noise. Damn, those guys don't understand the subtleties of acoustic music that I can tell. Everything runs through the freaking PA. It's as if you took an orchestra and made everybody scrunch down into a little tunnel and play in there with a megaphone at the end.

But if the sound sucks by comparison with the concert hall, at these electric gigs you never have to worry about coming in completely naked, pianissimo on a low b. And there's no conductor to have to flip off (behind your stand).

The problem is

2009-09-10T19:54:00.000-07:00

Well, it's not like there's just one problem.

I mean, the reed is the thing that frequently makes me rue the day that I ever found such delight as a child in hearing the shimmering sound of that instrument in the second Brandenburg: no, not the trumpet, no, not the flute, of course not the violin, the other one, the other one! The what? Oh! beau? the Ohbeau? Siren, more like, as in the Sirens that tried to shipwreck Ulysses. Freaking shipwrecked me on a reef of reeds.

And the instrument. If they only made adjustment drugs for the oboe. You know, Paxil or Xanax or meth. I think I'd be able to get the Dems and the GOP to agree on health insurance reform before I could get the kind of balance that would let me play it like it was a recorder. Or ahem, a baroque oboe (bring it back, Yamaha!)

But mostly, hell, it's the practicing. That's the main problem with the oboe. You have to freaking practice. Just to keep your lip going. I mean, if you want to play at all, pretty much. I know flute players that go months without practicing and then they pick up the instrument (probably in a bar somewhere) and re-acquaint themselves (probably over drinks) and have a thoroughly satisfying encounter (probably in a pit somewhere).

The last time I tried that with an oboe ... well, let's just say I won't do it again. It made such imperious demands on my lip that my chops were gone well before the point of climax (I'm talking music, here, of course, music being an exercise in collective cochlear coitus), and who wants to be a wallflower at an orgy? If anybody's gonna rock 'n' roll all night, I don't want my sticky fingers unemployed. So, wtf, I practice.

And I stay away from flute players.

Le HA

2009-09-10T16:02:00.000-07:00

Hi! Le HA here. Haha.

"Le WHO?" says you.

Says who?

Le Hautboïste Anonyme.

a.k.a. the anonymous oboist

iow anon. oboe

i.e. a non-oboe.

Haha.

Yeah: Le HA

Le HA

Los cuatro oboistas del apocalipsis--luz de luna

Attacking "on the wind"

Ob-pression

Bowtie vs. red nose

Playing Sufjan Stevens's "The Transfiguration"

Lincoln's Birthday Master Class

Oboe jobs at monster.com for eager beavers?

beYOnd classical mUsic: the alt.oboe master class

Sound Purgatory

Written in stone

Stepwise aside, pistolero

Freak it

Circular (breathing) logic

Midnight Mass, post

Midnight Mass, pre

The gig is down

Vivaldi Gloria

Backstage

I wonder as I wander

Jouez, hautbois

Make Straight in the Desert a Highway

Monday nothing

Oboe crusader

Oboist's Advent Calendar bis

Oboist's Advent Calendar

Dial me, maneki

Th-angst-giving

Pseudonymity, or, The Gestation Period of a Whale on Saturn

Don't give up

"A hard reed is like a hard chair."

If you've ever wondered "Can a reed slit a throat?"

Oboe Hatred

Hey dig it: a book *by* an oboe

this just in (Tab 2)

Oboe Tab

Godzoboe

Voyez! Voyez! Ce sont des hautbois qui marchent!

Fun article

Columbus Day

A variation on a classic oboe "Oh, shoot!" moment

Edition and Subtraction

Why

Cimarosa pt. 2

Cimarosa

Accompaniments online @ IDRS website!

!@#$%^&*

garage bandaid

Places in the heart

riddim n routes 2

riddim n routes

Where oh where

The view from the ledge

Sex and the single oboe

Not practicing

The problem is

Le HA

Hey dig it: a book by an oboe