Growing up in NY state, we had NYSMA solo contests, which featured graded solos of our choice. But here in IL, they’re called IMEA contests, and instead of featuring solos, they require a slow and fast Ferling study (no choice of which ones, they are assigned each year).

I’ve prepared lots of students on these and have judged them a few times, and it really seems that these are way too hard for 80% of the kids. Rather than spoon-feed kids the really intricate ornaments in the slow etudes and have them plow through the fast ones week after week to build the tempo, I wish IMEA would allow solos like we played in NY.

It was enjoyable for the kids, probably more interesting for the judges, and everyone got to choose a piece that was appropriate to their skill level. What is the procedure in other states out there?

Any thoughts?

Playing two programs a week with Grant Park has had me thinking about how I prepare for a first rehearsal.

With only 2-3 rehearsals on a program before a concert, it’s imperative that every musician knows their part (and hopefully the piece) cold for the first rehearsal, so that rehearsal time can be devoted to interpretation, style, and ensemble.

Ideally, when I prepare a piece of music, the first thing I do is get a recording and listen to it while I’m making reeds or while I’m in the car to get an overall picture and feel for the work. Then I’ll listen to it with my music and a pencil and note specific tempos, solos, and touchy spots.

For a lot of the repertoire, there are traditional nuances that the printed music alone won’t clue you in on, so recordings are a great help. When I practice my part, besides getting the technical stuff down, I practice the style of the piece and interpret the printed markings appropriately.

At rehearsal, no matter how much you’ve practiced, the conductor or your colleagues will have new ideas—my teacher, Richard Killmer used to say “be prepared for anything,” meaning different tempos, articulations, anything.

As much as we prepare in the practice room, savvy musicianship and an open mind are imperative to a fluid first rehearsal. For the pieces without available recordings, this is especially true.

Expect the unexpected at a first rehearsal and be open to it, and you’ll discover that sometimes the best ideas are ones you never even thought of in the practice room.

It’s not often that we toot our own horns, but someone once said, “If you don’t toot your own horn, there is no music.”

At any rate, in this case, I think it is more than warranted.

Please help us congratulate Anne Bach (co-owner of MKL Reeds) on winning the second oboe job in the Grant Park Music Festival.

For those of you outside of Chicago, the Grant Park Music Festival is the nation’s only remaining free, outdoor classical music series. It is a great orchestra and a great addition to Chicago’s long list of summer activities.

CONGRATS ANNE!

(If you like, send a quick email right to Anne. Her email address is anne at mklreeds.com.)

After you’ve been playing the oboe for a while, you develop your own system for organizing your reeds. If I am preparing for a recital or some other solo, it is not unusual for me to put away those “really good reeds” as I make them so that I have a collection for the big day.

With this Bach Double performance in particular, I remember being surprised by the really good reed in my case. I had only made a few because my gouge was feeling pretty good, and I actually hadn’t put away many at all. It was the morning of the performance, and like I always do on the morning of an afternoon/evening performance, I got out every reed I was considering and lined them up in my reed case in order of how good they felt that day.

The reed I ended up choosing to play had NEVER been played on, but had somehow “morphed” into just the right reed for that day and hopefully, for that performance. I didn’t even need to scrape it. It responded just the right way and felt just right for what I knew the acoustics required. (The recital was given at Church of the Holy Trinity, Episcopal, in NYC)

I don’t usually make a fuss about reeds generally, but I normally do scrape on them a bit or refine them just one last time before a performance. This reed didn’t need anything, and I was not only surprised but a little skeptical. But, compared to others I was considering, it was far superior.

I never like to oversoak my reeds, even hours before a performance, so after coming to all these conclusions in a few minutes, I put it away for the concert later. And it came to pass it was a really good reed in the moment of truth (as my teacher used to say), and that is all that matters. It turned out to be one of those performances where you actually play the music and don’t think about the reed.

What fun…

You can listen to a movement from the live performance here.

Playing the oboe is not easy. I think back to when I started and I marvel at how much practice and dedication it takes just to get a nice sound out of that little piece of wood.

That said, I am always surprised at what good can come from taking a break from the oboe and giving it an extended nap in its case. You would think that not playing the oboe would not be cause for much improvement, but, over the years, I have found otherwise.

Without fail, everytime I take a vacation from the oboe, I come back with better perspective, a better ear and more appreciation for what I do.

Let’s take these one at a time:

• Better Perspective - In the words of Charlie Parker,
  

  “Music is your own experience, your own thoughts, your wisdom. If you don’t live it, it won’t come out of your horn. They teach you there’s a boundary line to music. But, man, there’s no boundary line to art.”

  Think about it, music is life. Your life is what makes your music interesting.

• Better Ear - It is said that your body’s muscles grow when they aren’t in use. And so it seems to be with your ear… When you take a break from music and then come back to it, you hear things differently. And for a musician, that’s a good thing.
• More Appreciation - This kind of goes without saying. It is pretty much a rule that you never truly appreciate something until you are without it. Same thing applies here. Everything just sounds better when you come back to it.

A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to have a week long gig with the American Ballet Theatre when they came through Chicago. The ballet was Giselle and it was beautiful. Or so I was told, you can’t see much from the pit. But you can read a review of the production by the Chicago Sun Times.

The really special part about all of this is that I got to spend the week playing next to a person who is one of my best friends and very close “oboe family,” Anne Bach (co-owner of MKL Reeds).

What’s so great about playing with good friends? Here are just a few things:

• No one is right (don’t you just hate when you sit next to someone who is always right?) and the finished product is always much greater than the sum of its parts.
• Fear takes a backseat to making music. As my teacher, Richard Killmer always used to say, “Fear is not an appropriate color.” It is so much easier to get caught up in the energy of the moment when you are surrounded by those you trust and admire.
• It just works. No trying, no tuning, just playing.

Stuff like this really makes you love what you do.

I’m in Nashville playing Heldenleben this week. It’s a hectic time for the Symphony since Kenneth Schermerhorn, their music director of 22 years, recently passed away. The oboe section here is Bobby Taylor, Ellen Menking, and Rodger Weismeyer. The season after next, the Symphony will move into their brand new hall, the Schermerhorn Symphony Center.

Recitals can be fun, exciting, grueling and invigorating all at the same time. Here is a short clip from a recital I played a few years back.

You can listen to it here. (It is fairly small but might take about 5 minutes to download on a dial-up connection.)

What’s your most memorable recital experience?

Rachel Whipple wrote us with a funny oboe story the other day:

Today I woke up very early to go to breakfast for Mother’s Day with the entire family. Afterwards, I thought it would be fun to practice my oboe outside for the first time this spring. The birds were chirping, the bees were humming, the dogs were barking, so naturally I thought that I should give my contribution of music to the neighborhood.

I began my practice session playing simple major and chromatic scales. Then I moved onto the Allegro of Handel’s Sonata No. 1. Suddenly, two DUCKS came from out of nowhere and made a perfect 10-point landing in my pool. I was stunned.

It is not a normal occurrence to see ducks in my backyard. After a few minutes, one of the ducks had a long enough bath and flew off into the sky. So one duck remained while I continued to play the Handel. After about ten minutes, I looked away from my music once again and saw that the second duck was finished with his bath and was standing on the patio. Every time I played, he shook his wings and feathered tail. I experimented by starting and stopping the music. Every time I played he danced; every time I stopped he stopped. I played several different notes and ranges. When I played middle range E, Ebs, and Fs he directly looked at me and turned his green neck and head to the side.

Perhaps in another life the duck was Handel and he was stopping in to hear his music. Or maybe it was a famous oboe player in a previous life. But…I guess the reality is that I basically sounded like a duck with some advanced beautiful mating call sound. I guess I should concentrate on those particular notes some more, because forever in my mind they will be known as the “Duck mating call notes.”

So I guess the lesson I learned today is if I never become a truly great oboist, the ducks will always stop on in and appreciate my music.