I just had a glorious experience, one delayed for too long.
A few years ago I picked up my horn, and attempted to start playing again. When I realized my third key was sticking (rotary valves have their limitations), and I couldn't play d/a flats, I stopped playing; it was the middle of band-instrument repair season, and Pacific Winds was too busy to take my horn. Finally, the week before my 30th birthday I decided it was now or never and hauled my baby to the shop! (Awesome how turning a nice round number like that prompts action.)
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| A Horn Straight Mute |
Tonight I took my horn out of her case (I named her "máquina del amor" in high school), and discovered that despite totally diminished lip muscles, I can still make right notes come out of my horn, remember a modicum of fingerings, and can play without sounding spitty for all of, oh, ten minutes. At minute eight, I grabbed my mute and played Star Trek-like creepy muted horn parts at the top of my lungs. Just like old times.
It's strange to have to relearn things I used to know so well: tonight I started the long process of retraining myself on how to figure out where all my spit went (which valve to dump? which valve?). Luckily, these days I'm sure I can use youtube to remind myself of what grease/oil goes where during routine maintenance.
After I played tonight, I ran to the mirror, thrilled to see the tell-tale red mark of Horn playing on my lips. Simple joy: there is nothing like participating in the creation of music.
We're back, baby!
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