In my memory and in my mind, I can throw down some decent Hindemith. I am playing 1st horn with Amanda Burton in the Parade of the Ewoks from Star Wars. But in reality, oh sad reality, I have come back to my horn (finally) con gusto but it is only coming back to me poco a poco ma non troppo.
She's decided she's going to commit to this music-making business! She's finding herself some teachers! She's picking up her instruments and . . . she's . . . she's . . . OFF?
"Nope," The New Horn Teacher says. (More on him later.) "You've got some set-up problems."
Let's talk about embouchure (äm-bü-shu̇r). As it turns out, my mouth is ALL WRONG. And before I can do anything useful on the horn, I've got to get my embouchure looking like these sexy specimens. Corners set, chin flat.
The prescription? Short bursts. Brief sets of low reps. It's back to the gym for this embouchure, and there's no cheating, even when it burns. And oh, does it burn. Those fine muscles around the chin and mouth are like tiny screaming glutes and abs.
So here I am, having majored in French horn, having taught many an elementary school student how to set their embouchure and buzz, having recently consulted with one of the greatest living composers (who I am employed to promote) on whether a certain section of his Los Angeles Philharmonic piece was playable for the horns, and I've been ordered to blow nothing more than 4 quarter notes on my mouthpiece in 10-minute intervals.
This. Sucks.
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