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cosmolinguistThe wonderful thing about LJ comments is that you can go off on these tangents, as ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tjej and I proved in an entry I wrote a couple days ago. Because of that, I now find myself with the desire to talk about my adventures as a bassoonist.
The previous bassoon player was a year older than me, so the year I was a senior in high school, the band was bassoonless. I think the band director asked me because he thought I was a sucker who'd do it. He was right, of course.
I think it had something to do with the fact that my best friend was out to learn all of the instruments she could, as soon as she could. Upon hearing that Allen Vizzutti was coming to our school, she wanted to play in the jazz band with him, but she was a baritone payer and that's not a very jazzy instrument. So the director gave her an old trombone and she practiced it for most of her waking hours one weekend and has been playing trombone in jazz bands ever since. I wanted to be like that, only I was being offered a bassoon, which I thought made even a trombone look cool. Still, it was either that or keep playing bass clarinet.
One day after school I asked the director which case the bassoon was in. He pointed it out. I found it deceptively small. I opened it up and immediately noticed that one of the parts had two holes. Well, lengths of tube always have two holes, but I mean it had two in the same end, and none in the other. What's with that?! Bassoons only have four parts, basically--well, five if you count the bocal, and six if you count the reed--but I still wasn't very quick about putting them together. I'd show up for band early so I had time to assemble my instrument (though of course I'd eventually be about to do it in about two seconds).
Next I had to learn how to hold the thing, which was even harder. It just didn't make any sense to put my fingers where they were supposed to go, and the thing felt lop-sided. But at least the setup put the reed close enough to my mouth that I could try blowing into it. I did, but that didn't last long because it's hard to maintain the proper embouchure when you're laughing hysterically at the noise that has just emanated from the bassoon.
"Then what?" I asked the director.
"Then ... we moved onto oboe," he said. Oh terrific. Nice to know his college classes were so helpful. Since then, I was on my own. He gave me a book and a fingering chart and said, "Go home and .... learn a concert B-flat scale or something."
First I had to figure out what key bassoons are in, and discovered that a concert B-flat is a B-flat for me too. Sweet. Now, how to play a B-flat ... and then a C ... and the next day I played a B-flat scale for him, slowly, and frequently having to stop because I had to look at my fingers and you can't see them when you're playing a bassoon. A bit later, I heard him mention to someone else that I'd learned more my first day than he knew at all (which, of course, only sounds good to people who don't know how little he knew).
Though the Vizzutti concert was only a few weeks later, I learned enough to play one song on bassoon. Twice that year I played a duet with my friend the baritone player. I once was part of a trio consisting of an oboe player (who didn't want to play a solo), me (who'd taken pity on her), and the E-flat clarinet player (the addition of whom, our director told us, was the only thing we could do to make ourselves sound sillier), who introduced us as The Three Squeaks--Low Squeak (me, of course), Middle Squeak (the oboe), and High Squeak (himself). I got called "buffoon," or "the buffoon player," mostly by the director. Our band took a trip to St. Louis that spring; I had to lug the bassoon around--and my clarinet, for marching band, and bass and amp, for jazz band. The bassoon and I had good times that year.
Incidentally, the subject line is something I half-remembered from Garrison Keillor's Young Lutheran's Guide to the Orchestra, which I find hilarious, but I admit that it may have less appeal to people who aren't familiar with orchestras (or Lutherans). Here's the rest of what he says about bassoons:
tjej and I proved in an entry I wrote a couple days ago. Because of that, I now find myself with the desire to talk about my adventures as a bassoonist.The previous bassoon player was a year older than me, so the year I was a senior in high school, the band was bassoonless. I think the band director asked me because he thought I was a sucker who'd do it. He was right, of course.
I think it had something to do with the fact that my best friend was out to learn all of the instruments she could, as soon as she could. Upon hearing that Allen Vizzutti was coming to our school, she wanted to play in the jazz band with him, but she was a baritone payer and that's not a very jazzy instrument. So the director gave her an old trombone and she practiced it for most of her waking hours one weekend and has been playing trombone in jazz bands ever since. I wanted to be like that, only I was being offered a bassoon, which I thought made even a trombone look cool. Still, it was either that or keep playing bass clarinet.
One day after school I asked the director which case the bassoon was in. He pointed it out. I found it deceptively small. I opened it up and immediately noticed that one of the parts had two holes. Well, lengths of tube always have two holes, but I mean it had two in the same end, and none in the other. What's with that?! Bassoons only have four parts, basically--well, five if you count the bocal, and six if you count the reed--but I still wasn't very quick about putting them together. I'd show up for band early so I had time to assemble my instrument (though of course I'd eventually be about to do it in about two seconds).
Next I had to learn how to hold the thing, which was even harder. It just didn't make any sense to put my fingers where they were supposed to go, and the thing felt lop-sided. But at least the setup put the reed close enough to my mouth that I could try blowing into it. I did, but that didn't last long because it's hard to maintain the proper embouchure when you're laughing hysterically at the noise that has just emanated from the bassoon.
"Then what?" I asked the director.
"Then ... we moved onto oboe," he said. Oh terrific. Nice to know his college classes were so helpful. Since then, I was on my own. He gave me a book and a fingering chart and said, "Go home and .... learn a concert B-flat scale or something."
First I had to figure out what key bassoons are in, and discovered that a concert B-flat is a B-flat for me too. Sweet. Now, how to play a B-flat ... and then a C ... and the next day I played a B-flat scale for him, slowly, and frequently having to stop because I had to look at my fingers and you can't see them when you're playing a bassoon. A bit later, I heard him mention to someone else that I'd learned more my first day than he knew at all (which, of course, only sounds good to people who don't know how little he knew).
Though the Vizzutti concert was only a few weeks later, I learned enough to play one song on bassoon. Twice that year I played a duet with my friend the baritone player. I once was part of a trio consisting of an oboe player (who didn't want to play a solo), me (who'd taken pity on her), and the E-flat clarinet player (the addition of whom, our director told us, was the only thing we could do to make ourselves sound sillier), who introduced us as The Three Squeaks--Low Squeak (me, of course), Middle Squeak (the oboe), and High Squeak (himself). I got called "buffoon," or "the buffoon player," mostly by the director. Our band took a trip to St. Louis that spring; I had to lug the bassoon around--and my clarinet, for marching band, and bass and amp, for jazz band. The bassoon and I had good times that year.
Incidentally, the subject line is something I half-remembered from Garrison Keillor's Young Lutheran's Guide to the Orchestra, which I find hilarious, but I admit that it may have less appeal to people who aren't familiar with orchestras (or Lutherans). Here's the rest of what he says about bassoons:
Should a Lutheran play the bassoon? Not if you want to be taken seriously, I don't think so. The name kind of says it all: bassoon. It's an instrument that isn't playing with a full deck of marbles. Maybe it's something you'd do for a hobby ("Hey honey, let's go bassooning this weekend!"), but not as your life's work. Some bassoonists filling out applications for home loans just say "orthodontist."
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breaking woodwind
Date: 2003-07-23 04:10 pm (UTC)I say 'in her day'.. she's all of 27
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-24 10:24 am (UTC)First of all, "breaking woodwind." How is it that, after so many years of playing them, I'd not heard this or thought of this before? Seems so obvious! I like it.
Second, you used the words "looney" and "bassoonist" in the smae sentence. That's redundant.
Third, bassoon scholarships. Just the idea of their existence makes me smile.
Last, and not least--maybe most, even--playing bassoon in the Warner Bros. orchestra. That's just cool. I love bassoons and I love cartoons and I understand how critically intertwined the two are.
*hee*
Date: 2003-07-24 11:34 pm (UTC)I think I subconsiously threw 'looney' in with Warner Brothers, considering the spelling. I'm bent like that.
Alas, my wife (
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-23 04:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-23 08:39 pm (UTC)Do you still play at all? Or for that matter, own one?
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-23 10:49 pm (UTC)As you can see, I'm not wistful about men, just bassoons.
(no subject)