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Take Your Time

As the school season starts, I think about my own private lesson teaching and how often my worst playing occurs in the midst of a lesson.

Why would that be?

I’m of two minds:

1). If you’re teaching a lot of lessons, you’re hearing a lot of playing (sounds, articulations, pitch, technique, phrasing, etc.) that is not in line with your ideal. It’s to be expected that when you’re swimming in that universe, you might find yourself mimicking those sounds when you’re trying to model loftier goals.

2). In a rush to demonstrate for your student, you don’t take the time to hear your own inner trumpeter nor do you take the time to consider what you need to do physically to play at your best. Of course, you know the more you repeat an less than ideal habit, the more you reinforce the very thing you wish to minimize.

So take the very same advice any good teacher would offer their students:

Slow down, listen to the ideal sound of your mind before you play. You’re not going to impede the flow of the lesson; you’ll give a better demonstration, and you’ll feel better about yourself too.
Remember your own playing needs. Take the extra beat or two to set yourself up for success. No more impulsive, hurried demonstrations in lessons.
At breaks, take a moment to listen to some music that reinforces what you most want to hear: I’m sure you’re asking your students to listen to specific recordings to reinforce their musical experience. Take your own advice—listen to the music that inspires you to play.
Before you leave your teaching space, after your last lesson, spend a few moments playing for yourself. Make sure to reinforce all the wonderful aspects in your own playing that you enjoy.

Playing in lessons can get frustrating when we can hear/feel our own playing regress in the course of a teaching schedule.

You’re not doing yourself, or your student, any favors by rushing to play. Take a moment, prepare yourself mentally and physically. You’ll play better, you’ll feel better, and you’ll be modeling yet another good habit for your students. Finally, remember why you play. Surround yourself with the sounds you love, the sounds you’d like to mimic, and you’ll find yourself more in touch with the musician you are trying to become—even when you’re mentoring someone else.

Back To The Start

Recently, I underwent a medical procedure—it was a minor procedure—I’m totally fine, but the recovery has been painful. I was told by the surgeon that the recovery would be rough, but wow—this has been challenging.

Because of the nature of the procedure, I’ve been forced to stop playing my trumpet for a month. I love playing, and believe it or not, I treasure my practice time, so while I’m grateful for my medical attention and for my improving health, I have felt an absence in my life without playing.

In the last few days, I’ve wanted to test my body and see if I’m ready to start playing again. And I’ve found myself having to taste my own medicine: I have to receive the advice that I’d give to any of my students when they’ve taken significant time off from their instruments.

It’s tempting to try something from the peak of your abilities, to play something impressive, but at what cost?

I’m currently at the beginning stages of my reunion with my trumpet, and here’s what I’ve done so far.

Light/soft mouthpiece buzzing in the middle register. Because of my procedure, I really can’t play with any force. So, soft and mid to low. Breath attacks to connect the air to the sound. Easy.
On the trumpet: Again, breath attacks. Make sure that your air and lips are working together to form the sound. Don’t force it with volume or with your tongue—let the sound happen, instead of making it happen.
Play for short intervals of time. Your body isn’t ready for the physicality of playing you had achieved before your hiatus. Your endurance will be diminished for a spell.

I’m not a more evolved being than you; I too was tempted to play a little higher than I was ready to perform. And the teacher in me recognized that I was manipulating my body to force those notes out.

I had to stop myself and remind myself that this is from where bad habits originate. I had to tell myself to slow down, be patient, and do all the things that I teach my students.

Being that we’re starting to go back to school, I wonder how many of us have taken long summer breaks and are preparing for the rigorous demands of the regular year?

Go slow, play with good form, it will all come back.

At least, that’s what I tell my students, and today that’s what I told myself.

Finding A Teacher

I will never forget going to Zep’s Music in Burbank with my brand-new Bach trumpet. I was 13 years old and thrilled to have such a beautiful instrument, but the valves didn’t work! My parents took me back to the store, where Carlos Miralles, who ran the shop, showed me a trick. He explained that if you put a little valve oil on each piston, they will actually come back up in addition to going down after your press them. What a revelation!

After that, Carlos asked me to play for him. Before long, he pulled out a piece of paper, wrote down a name and a phone number, and handed it to me. The name was Boyde Hood. Carlos told me to call him, insisting that this was the person who needed to be my next trumpet teacher. I was confused. I already had an excellent trumpet teacher—Harry Leff, my middle school band director—and I adored him. Why would I need a new teacher?

They say there are no coincidences, and I soon experienced my first example of that truth. Shortly after, my parents took me to get a haircut. The woman cutting my hair was married to a freelance trumpet player in Los Angeles, so she always took an interest in my musical progress. I told her about my experience at Zep’s and mentioned that I liked my current teacher. She abruptly stopped cutting my hair, looked at me, and said that if someone tells you to call Boyde Hood, you absolutely call him!

She explained that he was a member of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, a frequent player on major movie scores, a professor at the University of Southern California, and above all, a genuinely nice person. So, I called him.

He was incredibly kind on the phone. He asked how long I had been playing, if I wanted to major in music in college (I had no idea what that even meant, but I said yes), and if I wanted to play professionally. I said yes to everything. Mind you, this was before the internet, so you couldn't just look people up. You had to trust the word-of-mouth recommendations offered to you and just go for it!

We arranged for a lesson. He lived 45 minutes away from my family, and navigating the traffic was a challenge. However, the adventure I was about to have became the gift that keeps on giving.

When I walked into his home, he was gentle and kind, and we spent some time getting to know each other. Soon, he handed me a packet of music. It turned out to be the exact same compilation he gave to all of his incoming students, filled with his specific mouthpiece drills and warm-ups. It was quite a lot of material! I had never worked on playing the mouthpiece in a disciplined way before, and I had never truly thought about what should constitute a proper warm-up. While I had been taught well up to that point, this approach introduced an entirely new dimension. I was intrigued. By the end of the hour, I couldn’t help but notice that my sound was already a little better. Something was fundamentally different.

At the end of the lesson, Boyde told me that he did not usually take on high school students. However, he made me a deal: if I promised to practice everything he asked of me every single day, he would be happy to take me on.

What transpired from that moment on was a lifelong relationship, mentorship, and friendship. Outside of my own family, Boyde is without a doubt the most influential person in my life. He taught me about the trumpet, about music, about life, and so much more. He is a truly special person. In fact, when my wife, Rachel, and I got married, he even agreed to be our wedding officiant!

Choosing the right teacher is a vital step in your progression, not just in music, but in life. Hopefully, the right person will show you more than just the basics of being a good instrument operator. They will guide you toward becoming a better musician, act as a counselor of sorts, and eventually become a lifelong friend.

The time spent with a teacher is deeply impactful. During a lesson, a student is in a position where they must be open to significant technical correction and place trust in professional guidance. It is a uniquely focused relationship.

When meeting a potential teacher, it is helpful to consider these essential questions:

Does this person play in a manner that one would like to emulate?
Does this person have proven professional experience as both a performer and an educator?
Does this person offer insights and ideas that feel genuinely helpful?
Is this person respectful and encouraging?
Is this someone with whom a student would want to spend a significant amount of time?

There are certainly other questions to ask, but this list provides a strong foundation. Finding the right teacher is critical in high school, college, and beyond. Every student deserves professional advice and to be surrounded by mentors who foster growth.

I'm sure future posts will feature each of the great mentors in my life. However, it was this encounter with Boyde that truly expanded the possibilities of the musical universe for me. I hope that you find a teacher who strives to do the same.

My wedding day!

Pitcured L-R: Mike, Boyde, and Rachel

A Case For Warming Down

There have been lots of discussions, books written, and documentation about warming up. There are as many opinions on the warm-up as there are musicians playing brass instruments.

But it’s rare to see any documentation about warming down. You might hear someone say, “You should warm down after this rehearsal.” What preceded that comment might have been a brutal practice, a taxing series of concerts, a particularly difficult lesson, or something else along those lines. But rarely do those people tell you how you should warm down, or even what you should wish to accomplish by warming down.

I believe the term “warm down” is a bit of a misnomer. If you’ve been doing your marching band training all day long in the summer heat, there’s not going to be a 5-minute routine that gets you back to square one where you’re automatically ready for some more punishing work.

I believe the goal of a warm-down should be to reestablish balance in your playing. Meaning, if you’ve been playing a lot of high, forceful, loud music, your lips are probably spread (your aperture is too large), you’re probably feeling beat up, and there’s no way for you to play with any subtlety, or nuance—especially at a softer dynamic. In other words, your balance is off.

How would you establish that balance? By practicing the opposite of what you’ve been working on all day.

If you’ve been playing outdoors, in the summer’s heat, in the school’s marching band, you should practice music that is the opposite of that band’s requirements. You’ve been playing loudly, you’ve been playing lots of high notes, and you’ve been tonguing aggressively. You might want to work first on soft breath attacks in the mid to low register. At first, your response is likely to be very slow—that’s okay! Try to keep your volume—and your aggression— low, be patient. In time your response will be quicker. Eventually you’ll notice, as your response gets quicker, your sound also becomes more pure. I like to do this with a metronome at a slow pace, this helps reinforce the timing of my breath and sound.

When you’re able to play some soft notes, without the use of your tongue, start making the lengths of those notes longer. As you’re sustaining the sound, allow yourself to diminuendo. By getting softer we’re allowing our aperture to get smaller, and we’re encouraging an increasing sense of suppleness to your lips.

Finally, when that is feeling comfortable, I like to add half-step bends to my long tones. Start the note, establish it, bend down a perfect half step, and let it return effortlessly to the original note, all the while staying true to your original, gentle, dynamic.

The bend can accomplish a lot of things: You’re working on your corners (keeping your lips supple while establishing firmness in the corners), you’re working on the balance of air to lip, you’re redefining the center of your sound (and pitch!), and you’re doing it in a therapeutic manner enabling you to start the next day without feeling swollen, spread, or beat up. The five minutes you spend at the end of your tough playing day might save you 10-15 minutes the next day when you are trying to warm up when you might otherwise feel too tired to even do that!

One final thought: I recently had the opportunity to observe a masterclass given by Danielle Kuhlmann, the fourth horn player of the Seattle Symphony. Her presentation was energetic, detailed, and extremely informative. A student, towards the end of the class, asked her if she warmed down, and she replied that she frequently warmed up at the end of a tough program! That was such an enlightening response: Danielle’s job is to play a lot of low notes, and usually at a pretty aggressive dynamic. So she too gets out of balance, but in the opposite way of a typical first horn or trumpet player. Because she spends so much time playing robust low notes, she will often spend time working her way up into the upper register of the horn to reestablish the balance in her own playing. Her playing needs are different than someone who is playing a lot of high notes. I never would have thought about that without her response to that student’s question. But now that I’ve heard it, this makes total sense.

We always want to end our playing day by establishing balance in our playing. In doing so, our first session the next day will feel easier, our ability to play all the things we want will become increasingly consistent, and most importantly, our lips will feel healthy. We’ll have more fun playing our instruments as a result. It’s a win-win!

Why Warm Up?

The title of this piece could’ve easily been “Why Have a Systematic Routine?”. However, I decided to leave the title more general so that we can have a discussion about what a warm-up is, what we wish it to accomplish, and how we could or should carry it throughout our day.

In some ways, I was a very good student; I did everything I was asked to do—without reservation or complaint. In other ways, I was a poor student: I never asked what certain tasks would accomplish, and I never asked what the goals were. I simply did what I was told and assumed I would get better.

I did get better, but I was uninformed. Because I was uninformed, when I ran into playing problems, I didn’t always know how to fix them. More importantly, I had studied with a few teachers by the time I was a young professional, and all of them had a warm-up routine. My assumption was that if I started at point A and finished at point Z, I was warmed up and ready to go. All I needed to do was spend the time and perform the tasks at hand.

But these routines took a lot of time. If I had a rehearsal or a concert that ended at 10 p.m. or later, followed the next morning by a rehearsal or a children’s concert (which are always super early, and frequently very brass-heavy), I would have to be at the concert hall incredibly early to make time for that routine. The whole time, I never quite knew when the warm-up ended and the practicing began.

This was quite frustrating. I didn't find out until much later—a story I can tell at another time—what it actually meant to warm up. I was always a very strong player; it’s perhaps the only performance aspect that came naturally to me. However, I never loved my sound, and finding fluidity and nuance in my playing was challenging. It took me a long time to realize that I was looking at the trumpet too much like a bodybuilder and not enough like a ballerina.

It took me too long to realize that whether I took time off, was warming up, or was practicing, I had already established the musculature required in just several minutes. In other words, in short order, I could easily play my entire range comfortably. So if that’s true, why did I need to play so much more material before I felt ready to perform or rehearse?

The answer has become clear to me: I’m spending time working on my coordination. Slowly, softly, and with great intent, my warm-up is a period to make sure that I can comfortably perform all the functions I depend on in any setting.

So then the question arises: Isn’t that just a practice session? The answer? Yes. A warm-up is a practical, meditative, and reflexive period of time when you are communicating with your instrument and with your body to prepare you to perform anything and everything you are asked to do on a daily basis. [1]

There seem to be more warm-up routines for brass players than stars in the sky—and they’re all very good. The thing about practice is that at any time you’re playing, you should be able to answer three questions:

What am I playing?
Why am I playing it?
How should I play it?

These questions are my equilateral triangle of brass playing. If you can’t answer all of them at any given point, you shouldn’t be practicing that task. For that reason, I won’t tell you what my warm-up routine is; the “what” pales in comparison to the “why” and the “how.”

I will tell you that my “what” changes very little from year to year, and even decade to decade. In fact, if you’re a casual listener (like a neighbor, for instance), it might sound like I’m playing the exact same thing every morning. There’s some truth to that, but in reality, my warm-up is dynamic, fluid, and evolving. I might swap certain phrases for others, or I might change how I play certain passages. If I’ve been performing a lot and I’m feeling beat up, I’ll adjust how I’m playing certain things (in such an instance, I might play much softer and spend more time in the middle to low register). There’s a lot of nuance in the “how” and “why” of my daily warm-up.

The reason I don’t drastically change the “what” in my warm-up is that I don’t want to spend my rare and precious time alone with my instrument thinking about what I need to do. I like knowing what I’m going to play so I can spend my energy listening to myself and feeling the signals my body is sending me, allowing me to address my playing needs thoughtfully.

In other words, by keeping the “what” in my warm-up routine similar, I spend all of my energy and focus on addressing how and why I’m going to perform something to more quickly get my body and my brain ready to perform throughout the day. If you get good at this, you’ll be able to carry the sound, the comfort, and the relaxation that you created through the rest of the day!

Notice I’m not telling you all the bases you need to cover in your warm-up. These are things you discover with your teacher. More importantly, as you get more experienced, you know what aspects of your playing need nourishment before you feel confident playing with or for others. That’s a personal thing that you get to discover on your own.

What I am advocating for is this: The next time you warm up, don’t absentmindedly play long tones, Clarke studies, your favorite passages from your ensemble, high notes, etc. Instead, play something quietly. Listen to your sound and adjust. Listen to what your body is telling you and adjust. Gradually increase your range, but keep your volume gentle. (You’re not competing with other people, and we don’t want to infringe on others' sonic space. This moment is for you—it’s your time to address your needs. This should make it a private space for you, allowing others to have an equally reflective moment to warm up.)

At some point, you’ll introduce articulation, making sure that your tonguing is clear and fluid. At another point, you’ll want to check your flexibility. Don’t use this as your opportunity to play your hardest study; instead, check the timing and coordination of your slurs. How easily are you moving from one note to the next? Is the sound consistent on all of the notes? Are you manipulating your lips too much to achieve your slurs?

As with all things in this period of time with your instrument, you’re recalibrating. Take the time to ensure that each aspect of your playing is responding the way you want. It’s much easier to hear what is happening in your own playing when you strip away all of the flashy things we like to achieve—there’s plenty of time later to be impressive. Get to the nucleus of how you want to play by doing very elemental things methodically, intently, and, most importantly, adjust so that you can carry this relaxing way of playing throughout the rest of your day. In time, you will notice that you are becoming a much better and more consistent performer as a result of this first session.

By being mindful of what you need, how you need to adjust, and why you need to work on certain elements of your playing, you are giving yourself a daily lesson in your most elemental skill set. As you continually sharpen those tools, your ability to perform gets easier and more dependable. You also become more receptive to increasing your technical abilities because you are consistently performing from a very refined technical space.

So much of what I teach, and so many of the topics on which I write, are subjects that I didn’t grasp early enough in my career. Most of them are fundamental, and all of them are essential. This is probably the most important of those concepts. I’m continually growing, processing, and adjusting, and I just want to encourage you to do the same: A warm-up should be mindful, reflective, adaptive, instructive, and therapeutic. I hope you will consider these thoughts in your first sessions moving forward.

It happens!

Have you ever prepared for a performance, worked as hard as you know how, and had it not go the way you planned? Guess what? You and everybody else! This experience is not unique to you. You were well-practiced; you studied the parts, studied the score, were in great shape, recorded yourself and listened back critically, journaled, gave mock performances, took lessons, adjusted your equipment, slept well, stayed hydrated, etc. And yet, the moment came, and you fell short of your goals. It happens, not just to you, but to everyone.

Now, I’m not talking about succumbing to performance anxiety—that’s a whole other conversation, and maybe I can write about that later. (For what it’s worth, I believe that performance anxiety is something one practices, just like everything else. Performing under pressure is a technique you can refine, like your sound, your high range, or multiple tonguing. You can learn to play under any condition; the hard part is committing to learning how to do so.)

We’ve all been told stories of elite musicians who have never missed a note. I remember one such anecdote being told about a performer I admired, just before that person performed that evening. It turns out, I showed up on the single evening in that person’s career when he showed signs of struggle. In fact, I think every musician I’ve had the privilege of hearing live multiple times has had things go wrong—sometimes big things—during a performance. We’re human. We are analog, breathing beings—not digital automatons. Sometimes, the hardest thing to do is accept ourselves as human while we live in the meticulous perfection of a digital society.

So, what can we learn from our errant performances? What can we do to make fewer mistakes in the future? And most importantly, how do we move forward with grace, optimism, and without shame after such moments occur?

I recently found myself—and not for the first time—in a moment where I felt I really let myself down. To be fair, the outing wasn’t a total failure, but I missed a critical note. I know what you’re thinking: “So what, you missed one note?” But it was the last note of the piece, it reverberated around the room for five seconds, and it hurt badly to hear, to witness, and to commit to memory. I know what it feels like to hear other people miss, and we’re usually far less critical of others than we are of ourselves, but mine was a doozy.

Was I tired? No. Was I ill-prepared? No. What happened? I celebrated too soon. I was so proud of myself for having performed a very challenging section so well that I celebrated before the piece was over—before the phrase was over. I lost my focus, and this note stunk up the room. I was mortified, but maybe more importantly, I was shocked! Shocked? Why shocked? Well, it taught me something.

When I reviewed my mock-performance recordings and my notes leading up to this performance, I realized that most of the times I chipped a note, my focus had gone askew. You can hear it on the recordings, or in some cases, see it in the videos I made in my mock performances leading to this moment. It reminds me of something my teacher, Boyde Hood, once told me. He said that when you miss a note, it’s not usually the note itself that’s the problem, but rather whatever preceded it. When I was told this initially, he was probably talking about missing a high note because all the notes that preceded it were so sharp that it made the high note much tougher to place. But in this case, when I was performing well, I started to relax my mind, and often, that’s when an errant sound would come out of my bell.

I’d love to tell you that I took this moment like a champ, and that I laughed it off. But the truth is, I was wounded by this. Eventually, however, the dust settled and I found myself thinking about the moment itself. The fact is, this performance was tremendously important to me, and I was as well-prepared as I knew how to be. But as I replayed that moment in my mind repeatedly, I knew exactly what I did: I took for granted that the last bit of the passage was guaranteed because I had played the trickier spot so well. Turns out, this is a habit of mine. This is something I can improve on in my own practice room. I can help ensure that moments like this happen much more rarely.

The truth is, performing itself is an art. We should study it as seriously as we do our instruments. We need to examine our performance skills carefully and compassionately: How is our preparation? Mindset? Hydration? Health? And when we fall short of our ideals, we must do what I’m not always able to for myself: be good to yourself. Examine the moment as thoroughly as you can, acknowledge the source of the issue, work on it, test it out, and try it again. There’s always room for growth; there’s no such thing as perfection. And as I like to say to my students: “There’s no Planet Perfect, just Air B N Better.”

Where does the sound come from?

My sound was always the weakest part of my playing. I’m not going to tell you I made a horrible sound, but it wasn’t a sound for which I felt any pride. I was a strong player, as I later discovered, too strong. I’d listen to countless musicians perform, particularly brass players, when I was younger. I imagined that they must’ve been special beings from which this sound radiated.

As I got older, I got to know some of my trumpet heroes: Some of them were indeed unimpeachable spirits, others (while I completely admire them) were just good people-nothing extraordinarily spiritual. Some were simply quirky people, and others, I thought, were rather dubious in character. All this to say that I didn’t necessarily find all my favorite brass musicians to be fortified with a special pixie dust that made them the great brass musicians I admired.

I hate to admit how late in my life-and career-I was before I started making a sound that made me proud. So much of this started when I was mentored by the great studio trumpet player, Malcolm McNab. I was at a low point in my life, and my career had disintegrated to dust. Malcolm showed me that I had major inefficiencies in my playing, he also demonstrated that I was listening to my heroes incorrectly-meaning I didn’t know what to listen to in order to diagnose what these musicians might be doing to create their unique timbre.

This was a drawn out, sometimes painful, process. I understood right away that I needed to make major changes, and I dove headlong into changing my production. I was playing too big: Everything was too loud, too accented, and too robust. I needed to get more compact in my concept of sound and production. Slowly, I found more agility in my playing, my range (both high and low) was more fluid and dependable, and I was finding lighter articulations in my playing. I was getting better, but still my sound suffered.

In many ways, I was an excellent student: I would do exactly what I was told, I would practice diligently, I would record myself-seemingly I did all the right things. But in other ways, I was horrible: I didn’t ask questions, I didn’t voice doubts or concerns, and I was singleminded and confident that my approach would achieve the desired results I so wanted.

Then one day I bought, and listened to, a record that changed everything. I bought a record by Queen’s guitarist, Brian May, and the great theatrical singer, Kerry Ellis. Queen is one of my life’s obsessions, I love everything they have ever done and I have an encyclopedic knowledge of their career. Brian is an extraordinary musician who plays a guitar he and his father built from scratch. It has a very unique design that allows for a wide pallet in tonal color, and his diversity of sound is one of the aspects of his musicianship I enjoy most.

This particular record, “Acoustic By Candlelight”, is a very different offering than any other Queen, or Brian May, record. This is a live album performed by Brian May, on acoustic guitar, and Kerry Ellis alone-No band, no special electric guitars, and no amount of heavy wattage being pumped out of his prized Vox AC30 amplifiers. Yet within a short moment, anyone familiar with Brian, can quickly identify him as the guitar player. You can easily hear his tone, his phrasing, his articulation, and even a wide variety of colors. All on an acoustic guitar.

I quickly understood that his equipment might be special and meaningful to him, but he’s the one making the sound. Brian May sounds like himself on every instrument he plays-this seems so obvious but that moment was a revelation to me. I realized that I have no excuses left for my inadequacy in sound production-I wasn’t demanding of my self enough. I wasn’t commanding my body or my instrument specifically enough and telling them what I wanted to produce.

I started practicing with a different focus: I won’t tell you that I wasn’t continuing to refine my technique, I was and I still am. But my brain started shouting, through me, the sound I wanted to make. I was looking for an electric, vibrant, sound. And I wasn’t allowing sounds I didn’t like. Slowly but surely, I was developing a tone that I found interesting. To this day, when I play the trumpet, I find that before I draw a breath, my head is singing-LOUDLY-my ideal sound. It’s the image my body chases and I don’t let go. I’m sure my ideal is constantly evolving, but that’s the beauty of all of this: I’m constantly redefining what I want to sound like.

I have always understood that I can’t sound like my heroes. We breathe differently, our bodies are shaped differently, our lips and teeth are of different proportions and properties, and with all our inherent dissimilarities, I won’t be able to sound like my heroes. But I can take properties of their playing (articulation, vibrato, shaping, etc.) and try to incorporate those ingredients into the special sauce that is uniquely mine.

What do you want to sound like? How insistent are you in acquiring it? If I can get closer to achieving my ideals, ANYONE can do that-and more.

Choosing Equipment:

In the last month I helped both a valued, highly skilled, colleague, and a student pick out a new piece of equipment. And it occurred to me that they-equally-didn’t know how to test for new gear. Both wanting to play their hardest “licks” and wanting to choose the equipment that, in sweet desperation, they were able to muster the strength to execute the dreaded excerpt.

The problem is, one can’t reliably know that the repetition of their performance didn’t aid the successful performance, or if the gear really addressed their needs. Also, fatigue comes into play as does diminishing returns.

Furthermore, what assurance does one have that this new acquisition will work well for the rest of their playing needs? With the exceptions of playing an extreme piece such as the second Brandenburg concerto, needing a dedicated “lead” setup, or needing to add a specialty tool to one’s arsenal, we tend to depend on our musical instruments to function over a large variety of settings. I wonder how many of us bought something, was really excited by how it performed for a specific function, and was quickly disappointed to learn it didn’t work for even our most basic needs? I’m guilty as charged. How many mouthpieces, leadpipes, bells, mutes, or instruments do we want to carry around?

This is how I have learned to test equipment. For what it’s worth, all of these ideas were seeded, planted, and grown by Gary Radtke (https://www.grmouthpieces.com) to whom I owe a great debt of gratitude for helping me look at performance less from an emotional standpoint and more from a scientific/analytical approach.

Response:

How is the instruments basic response? Try breath attacks in the mid register-I like a G at a soft dynamic. How quickly does the note appear? If it takes a longtime for the note to resonate, meaning not immediate, this piece of equipment isn’t for you. If a comfortable note doesn’t want to speak, what good will this gear serve?

Articulation:

Keep it easy and light. You’ll have time to ascertain your extreme dynamics and ranges later, but playing something light and easy (think Arban, Getchell, Pottag, Goldman), should reveal a lot about the tool you’re auditioning. If you can’t play nice, crisp, light and easy, why would you want to purchase this product?

Agility:

How agile are you when using this tool? Can you easily slur without changing valve/slide combinations? How easily do the partials slot? How centered are you from one range to the next. If the fourths and fifths are easy, try sixths and octaves. Can you navigate the horn with ease and precision? Is your sound even throughout the ranges of your instrument?

The Extremes:

If this gear has passed the previous three categories, now’s the time to put the pedal to the metal: Does your sound stay intact when you play loudly? How about very loudly? Conversely, what happens when you try to play very softly? How do you feel in the uppermost reaches of your range and how centered and articulate are you in the lowest? Can you play a wide range of articulations?

Now that this equipment has succeeded through the other simple tests, push it-and yourself-and see if this is worth your investment in time and money.

Let me hear your song:

Bob Reeves (https://bobreeves.com) used to say that very few trumpet players “played with a song”. He was quick to point out the few musicians who made musical statements-even when testing their instruments.

Play some music before you make a purchase. Does this instrument inspire you? Does it feel like it will challenge you and help you get closer to the musician you want to be? Is there room to grow and discover? In the end we want to inspire people with our musical efforts. How can we do that if we’re not inspired by the instrument and all that comes with it?

So many of us get excited when trying out musical equipment. We want our hardest musical offering to work-we’re looking for a quick fix.

Some of us want to employ the same equipment as do our teachers-or maybe we want to play the same products as our heroes. However we’re all built differently, we play differently, and we are all in different stages of our growth.

Make smart choices when purchasing your next piece of equipment. It’ll save you time, money, and frustration. I hope my suggestions prove to be helpful.

Inspired By Poor Example

A man’s face popped up on my social media feed as a suggested friend-we have seven friends in common.

When I saw his face on my feed, my heart stalled for a moment, because this person holds a dark place in my spirit: He was one of my theory teachers at Boston University, which in truth I didn’t love attending-I loved my trumpet teachers and I loved the chamber music program, but the rest of it has left a mostly unpleasant taste in my mouth.

I had a difficult time in this man’s theory class, I wasn’t doing well. I am horrible with numbers and with math. By design his class was very much about justifying music through the numbers. I intellectually understand its purpose and its merit, I just couldn’t get my 4th grade understanding of numbers to cooperate and I wilted like a spring flower in summer’s heat.

The irony is in a moment of desperation I had a brief conversation with him where I tried to show him I understood the assignments, that my problem was having to do with the numeric justification. The conversation was surprisingly pleasant and I felt that I was able to prove my merit-I felt heard. I understood his class had strict bylaws and I needed to figure out how to work with them... I passed the class, not impressively, but I got through it.

Moving forward a couple of years and I was a member of the Tanglewood Music Center’s fellowship program. I was very excited, and proud, to be in this program-it was a dream of mine. After a performance of Bartok’s Miraculous Mandarin, in the Koussevitzky Shed, conducted by Seji Ozawa, I went with some friends/colleagues to a bar in Pittsfield, MA., “Five Chairs”. And here we were, a bunch of young musicians excited about their recent experience playing a massive work under such prestigious conditions-we were having a great time. The door opens, and in walks this theory teacher from Boston University. I was excited to see him. A former teacher of mine was in the bar and I wanted to share with him our big moment.

I invited him to join us when he asked, “What are you doing here”? I told him I was a student at Tanglewood and started to share with him our recent accomplishment. Before I could finish he interrupted with, “Wow, their standards must have dropped to have admitted you into the program”. And with that, I realized what a small man he was, a total vomit stain on humanity.

All this popped into my head as I saw a picture of his smug face on my social media feed.

I certainly have had students with whom I’ve had issues, I just hope that I will prove to be a bigger person than he. And if I haven’t been, I hope I get the opportunity to apologize to those people.

Declining Interest?

Occasionally, one gets a message from a student, or their parent, expressing a declining of interest in their musical studies.

I’ve learned not to panic, not to try and persuade, but just to listen. Sometimes a parent, in frustration, will convey disappointment in how I choose to teach their child. Other times a student will mournfully admit that they don’t play as well as they would like, or that maybe their friends in school can play higher notes, or I’m sure you’ve heard many of the myriad of other reasons. My position isn’t to try and defend myself, but rather to allow everyone to say their peace. Sometimes, just creating the space to allow people to vent is all they need. Often, when they hear themselves airing out their concerns, there is a sense of validation-and that alone can be refreshing.

The important aspect of listening is trying to discern what the student/parent wants you to hear: Am I not challenging the student enough? Am I pushing the student too hard? Is their a need to be assured that progress is being made? Are they overworked (students do so many things now, they’re often overwhelmed and tired)?

Again, listen-don’t hear, LISTEN. Speak only when you feel it absolutely necessary, or asked, and then try to avoid being defensive.

If you lose a couple of students, this is not the end of your financial stability, or your good reputation as an educator. Sometimes it’s not meant to be.

Very recently I had a very young student, and their parents ask to cancel lessons. I of course agreed, but their child booked one more lesson and left excited. Can we still keep our spot? Sure! Another student, feeling disappointed by his performance at an audition wanted to part ways. The student hasn’t been studying with me very long, I don’t need to defend myself. What I felt I needed to do was assure the student that improvements were being made and that he shouldn’t feel disappointed in himself. Later that day, I received a message, that this very same student got the top placement in the group for which he auditioned. Now he’s very excited about returning for lessons. Things aren’t always what they seem on the surface.

In both situations, I’m glad that I let the students, and their families, state their grievances. Taking lessons with a teacher is not a lifelong contract or commitment to each other. Keep your mind open, your ears ready to receive, and provide the very best instruction you can. The rest will work itself out.

What Is My Teaching Style?

When I was first asked to submit a syllabus for teaching college trumpet lessons, I thought it was ridiculous. How could I possibly ask every student to follow the same curriculum when each has unique needs? I wasn’t even thinking about ensemble requirements, juries, or recitals — I simply couldn’t imagine reducing the art of teaching to a bullet list of method books, solos, and etudes.

I’ve always loved hearing people say, “Music Teacher X doesn’t teach a method, but adapts for each student.” What a great thought: the material should adapt to the student, just as the student grows through the pedagogy.

But the truth is, every teacher has priorities. We each have certain aspects of performing that we value more than others, and we naturally want to pass those on. I didn’t realize this until I had a full studio and caught myself writing the same custom exercises again and again. Eventually, I organized these into a book — not because I had discovered anything groundbreaking, but because I needed a clear, structured way to share the principles that make sense to me.

So, do I have a “teaching style”? Maybe not in the traditional sense. But I know what I want my students to learn:

To take free, relaxed breaths.

To develop good habits through buzzing.

To play the trumpet more than the trumpet plays them.

Of course, students’ needs vary. Some arrive with serious goals and a fierce work ethic; others come simply to enjoy making music. I take students at their word — if they tell me they’re serious, I’ll push them toward their goals. If they’re here for the joy of playing, I won’t be as exacting.

For me, that’s the balance: I want to teach certain fundamentals to everyone, but I also want to teach the individual, not the method. That means making space in my own thinking for different personalities, goals, and learning styles.

I’ve made mistakes. I’ve pushed major talents away. I’ve underestimated others who quietly proved me wrong. I’ve had to accept that those students might feel disappointed in me, just as I’ve sometimes felt disappointed in myself.

In the end, we’re all learning — teacher, student, and human alike. So teach the student as much as you teach the method. Be good to your students, and save some goodness for yourself.

Thank You Brian Wilson

When I was a very young kid, I sat and turned on my dad’s radio. The way I remember it, almost on command, “God Only Knows” came through the speakers-That was it. My little world changed.

I begged for records (later cassettes, and CD’s), books, concerts-anything I could get my hands on.

The Beach Boys seemed to envelop my entire imagination. I wanted to hear music, I wanted to know how harmonies worked, I wanted to be a musician.

My love for the music of Brian Wilson has been an obsessive inspiration to me.

When he started touring on his own, I went out of my way to hear him at every possible opportunity-sometimes traveling a ridiculous amount of miles to hear him-Brian Wilson.

There’s a lot that people know about him, but what I know is that he wrote beautiful melodies, that were placed inside creative chord progressions, that dangled on top of dreamy arrangements, and they were all wrapped snuggly inside the best harmonies human voices ever made.

Brian’s voice-not just the falsetto of his youth, but even his voice of later years-could soothe me like very few could. It made me yearn for more, it taught me how to express love, sorrow, joy, and everything in between.

In 2019, Michael Sachs gave me the opportunity to sit in an orchestra that played behind the Brian Wilson band-Playing the Pet Sounds album. Pet Sounds will forever be my favorite record. But to be on stage with the band that gave Brian’s music the life it deserved (and is easily the best band I’ve ever heard), to play in an ensemble behind the man who gave my soul flight, and to have a chance to thank him…it was the greatest day of my life. As hard as I’m crying now in sorrow, I cried equally of joy when I was in my hotel afterwards-My biggest childhood dream was to play that music, with him, and for one night I did it with the best possible musicians for the occasion.

I’m beyond grateful that Brian Wilson was brought into this world. Millions of people love his music for many different reasons. But for me, it gave a little boy who didn’t know how to behave, or how to make friends, or how to express himself, a vehicle into the world. The world feels emptier today, but still, I’m so glad to have lived in the same universe that Brian Wilson inhabited.

Thank you Brian, for all you gave us. Though I never knew you, you moved me in ways that nothing else could. I’m so grateful for all you brought to us.

Keeping it new

Around this time, every year, I have the privilege of demonstrating the trumpet in middle school classrooms. For most of the kids, its their first time hearing a trumpet in person and its always VERY cool to see their reactions as I play.

This is a good time to remember WHY we play our instruments: Someone inspired us to do so! We loved the sound of the instrument and we couldn't wait to try it ourselves.

So today when you practice, remember that feeling-revel in the mundane of what we do. To someone else the simplest things we do are magic.

And while I'm still on this tangent, I want to remind myself that we have an opportunity to change peoples lives when we play AND when we teach. Make these interactions precious-You never know whose world you might forever change.

Hey! Turn that thing off!!!!

I'm a junkie. I admit it. I'm addicted to my cell phone. I'm not even typing this on a computer-I'm on my phone with my thumbs making typos because my fingers are fatter than the little buttons on the screen allow.

I wasn't always this way. I had a great ability to listen to symphonies, watch TV, read books, have conversations, and walk the dog.

The iPhone has taken over my life. But I still put it away when I practice. Life has a way of finding practice time tough, so when I get those moments, the phone goes away.

I think it's time to use our phones more sparingly. Let's start with something simple: When you listen to music, no phone. On the couch watching TV, turn the screen away and concentrate.

Practice time? Get a physical tuner and metronome that doesn't push you email, IMs, texts, and news updates.

My addiction is robbing me of the subtle details in life. I'm taking my life back.

Time to practice, time to power down.

The Artist and the Athlete

Someone I admire once told me that being a musician meant combining the precision of a surgeon with the aesthetic of an artist. We have to be both precise and spiritual. And while I can’t speak for all instruments, the trumpet’s precision comes from the athletic, physical demands that our instrument requires. It seems very tempting to only practice things we like to practice, will perform on an important concert (jury, recital, etc.), or just play at the moments we are required to attend. But this is not enough to keep the athlete of the trumpet in shape to be dependable as a performer. In other words: without the athlete there isn’t an artist-Plain, simple, and true. By all means, practice your musical requirements and play stuff that makes you feel happy. But don’t neglect your Schlossberg, your Arban, your Clark, and your other studies. And while I’m still writing, keep in mind that often our requirements as trumpet players can be very demanding in ensemble situations. That means that we are often worn out by those very demands of playing high and loud very frequently. In addition to our technical studies you should also make sure you have a warm up AND a warm down routine. I’ll be sure to write on those topics later, but having a dependable warm up routine will make you feel prepared to do anything that is required of you in an ensemble situation. Having a dependable (even brief) warm down session might ensure that you’re able to warm up quicker and it may help you keep your chops fresh throughout the day. As a general rule: However your lips feel at the end of the day is exactly how they will feel at the beginning of the next.

Early Is On Time!

Early is on time, On time is late, and Late is fired. I know you’ve all heard this line before and I can feel your collective eyes rolling to the back of your heads, but why is this important to consider?

It’s very simple: If you are hired to perform in something and it starts at 7, that means that the performance or rehearsal starts at 7. If you are walking in the door-or worse yet, rolling into the parking lot- at that time you’re simply not on time. At that moment you are late, and if you walk into that service at that moment or later you are disrupting the event. This goes for concerts, rehearsals, lessons, auditions, meetings, or anything important. So if you are serious about what your career, be early! Sometimes life gets out of hand and the freeway has shut down, you catch a flat tire, or some other apocalyptic event occurs. Life happens, and if you are known for being dependable those freak moments get overlooked. But they do add up and when they do, you are not dependable-you become known as a flake which is best defined as an undesirable hire. I know-it sounds harsh! But it’s true. Living in a big city, traffic is a major issue. Over prepare. Plan on being at least an hour early. Often you won’t be that early, but if you are, you have a lot of options:

Practice

Have a meal

Read

Catch up on email

Meditate

And I’m sure there are other things you enjoy that I can’t fathom.

You will feel less stressed because you’ll be ready to play, both physically and emotionally, and you will be known as somebody who takes the work seriously who is always dependable. I can’t think of any setbacks.

Early is on time, On time is late, and late is fired.

That’s it! It’s simple. Be early, be prepared, and be dependable.

You never know:

This last weekend, I was asked to perform Peter and The Wolf with the @redlandssymphony I’ve been fortunate enough to perform this piece quite a bit in my life. I’m always struck at how good the score is. It’s not a piece I listen to often, so when I hear it in rehearsals and performances, it’s always something special.

I was happy with my playing, but I didn’t think I did anything special, I was just happy to have had the experience. But as I was leaving, a group of high school players came to greet me. They were excited by the performance, and with my (admittedly small) contribution to it. I got to ask them about their band programs, and they told me that this was their first professional performance and they wanted to know what else we’d be performing and where else I was playing.

I was thinking about being a high school student waiting for MY heroes outside the artist entrance at the Dorthy Chandler, and how much I loved hearing Sunday matinees there. In no way can I compare myself to those esteemed members of those orchestras, but was surprised to be on the receiving side of this exchange-it’s rare. I guess you never know, who might be listening to you, and what effect you might make on them. It gives me perspective about what I do, why I do it, and I’m reminded that at times, we musicians can make a real impression on others. I hope to remember this for a long time….

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