Starting Up Your Reed Factory – Part 3 – Slowly But Surely

Last year, I began experimenting with repeatable techniques to apply to my reed making.  They met with some success, so I decided to post about them.  For those who just can’t start a (heart-stoppingly exciting) series in the middle, I invite you to take a look at Part 1 and Part 2.  It’s been a while since I updated this little series of mine, and since I’ve continued to learn a bit, I’ll continue to post.

By the way, just so you’re aware of the context of this post, other titles I considered were “Slowly and Painfully”, “Why Don’t These Damn Things Work”, and “I Want to Be a Jazz Drummer, Instead”.

Up To Now

The great thing about improving my success rate with reed making is that I begin breaking in most of my reeds at a somewhat consistent starting point, and I’m more confident about the direction I need to go as I break them in.  As time goes on, though, I get more and more frustrated on why I can’t reproduce the same results every time.  Since I’ve started measuring my reeds, I’ve scraped too many of them with exactly the same profile that turn out completely different.  Granted, there are other things that can be different about a reed besides the profile, such as the tightness and roundness of the wires, the uniform (or not) roundness of the barrel, etc., but I’ve been concentrating more and more on getting those little details more or less the same, as well.  So, what’s the difference, here?  Why don’t all my reeds that begin the same and get the same profile end up playing and sounding beautifully?

Cane and Snowflakes

The unfortunate thing I’ve been coming to grips with lately is this:  like snowflakes, no two pieces of cane are ever exactly the same.  You can make two reeds exactly the same, scrape them the same, and they will end up completely different, because the cane they were made from was different.  They’re bamboo plants growing somewhere and aged before you’ll ever get the dried out hollow tubes.  Bamboo plants are all different.  The cane you get, and therefore the reeds you make will all be different.  Unfortunately, until we start using some synthetically manufactured materials for reeds, this will always be a problem.

Fortunately, there are things I’m finding that make responding to this problem easier to deal with.

The 95% Scrape

Not to be too much of a nerdy Trekkie, but remember when Spock’s protege questioned his thinking in Start Trek VI?  She confronted him with the phrase, “It’s not logical.”  He responds with this gem:  ”Logic, logic…Logic is the beginning of wisdom.”  We can discuss the merits of using kitchy science fiction to talk about reeds elsewhere.  For now, there is another parallel to draw here:  Having the exact reed measurements to use, relying on the sage advice of the dial indicator to get the reed to its exact correct scrape is logical, yes, but as I’ve found, it’s only the beginning.  (And you thought I couldn’t I draw a comparison…)  Let me explain.

When I scrape the reed to the exact measurements before I ever start breaking it in, I’m assuming the cane is the correct hardness, and built exactly the same as the reed from where I derived those measurements.  If it’s not, the reed won’t work as expected, even if the profile is scraped perfectly.  Period.

With my latest batch of reeds, I’ve been purposely scraping them down to almost the desired measurement – but not quite.  So, if a certain part of the reed is supposed to be 30mm thick, I’ll scrape it down to about 34-35.  The whole reed ends up scraped to roughly the same proportion as my ideal profile, just a tad thicker:  the 95% scrape.  What I’ve found is that this gives me the flexibility to respond to the different types of cane I deal with.  A good deal of the cane is hard enough that I do end up eventually scraping it down.  However, quite a few of the reeds require adjustments to the ideal profile, which could include leaving it thicker in places I wouldn’t originally intend.  That fact is why it’s important not to corner yourself by scraping the reed to the exact measurement at first.

So, how do you tell which reeds need adjustments, and which don’t?  Well, that leads to the next tidbit of double-reed infused information.

Let Them Guide You – Slowly

Remember when Picard throws a tantrum in the “First Contact” movie?  He ends up smashing all the starship models in his rage, then growls through clenched teeth, “The line must be drawn here.”  That has absolutely nothing to do with reeds, but it’s a cool line.  Anyway…

One of the things that’s been especially hard for my I-want-it-to-work-right-now mentality is that reeds’ behavior changes as you play on them.  This means that a new reed that may have sounded great the other day when you played on it may now sound stuffy and be really hard to get a sound out of.  This is for the same reason that no two pieces of cane are alike – they come from dried out, aged, organic material that changes over time.  As you soak the reeds, the water causes the fibers to expand, making them thicker over time.  As you play on them, the vibration causes the fibers to break down, causing the reed to soften over time.  Eventually, the reed will stop changing so much, and reach a stable point that you can rely on (until you need it for that big solo at the concert, of course).  The kicker is, this just doesn’t happen immediately.  You have to play on them first.  And that is probably the most important point in this whole post:

Breaking them in properly before finishing or fixing them is EXTREMELY important.

The more I play on a new reed before adjusting it, in general the better reed I get that behaves more like I expect it to.  The more I hack away at it before giving it a chance to adjust on its own, the more I tend to get a reed that may sound good at first, but end up being too bright, too flat, and too mushy within a week.  This leads to another somewhat important point:

Your new reeds will not immediately make you sound like you deserve to play with the Chicago Symphony.  This is okay.

I tend to be very impatient with my reeds, and want them to work immediately.  Learning the art of waiting has been frustrating but rewarding.  My reeds have continued to improve because of this.  I get a better idea of what the reeds need after breaking them in, and I discover which reeds aren’t worth working on at all (a time saver in its own right).

Just the Basic Points

So, what have we learned today?

• Every piece of cane you work on will be different.
• Scrape the reed to 95% of your ideal measurements to give yourself room to adjust as your reeds break in.
• Give your reeds time to break in.
• Not only am I a double reed nerd, but I also know too many lines from Star Trek.

There you have it.  The absolute latest in my ongoing quest to make the perfect reed, then make another one.  I’ll post again as I find out more about this exciting, intense, amazing and fulfilling art.  As always, I’m not claiming to be an expert here, just sharing my own experiences with you in hopes that it will help someone save a little time.  If you have any thoughts on the process, please let me know!

(Oh, come on!  The Star Trek comparison was awesome!  Come back!  Please read my blog again.)

Performing at Cannon Mine Coffee House in Lafayette

Performance of the Mozetich Bassoon Quartet

The bassoon quartet I’m in, the Boulder Bassoons, recently played for one of the member’s doctoral recitals, and we managed to get a recording of the performance.  The performance wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty darn good, so I’m linking the recording here, for your listening enjoyment.

The piece we performed was “Odes to the Americas”, by Marjan Mozetich, commissioned by the Caliban Bassoon Quartet.  The three movement piece is written for three bassoons and a contrabassoon, and is a lot of fun to play and to listen to.  Enjoy!

Odes to the Americas, by Marjan Mozetich

I. Good Times

II. Blue Souls

III. With You I Dance

Check out the following websites for more information:

Boulder Bassoons

Marjan Mozetich

Caliban Bassoon Quartet

The Caliban Quartet made the definitive recording of the piece, which can be found on their website, or places like Amazon.

Excerpt Purgatory

Recently, I had to take out the trash in the kitchen.  It had a little food in it that had rotted.  The bag was too full, so soggy napkins and wrappers spilled out as I tried to tie it shut.  As I lugged the bag down the hall, one of our dogs realized she was in the way, and decided that flattening herself against the floor was a better idea than moving.  She was greatly offended when I tripped over her, and almost dropped the trash.  Outside, it was cold and icy, and I slipped my way toward the dumpster, which was, of course, too full.  I threw my heavy trash bag onto the top of the pile in the dumpster, glad to have it join the rest of the festering piles of moldy, gooey refuse, and slipped and staggered my way back inside to wash my hands.

That little episode was a lot more fun than my other big project as of late: practicing excerpts for yet another audition.

That’s right, kids.  It’s time once again to spend hours on snippets of music, way too much money on airfare, hotels, and rental cars, and fret about which reed is going to play adequately in a different climate so you can play the same ten minutes of music you’ve played before in front of judges who will curtly tell you, “thank you”, so you can then return home.  Awesome.

The scene of this one is Jacksonville, Florida, whose symphony wants a new principal bassoonist to replace the one that left for the new job in Portland (yeah, I was at that audition, too).  It’s a job I wouldn’t mind having, at all.  I’m sure the other dozens of bassoonists who will undoubtedly show up to audition wouldn’t mind it, either.

Therein lies the problem.  Let’s look at it point by point:

• The biggest goal for a lot of us musicians means getting a job with an orchestra.
• The path to getting into an orchestra is knowing snippets of all the of hardest solo passages in orchestral literature better than anyone else.
• Practicing excerpts is about as much fun as sitting in an old decrepit Datsun and pretending to drive scenic mountains roads with the top down: it’s a wonderful idea, but it’s only interesting for so long.
• There are not nearly enough jobs to go around for all of the bassoonists who want one.

Maybe this is why so many orchestrally aspiring musicians give up on this idea, and either find a job in another field altogether (like computer programming), or find another way to make a living in the musical world.

As I continue practicing the same old excerpts for yet another audition, I admit I’m beginning to get really tired of it.  My fatigue only increases when I hear stories about great musicians who took over 50 auditions before finally nailing their job.  Fifty??!!?  I simply can’t imagine that.

I’m beginning to discover that the moral of the story is to do whatever else you can to enjoy real music on your instrument and stay in shape while you’re practicing those never-ending excerpts.  Find some solos you know.  Hook up with a fellow musician for some chamber music.  Listen to some great recordings of musicians on your instrument.  Do anything you can to stay inspired.

Meanwhile, start to think of your excerpts as nothing more than daily scales, or as warm-ups to your real practicing – not the most interesting of tasks, but a necessary part of your art. It seems to me that the second you start thinking of the excerpts as the sole focus of your playing, you get tired.  At least that’s what’s happening to me.

Any other musicians with this problem?  How do you deal with this, and force yourself to keep practicing?  Let me know.

Confessions of a Nutcracker Pit Musician

WARNING: This is a post I finished and then realized that it kind of sucked.  Not sure what my point was when I typed it.  I guess it was too late to be attempting something creative.  However, since is the only proof that I have, in fact, been on my blog at all in the last month, I decided to publish it anyway.  Read at your own risk!

With the holiday season now officially over, it’s time to look back at Christmas 2008.  Ah, yes.  The endless shopping with hopes of beating that Christmas deadline.  The dragging of cheery decorations out of boxes and into the living room with that thought in the back of your head that it will all have to be put away and dragged back into storage eventually.  That day or two of rest hanging out with family and friends.  The struggle to stay up until midnight to ring in the new year.

The pilgrimage to see the Nutcracker.

As an orchestral musician, I’ve been under the Nutcracker on a few occasions, but I had never seen it from the audience.  This year, I played in the orchestra for two productions, and finally got to see it for myself for the first time from the audience point of view.  Each production was put on by a unique group as far as skill, size, and quality – from the orchestra’s, the dancer’s and the stage’s point of view.  The first production was one in Grand Junction, staged by a private dance studio, accompanied by an orchestra that consisted of musicians contracted from CU in Boulder, and DU in Denver, along with a few local musicians.  The second was staged by a high school dance studio in Longmont, with the music supplied by the Niwot Timberline Symphony – a volunteer community orchestra.
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Meanwhile…

News on the old bassoon front is in short supply, these days.  Auditions?  Nope.  Performances?  Not Really.  Reeds?  Yeah, I got ‘em.  They work, though I’d rather not spend a whole post on them, right now.

So, now I’m confronted by the blogger’s worst nightmare:  Nothing much to write about, and yet, facing the need to write something. So, here’s three quick blurbs to pass the time.

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Amazing Bassoon Music: Frolic in the Land of Plenty by Jazz Player Paul Hanson

There’s a lot of fantastic bassoon music out there, these days.  Admittedly, some of it is interesting more for bassoonists themselves.  However, you may be surprised to find that quite a bit of it may interest a much wider audience than just us double reed nerds.

For instance, there’s the new jazz album, “Frolic in the Land of Plenty”, by jazz bassoonist Paul Hanson, released earlier this year.  Yeah – jazz bassoonist.

Let me be clear what we’re talking about, here.  This isn’t some novelty where a well meaning player attempts a few blues scales, but ends up sounding like a bassoonist “just trying” to do jazz.  This guy absolutely rocks.  I mean he’s good.  He’s got jazz chops that would embarrass some decent sax players.  For that matter, he’s got bassoon chops that make a lot of bassoonists go weak in the knees.  He does stuff on the bassoon that you might have previously said was impossible, like playing complicated licks in the high register like it’s easy.  Furthermore, when you hear him play, it quickly becomes apparent that Hanson is actually a gifted jazz player who just happens to play the bassoon – not the other way around.

Some of the tracks actually take “Frolic” beyond even jazz bassoon.  For this album, he amplifies, processes, loops, and layers the bassoon, achieving results that are fairly astounding.  Tracks like this include the title track, “Frolic in the Land of Plenty”, a real moody sounding groove, and the arabic sounding “Subtle Deamons”, which, besides flat out kicking, features some downright nasty amplified bassoon effects.  At points in both of these tracks, you can hear the bassoon filling in the background, interjecting some counterpoint and echoes, as well as providing the melody, although if you don’t listen close, you may not recognize the sound of the heavily processed bassoons, at all.  Hanson outdoes himself with these two tracks, which are my personal favorites on the album.

The rest of the album spans the gamut from some pretty driving tracks like “Emerald Mile”, to the late night sounding “Sacred Love”, to the very different but fun “Flight of the Fly”.  Throughout the album, two things are always noticeable:  First, the band backing Hanson is top notch, and really tight, including the venerable drummer Dennis Chambers, who provided the drums on some of the tracks.  Second, this is just great jazz music, period.  The fact that the lead instrument is a bassoon quickly becomes unimportant, due to Hanson’s talents as a jazz player.

“Frolic in the Land of Plenty” is a great album.  Anyone who enjoys good driving jazz should definitely check it out.  I’ve provided a few links below to let you sample the album for yourselves.  Or, you can click on the album cover to go to Amazon’s MP3 page.  Let me know what you think!

Full length tracks on Lala:

• Frolic in the Land of Plenty
• Subtle Deamons

(The Lala service requires you to sign up first, but it’s completely free to do so and very quick.  Once you sign up, you can listen to any track in its entirety once for free.  In my opinion, being able to listen to the entire track is much cooler than a 30 second sample, so I’ll probably continue to provide links like this whenever possible.)

Also, be sure to check out Paul Hanson’s website.

UPDATE:  Link to his website updated to reflect his new site.  Thanks to Hanson for stopping by my blog, and letting me know!

Starting Up Your Reed Factory – Part 2 – You, Too, Can Be a Journalist

Welcome back to this thrilling and daring series regarding that one subject that people just can’t get enough of – bassoon reeds.

Anybody?  Hello?

In the first part of this short series on reed making, I talked about how helpful it was to seriously measure the scrape of your reeds so that, first of all, you know what measurement you’re going for, and, second, you know how far off you are from that as you scrape each reed.  (Among other things.)

Now what?  Using a dial indicator certainly helps, but that’s not the entire story on getting a “reed factory” going, right?  Well, if it was, I wouldn’t be writing another post on the subject.

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Bassoon Hero?

Just gotta love this…

See what I mean.

And they say bassoonists have no sense of humor.  Thanks to Brian for pointing this out.

Starting Up Your Reed Factory – Part 1 – Dial-a-Reed

Every now and then, I’ll scrape a reed that turns out to be truly amazing.  Game changing, even.  So good, in fact, that it turns bassoon playing into an act of sheer musical ecstasy.  When this happens, I invariably think to myself, “Ah, good.  You’ve finally figured out the secret to making a great reed.  Good thing you won’t have to learn that again.”

Then I’ll make 20 more reeds that suck.

Does this happen to any other reed making bassoonist, or is it just me?  Does this frustrate the living @$#@!$# out of anyone else, or do I stand alone, here?  I decided that, for my next few batches of reeds, I was going to shake things up a bit, and see if I could increase my consistency at all in churning out a decent reed.  Although I certainly cannot claim to have solved this long standing problem of consistent reeds, I saw enough of an improvement that I thought any fellow bassoon geek might be interested in finding out possible methods that you, too, can use to improve your reed making consistency, and therefore, your bassoon playing satisfaction.

No, none of the methods involve spells, curses, or ancient dances.  Especially curses aimed at trombone players.

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