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