I read somewhere in the rules and regs that this contest was meant for fun and a few laughs. I must apologize in advance then, because my entry is quite somber. I am a former professional player who had to stop playing due to a mysterious physical disorder with my embouchure, probably Focal Embouchure Dystonia. So here is my entry:
TASKS:
A Photo:
This is a picture of my Schilke Picc sitting atop JS Bach's tomb in St. Thomas in Leipzig. Back in 1992, I played principal for 5 weeks with the Leipzig Radio Orchestra (MDR - MittelDeutscher Rundfunk). While visiting Bach's tomb, it occurred to me that it would be poignant to have a photo of my picc there, since that is the horn on which I performed most of his music.
A Poem:
Sometimes the sound comes out just as it should.
Other times not. A blockage that seems inexplicable.
The horn goes on the face just like always.
But the body does not respond like always.
It seems so easy, but why is it actually so hard?
Perhaps it’s laziness. He doesn’t warm up like before.
Perhaps it’s forgetfulness. What was it his teacher always said?
Perhaps it’s the wrong approach. Maybe it’s time to change the routine.
Perhaps though, it’s none of these things.
Maybe, just maybe it’s a physical disorder that’s also inexplicable.
A search of the ‘net turns up others with similar things.
They call it Focal Embouchure Dystonia. What? Say again?
Weird, almost surreal problem. Could this be it?
“They” say there’s no certain diagnosis and no cure, all at once.
How will he know? How will he ever know??
The music continues, but the soul dies.
Gig by gig, there is less and less of him.
The friends are loving and supportive. Patient.
They really want him to find his way out.
The family, the wife, also loving, supportive.
How long can this continue? It’s frustrating, maddening.
It’s every negative emotion at once.
When will he pull the plug? How long can this really go on?
Finally it comes. 2000. This is it, he says.
This is the last pro gig, he can’t take the stress anymore.
What now? What happens now? What will he do?
He knows a little computer, but, ehh, what’s that?
Wasn’t he meant to play? Wasn’t he meant to trumpet?
The soul comes out through the horn. But not anymore.
There is a blockage that seems inexplicable.
Life goes on, time marches on. He misses the life.
The life seems to miss him, but life goes on, it really does.
One by one the horns go. Notes on a board, eBay, whatever.
The Money is needed. Bills. Responsibilities. Life.
They’re traded for the all powerful Money.
Life goes on. He wonders. Will he ever play again?
Probably not, but there’s always hope, right?
Now it’s just confusion and baffled, jumbled emotions.
The insides, the soul, they’re almost numb. Where did they go?
It seems so easy, but why is it actually so hard?
MANDATORY:
From my wife, Susan Spindler, Gurnee, IL:
I fell in love with a trumpet player. I certainly didn’t plan to; and heaven knows that in the food chain of musicians I could have done better. But a trumpet player it was and his playing became a source of joy and wonderment as he daily poured his soul into music. My girls and I woke to buzzing and fell asleep to Mahler V.
Over the years I attended many performances, always filled with pride that the exceptional trumpet player who raised goose bumps on the arms of audience members was my husband. Yes indeed, the trumpet shall sound.
But not any more. After a few years of unpredictable and unfathomable playing problems coupled with the unbelievable stress and sadness it caused, my husband quit playing in 2000. The new millennium, the harbinger of change and new beginnings, was the year that brought trumpet playing in our house to its knees.
Eventually, he began selling off his trumpets one by one, paying bills and hoping the physical absence of the trumpets would help heal the still bleeding wound in his soul. It hasn’t.
My want is simple - I want my husband to win the Eclipse trumpet so he can once again pick up an instrument and try to play. He may never play professionally again, but without a trumpet, he doesn’t even have a chance. He deserves that chance.
Most fantastic moment:
The most fantastic moment in my playing life - that’s easy. I used to play as a “ringer” in a community orchestra conducted by Dale Clevenger of the Chicago Symphony. The Elmhurst (Illinois) Symphony Orchestra is a decent community orchestra that regularly performed first rate literature because Dale believed it was important to bring the best to his players and the audience. One year he decided to program the Brandenburg No. 2. It was a privilege to be selected by him to do that piece and the performance went quite well and was a real treat for me. Undoubtedly the highest pinnacle in my playing career. To this day, I fondly recall that day and thank Dale for expressing the confidence in my playing to program it.
Thank you for your consideration,
Chuck Spindler, Gurnee, IL