Sidestepping my line of straight mutes during a recent performance of Puccini’s Turandot – and nearly sending a couple flying into the under-stage depths — I started wondering how many people would be surprised to find out that I use three different straight mutes for a performance of an 84 year old Puccini opera? After all, my part to Turandot doesn’t call for such a wide array of devices. Puccini simply writes “Con Sord” when he wants you to put a mute in and “Via Sord” when he wants you to take it out. Pretty simple. So why have I, in turn, shown up with an arsenal of mutes to play a trumpet part which calls for only a single one? You could argue that my mute use for this is overkill, or possibly even that I’m violating the composers intent by using mutes that would have been totally inconsistent with the mutes in use at the time the opera was written (and let us hope that I have not, in one fell swoop, created a whole research area concerning the period practice of trumpet mutes in the early 20th century, complete with a rabid following of trumpet historians tolling the incredible sins we “modern performers” commit by not using period correct mutes to perform pieces from that era. Mahler symphonies with a pre-World War I straight mute? I think I’ll pass. Anyway, I digress…) I am confident, however, that I am not stirring the peaceful rest of maestro Puccini through my choice of mutes. Quite the contrary, I believe he would be pleased to see that I am giving so much thought to each muted passage and how it fits into the surrounding texture. In order to see why, let’s take a closer look at the various uses of “Tromba con sordina” in Turandot.

As I mentioned above, there is only one type of marking in the part to indicate that the trumpet is to be performed with a mute — Con Sord. — but the array of musical settings in which Puccini uses this marking is dizzying. There are passages that are loud and percussive, others that are lyrical (both soft and loud, low and high), some that are soft and punchy, some that are just plain soft (and by soft I mean really soft!). But beyond the wide variety of style that exists in the different muted sections, there is an equally wide array of textures into which the trumpet part must exist. Some passages are with full orchestra, some with only one other player. At times the whole section is playing and at other times the writing is solo, and you often find yourself playing solely with strings, winds, or brass (and of course all combinations). In short, the variety of passages where Puccini calls for muted trumpet is immense, and it demands that the player have a chameleon-like quality, able to adapt quickly to the character and color of the surroundings. Now, it is possible to achieve a degree of this with a single straight mute, but by using a wide array of straight mutes, a modern performer can better adapt the instrument to fill these various roles, enhancing the pallet of colors which the instrument is capable of producing. That alone would be reason enough to haul a bevy of straight mutes to a gig, but that is not the only reason. In addition to the opportunities to explore color and texture, there are practical concerns that can just as easily determine the choice of mute for any given passage. Any particular mute has a set of characteristics, and I like to group these characteristics into the following categories: color, volume, pitch, and what I call quirks. Using those categories, let’s examine the straight mutes I use for Turandot.

1. Denis Wick (metal)
   • Color – Brilliant and searing in loud passages while maintaining a good sense of breadth in the sound (not too narrow). This mute will cut through thickly orchestrated passages and is capable of biting percussiveness, making it ideal for loud articulated passages. As the volume drops, the sound warms to a certan degree, making it a balanced and versatile tool. This is my standard “go to” straight mute.
   • Volume – This mute performs well at all dynamic levels, but doesn’t offer much help in soft passages. It excels at mezzo forte and up, but in a pinch, it can be used in very soft passages.
   • Pitch – It’s sharp! Perhaps sharper than you might think (or want). Putting this mute in is a 2-step process: insert mute, adjust tuning slide. This is not a big deal at all, unless you don’t have time to adjust the slide, then it becomes problematic. The relative pitch of the mute is very good, though, with no extra compensation required in the upper or lower registers.
   • Quirks – High B is almost never good on these mutes. It tends to be stuffy and has a less penetrating color. Because of that, I will sometimes opt for a different metal mute for passages that have prominent high B’s (the first movement of Pines of Rome is a good example). This mute is also a bit weak on low register articulated passages.
2. TrumCor Lyric (mystery wood/fiber)
   • Color – Veiled, covered. It sounds like canvas (as opposed to velvet). The sound isn’t overly warm, but it does knock out a lot of high overtones, which is very useful in certain passages. The pleasant yet unobtrusive color blends well with strings and winds.
   • Volume – Excellent in piano passages, but unlike most soft mutes it can project up to a reasonable mezzo forte.
   • Pitch – Don’t touch that slide! This baby doesn’t really effect the overall pitch level of the instrument.
   • Quirks – The mute plays evenly and well in tune. It does the job it is supposed to do and, if required, can even do jobs it isn’t supposed to do. It will never be the mute used for loud penetrating passages, but it does it’s job solidly and can survive better than you might think in louder passages. My only gripe? I wish it had a warmer,more velvety sound quality.
3. Marcus Bona Small (fiberglass)
   • Color – Warm, velvety, broad sounding, slightly diffuse in character.
   • Volume – This mute is free blowing and open, so it is capable of a very wide dynamic range. It is not, however, the optimal choice for soft passages as it doesn’t offer much resistance to blow against. It excels in lyrical mezzo piano to forte lines.
   • Pitch – Like the TrumCor Lyric, no adjustment needed. Put it in and play.
   • Quirks – This mute is a wonderful choice for many passages, but it is deceptively bad at articulated passages. From the players perspective it gets a nice bite in the articulation, but my experience has shown that it doesn’t have the crisp quality of the Denis Wick, and what crispness it does have tends to die not far off the end of the bell. That may seem like a negative, but that is exactly the quality that makes this mute such a good choice in lyrical passages. It can handle searing articulated writing in a pinch, but it doesn’t excel at this. Put it in for soaring lyrical writing, however, and smile. This is a very useful tool.

So there you have it, 3 very different tools that help me adapt to whatever the part demands. If a passage is very soft and is played with woodwinds, then it is perfect for the TrumCor Lyric. If it is loud and heavily articulated, it’s perfect for the Denis Wick. Basically, I just look for the right tool for the job. Sometimes it will take me a few rehearsals to figure out exactly what mute works best, but that process of experimentation is valuable and necessary to achieving the highest quality product. Honestly, I think Puccini would be quite happy with the result. So the next time you see that ubiquitous “Con Sord.” in your part, give a little extra thought as to what exact mute from your collection is best for the job. If, however, your mute collection consists of a “silver one” along with some old “band-room discoveries”, then the first step will be to go buy some good mutes. Whatever the case, I encourage you to always keep those ears open and be willing to experiment with different mutes until you have one that fits the music perfectly. I can assure you, you will be happy you did.

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The Cabrillo Festival (which is discussed in more detail in the post, New Trends for New Music) starts in one week, which means I am in the throes of final preparation right now. This year, as every year, I am wondering how I am going to get everything learned in time, especially with a difficult concerto added to the mix. Playing new music is always demanding; composers don’t always have what I would call a perfect grasp on how to write effectively for the trumpet. A couple of composers this year suffer from one of my personal pet peeves — I call it the D Trumpet Disorder. This condition leads to parts like this:

A classic example of DTD

I can see it now, the composer sitting guiltily at his desk, wanting to stretch the range of the trumpet to include that high E, held by the knowledge that it really is not a reasonable thing to write. “I know,” he thinks excitedly, “I’ll write it for D trumpet! It will still have a big sound, but it will be easy to play!” With the guilt now gone, the composer hurriedly transposes the part into D, and voila! problem solved. Right? Not so fast…

The D trumpet is not a panacea for all that ails our beast of an instrument. That high concert E is still a concert E, no matter if it is played on a Bb, C, D, or Eb trumpet. In fact, for me personally, I’d rather play the high E on my C trumpet than on a D. Hakan Hardenberger mentioned something similar when he told me that he plays the Maxwell Davies Sonata on C trumpet (rather than on D trumpet as indicated in the part). He said that he just doesn’t see any reason to use D. I tend to agree, though the piece is not exactly easy no matter what you play it on. On D trumpets I have tried, the upper register gets a bit tight and tends to be even harder to play above concert D than my C trumpet. I do find that playing on one of the small instruments (G or piccolo) does make it noticeably easier, but it is still certainly no walk in the park. Now don’t get me wrong, I love my D trumpet, and I find many great uses for it, especially in the orchestra; I just don’t tend to use it for extreme high register parts.

You may be curious as to what exactly has driven me to write this article. After all, it’s really not that big of a deal. If the composer has written for D trumpet, then you can still transpose it to piccolo, which is what I almost always do without a fuss. This time, though, the part continues past what is indicated in the image above. It goes a few lines, and then changes key — to Db major — and then it continues for a full page after that. Now, this transposition wouldn’t be too bad, except for the fact that the part is loaded with accidentals. So now, I am doing mental acrobatics while playing outrageously high trumpet parts at the end of an intense festival, at the end of a long concert — a concert which, it just so happens, occurs twice on the last day day. Now that makes me cranky.

You see, if the composer had simply left the part in C, then I could choose for myself what kind of wuss-out tool would be best for the job, and then I could quietly go to said tool when the going gets rough, glady accepting the compliments afterward for nailing the screaming high trumpet part. Of course, the composer too, would then have to suffer the indignity of anyone who is familiar with the normal range for the trumpet looking at the score and saying, “What the hell was this idiot thinking here?” Most composers don’t really like to take the chance of such a thing, so the D Trumpet Disorder bails them out. Meanwhile, I am left to pick way through the minefield. Sometimes life just isn’t fair.

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You remember that article (Going Home) where I talked about the joy of playing my old Bach and how it had at last relegated my Yamaha to it’s rightful place in the closet? Do you remember how I said that it would be my Bach that would be used on the then upcoming recording for my solo CD? Yeah well… Sometimes things don’t go exactly as planned.

About a week before the recording, my Bach started feeling tight and kind of squirrelly. I started struggling with the Schumann Fantasiestucke and in general felt like I was playing on ice — with nothing really slotting in, but rather gliding constantly to and fro. So what did I do? Yep, I pulled out my Yamaha (Chicago Artist Model) and almost instantly felt more comfortable. From that point on I stuck with the Yamaha and ended up using it on my recording after all.

Commence the throwing of the pies. My face is poised and at your disposal.

Equipment is a funny thing, and while I stand by the general message in my previous article, it is also worth mentioning that you should always go with whatever is working the best, whatever you have the most confidence in. For me, when crunch time really came, the Yamaha was the horn for me, and that should come as no surprise really, because it really is a damn good instrument!

So, I have been in the process of trying to move back into a bigger mouthpiece lately, something more along the lines of what I used during my orchestra career (I guess I have missed some of the fatness of sound, soft control, and low register sharpness. It turns out that, at least for me, some of those things get to be a little more of a struggle on smaller equipment). This attempt to go into a bigger mouthpiece, though, has proven more difficult than one would think.

I played the mouthpiece that I won the principal job in Chicago on (a Mt. Vernon 1 1/4C if you are curious), but all I was left with is wondering how I ever managed to win that job playing on that mouthpiece (it tends to ride a bit high… yeah, just a bit). Anyway, I am going through my collection of larger mouthpieces — not finding what I want — when I get a voicemail from my good friend Rod Mathews. On this mesage Rod mentioned to me that he finally got a copy of the recording of me playing the Furtwangler Symphony No. 2 with the CSO, and he mentioned how much he enjoyed my playing on that recording (How nice is that, anyway? To call up your buddy and tell him how much you enjoyed something he did, just because. Very classy.) So I am listening to this voicemail and remembering the CD, when I suddenly remember the mouthpiece I used for that recording, a mouthpiece that I have left inexplicably untried in this process. After hearing the message I promptly dig out the mouthpiece, play a couple of hours on it, and wonder why anyone would ever look for a mouthpiece different from the one in my hands. Now I am no fool; I know that this is only the first practice session on this mouthpiece and that there are bound to be things I won’t like about it after playing on it for a while. However, if it weren’t for a good friend who took the time to send a considerate message, just because, I wouldn’t even have thought of digging it out in the first place.

Yeah, that is what good friends are for, to help you out when they don’t even know you need it. Thanks Rod.

For a while now I have had two brown trumpets sitting on the piano in my studio. Well, they aren’t actually brown, but I affectionately refer to them, with their raw brass patina, as my brown trumpets. They are both C rotaries: one Schagerl and one Thein. Both horns have been a big part of my performing career at one time or another, with performances in some of the greatest halls with two of the world’s top orchestras. They have played Carnegie, Boston Symphony Hall, the Concertgebouw, the Musikverein in Vienna; the list goes on. The Schagerl is the horn I used in the one significant recording that was done while I was playing principal in Chicago, the Furtwangler Symphony #2. Now, though, they sit on an upright piano in my studio in Miami.

I looked them over a few days ago only to find the valves frozen in place and some extra development of their patina. After quite a bit of elbow grease, the Thein’s valves are free and working well, but the Schagerl’s valves remain frozen in place. Looking at the horns, I am struck at how extraordinary a path a couple of sheets of brass can have, and how strange a place it is that they find themselves in now.

Any suggestions on freeing up the valves on a rotary trumpet? I think my Schagerl has plans for life beyond the top of my piano.