This time it’s real. It’s take-it-in-the-gut-and-suck-the-air-out-of-you real! This is no mamby-pamby children’s tale. This is the unrated, uncut, unfit for human eyes, director’s version. We have all seen the signs – the little pieces of sky falling here and there – but we have chosen to ignore them. Now, we can’t afford to do that anymore. The sky of our trumpet world is falling, collapsing in a heap around us. Young kids in diapers winning orchestra jobs left and right, leaving everyone else to ponder why in the world they ever picked up a trumpet in the first place. It is time for a panic: a sell-all-your-horns-on-eBay-get-your-real-estate-license-why-have-I-wasted-
so-much-of-my-life-playing-the-trumpet kind of panic. We need the expert. We need Chicken Little.

If you have ever envisioned a career playing in a major symphony orchestra, your sky is falling, and falling in big juicy chunks. Early on there was Chris Martin. I think Chris won his first orchestra gig when he chose to focus on the audition list for the Philadelphia Orchestra, rather than the 8th grade band tryout material his band director had assigned. Okay, so he wasn’t that young, but he was young enough. When he won the Associate Principal Trumpet position in the Philadelphia Orchestra, the writing was on the wall. If you looked carefully, you could see pieces of sky already beginning to peel off and small chunks falling to the ground. But no one was that concerned then, and the falling sky was almost universally ignored. Now, he has won the vaunted position of Principal Trumpet in the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, leaving anyone else with desires for the job to wait in their swaddling clothes for the next audition in 2040, or 2050, or, if he stays as long as Bud Herseth, 2059. And you thought the wait at your favorite restaurant on a Friday night was bad. What is that on the ground beside you?

More recently, we have the shining example of Carol Jantsch, the 20-year-old wunderkind who bagged the prestigious tuba position in the Philadelphia Orchestra. She is the first female tuba player in the history of the Philadelphia Orchestra, and is likely the first female tuba player to hold a position in any major American symphony orchestra. She won’t be starting her new job right away, though. She needs to go back to school and finish her undergraduate degree. Yes, that is what I said: undergraduate degree. “But she is a tuba player,” you protest, “I play the trumpet. It is an entirely different thing?” Maybe it is. What’s that on your shoe?

Did anyone see the video clips of the four-year-old kid playing the trumpet? His playing is pretty good — he probably would out perform many high school students. Did I mention he is four? I don’t know if I was even potty trained when I was four. But I’m glad I was when I saw that video. I needed it then!

This past week, however, contained another viscous body blow to anyone who thought that you could actually learn to play the trumpet, rather than simply emerge from the womb, trumpet in hand, Mahler 5 blazing out the bell. Northwestern student Mathew Mucky was the surprise winner of the Associate Principal Trumpet chair in the New York Philharmonic. Like Carol Jantsch, Mathew will likely be unable to start his new position right away. He’s got to get that pesky undergraduate degree sewed up before heading off to New York. Having reached the grand old age of 21, Mr. Muckey will be bringing in over $100,000 playing the trumpet in the best brass section in the country. Fortunately for him, having reached a legal drinking age, his friends will be able to buy him a beer to celebrate his achievement.

I remember when I finished my undergraduate degree. Somehow I missed the option that took me directly into the New York Philharmonic, so I opted to continue my education and get my Master’s degree. After completing my Master’s degree I again missed that path (Do not pass go. Do not collect $100,000), and decided to freelance for a while. I can say, however, that the January after earning my Master’s degree in trumpet performance, I managed to make $100! Yes, that is sadly the correct number of zeros after the 1. Where the #@$!% is that mangy little bird?

It is time to panic. Sound the alarm. Sell your trumpets. Get a newspaper route. Run like the wind. No, run like Forest Gump, only further, faster, and more clean-shaven. Someone get the Chicken Little Phone. Step away from your computer now. Let the great panic of the trumpet world commence!

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What? Why are you still reading? You should be in a full-fledged panic at this point. You should at least be polishing up your horns for the great eBay sell off of 2006. Are you hoping that there is some moral to the story, some sappy-happy ending that will make you feel all warm and cuddly inside? Well, you won’t get it here. The sky of your trumpet career is crashing down all around you, and you are frozen to your computer. Your alpha, your omega, your dreamy orchestra career in all its blazing glory is smashing to the pavement in big juicy chunks. Okay, so maybe it isn’t your alpha and your omega, but it is important right? Just think of all the time you have invested attempting to reach your goals. Now, they are being destroyed by some kid in diapers, who can’t comprehend why in the world anyone would ever struggle so mightily to play the trumpet.

Still not convinced? Good. You might just get that sappy ending after all. Before you finalize all seven of your eBay trumpet auctions, sit down and think for a moment. Why do you play the trumpet? Really think about it. Don’t just give yourself a knee-jerk reaction of an answer. Think in depth about your true motivations for playing your instrument. Now, ask yourself if the success of any of these diaper-laden-orchestra-superstars has really changed that? True, you may have really wanted that now-filled position, but there will be other positions. There are always more positions. It may seem certain that these jobs are gone, never to return during your audition career, but that is not necessarily the case. We have no crystal ball to see how the future will play out. Everything may seem certain from our current perspective, but then again, our current perspective is not a really good one for viewing the whole parade.

The bottom line is this: if you play your instrument because you love it, then none of these recent events will change that. If you have aspirations for greatness on the trumpet and in music, you should keep striving. There will be opportunities. Pathways will unfold before you, leading you into directions that you never imagined. There is no way to know how your talent will blossom. Some flowers bloom early in spring, others late in the summer; the timing is of little concern, for their beauty is unaffected. It is difficult to know if and when your career will bloom, but if you work hard and smart, you will have opportunities. Make the most of them, and see where they take you. In the end, whether your career is a success or not, it will likely be the journey, rather than the destination, that gives you the best stories and brings you the most joy. It is entirely possible that Chicken Little is wiser and more discerning than we could have ever imagined. Happy Practicing.

Control points. Every trumpet player has them, but few consciously use them. That’s unfortunate, because proper use of your control points can transform your playing. Does this seem a little bit too much like those infomercials for the “Perfect Club”? Have no fear; I will not infomercialize trumpet technique. I will, however, do my best to give you some idea what control points are, and why you should care.

We are all keenly aware of our embouchure corners. Likely, we know what things we can do (or not do) with our corners to facilitate our playing. Really though, the corners are just half of the picture. The job of the corners is to stretch the lips out, like a smile, and if there is nothing on the other end to counteract them, then we do indeed form a smile. This may look good for the school picture, but it is no way to play the trumpet. What we need is something to balance the stretching muscles in the corners, so that we can form a vibrating surface with the lips. The muscle that provides that balancing force is the “puckering” muscle (yes, that is the scientific name, unless of course you count orbicularis oris, but you likely won’t remember that, so I’ll stick with puckering).

It is this balance between smiling and puckering that creates a usable vibrating surface for playing the trumpet. This vibrating surface is crucial. Obviously, the entire lip doesn’t vibrate; only the middle portion does. Outside the mouthpiece, the lips are anchored together tightly; no vibration is allowed. Inside the mouthpiece there is at least a portion of lip that vibrates, thus creating sound. It would follow, then, that there are two points where the lip transitions from a vibrating surface to a non-vibrating surface, one on each side of the vibrating surface itself. These points are what I call “control points”. You could also call them “anchor points”, or “points of the holy transition”, or really just about anything. Whatever you call them, though, they are an extremely important key to an efficient and effective embouchure.

Many players will talk about keeping the corners still while playing, but it is my firm belief that it is keeping the control points still that creates the best results. While we are playing there is a great deal of tightening and loosening of the embouchure. This tightening and loosening is essential to changing the frequency of vibration, and, as a direct result, the pitch that is created. But when there is so much tightening and loosening of the embouchure muscles, there is potential for the vibrating surface to be disrupted by motion. It is this motion that becomes public enemy number one for trumpet players, and it is this motion that can be curtailed by the control points. Ideally, the muscles would tighten and loosen with no movement in or out (or left and right if you prefer). This would allow the tension of the vibrating tissue to change without any alterations to the size, which means that the change in frequency could be readily controlled. In contrast, if the size of the vibrating surface is altered along with the changes in tension, then it is very difficult to control, and the result is reduced accuracy, control, and quality of sound.

It follows then, that if we keep the control points fixed in place, the physical size of the vibrating surface remains largely unchanged. Only the tension of the tissue is changed, allowing it to vibrate at various frequencies, and allowing us to play different notes on the trumpet. With the control points stabilized, the result will be improved control and accuracy over what pitches are produced.

If you made it through all of that technical mish-mash, then you will rejoice in the fact that what you actually do with that information is quite simple. First, do exercises that will develop the muscles that control the control points. The best strength exercise I know for this is discussed in my earlier article, One Long G. Second, simply concentrate on holding the control points in place. Don’t allow them to collapse inward while playing in the lower register, and don’t allow them to extend outward while playing in the upper register. Concentrate on the stability of the control points instead of the stability of the corners. The corners are important, but in my experience, if the control points are stabilized then it doesn’t seem to matter what the corners are doing. If you think about the fact that the control points are holding the size of the vibrating surface in check, then it becomes obvious that the corners have a secondary, rather than primary, function in the embouchure.

This article is short, and that is on purpose. Take the time to let what you’ve read seep in a bit, and then reread it. Try applying some of the concepts I’ve mentioned, and then read it again. Over time, you will be able to actually feel the presence of the control points in your embouchure, but this may well take time. When you are doing your daily foundation routine, concentrate on stabilizing your control points. This concept will help you make substantial improvements in your playing, especially in the areas of accuracy, flexibility, and sound. Have patience, though — like all great concepts, it takes a lot of work to get anything out of it. Remember, true improvement is a matter of acquiring skill, not knowledge.

You probably all know it. It is almost universal. But just in case you don’t recognize it, I am talking about the trumpet player’s handshake. You know the one. You stick out your hand, squeeze the unsuspecting fingers of your trumpet-playing foe, and confidently pronounce, “Hi, I’m better than you!” Now, this handshake is always told as a joke, but like many great jokes, there is some truth to it. If you have ever shaken someone’s hand at an audition, you know what I mean. There is certainly no ill will or malice (normally), but there is definitely tension, and the fleeting thought: I wonder if I am better than him.

When discussing the realm of trumpet auditions, this is certainly a viable question/concern. After all, everyone is vying for one, maybe two, spots. It seems pretty clear that the “best” trumpet player(s) are going to get the gig, while everyone else begins a long, lonely, soul-searching trip back to wherever they came from. The quest to be the best is certainly noble. Athletes the world over compete and train feverishly to become the very best, the top of the heap. In corporate America, people huddle in little cubicles for long hours, putting in the extra time, giving their projects that extra bit of zing, doing whatever they can to set themselves apart from their co-workers. This is a good thing, right? After all, it is important for us to do our best. Where would we be if we didn’t always strive for more: pushing ourselves, challenging ourselves? The answer is simple, it definitely is important for us to do our very best, but that isn’t the same thing as trying to be “the best”.

You are probably wondering how you could do your best without trying to be the best. It is a confusing statement, I agree, but there is one important difference between these two things. If you are trying to be your best it is all about you, your performance, your potential, your vision. When you start trying to be “the best”, however, it starts becoming more about other people. Your performance becomes graded on their scale rather than on your own. This kind of thought is absurd when you think of it in terms of a track and field event. After all, the purpose of the 100-meter dash is to cover the distance as fast as possible under your own power. The first one to complete the distance wins, simple as that. But making music is not the 100-meter dash. In fact, it isn’t an athletic event at all, and it only becomes competitive in the form of auditions and competitions.

Music is an art form. Performing music is an art form. The question of who is “the best” really has no place in a purely artistic forum. Consider these questions:

Who is the best painter, Van Gogh or Renoir? What about Picasso?
Who is the best composer, Beethoven or Mozart?
Was Mahler perhaps the best?
How much better was Mahler than Beethoven?

Are you squirming yet? How about these statements:

Maurice Andre was better than Bud Herseth.
Pablo Casals was better than Yo Yo Ma.
Bernstein was better than Karajan.

Now you are probably getting angry. Either that or you are nodding smugly, satisfied with your wisdom. Before you take the ego elevator to the next floor, though, you should know that I don’t believe any of those statements. To me, those statements are silly and irrelevant; they are a sign of simple thinking and an attempt to justify one’s self through a hierarchical ranking system. This kind of system works well in the domain of sports, where the activity is objective, and the goal is simply to win. But that is not the case with art or music. These are forms of expression and communication. They are things to be appreciated and felt, not won.

When we look at the trumpet community, however, there is an intense focus on being the best. It is as if we are all aiming for Olympic Gold in the trumpet pentathlon, striving to have the highest cumulative score in all the tests of trumpet skill: range, endurance, articulation, flexibility, accuracy. While this may be an interesting game to some, it isn’t art. There is no expression, no power of communication.

I am concerned about the future of a musical instrument whose community seems so disinterested in the art of making music. Stop and think for a moment. If you were to log on to a literary chat room and ask who was the best author, Marquez or Saramago, you would likely see a storm of responses discussing your shallow thinking and small IQ. On the other hand, if you post a similar question on a trumpet chat site, you would get a long list of everyone’s opinions and supporting facts: better tone, more projection, more musical, etc. This is frightening to me. If playing the trumpet is to actually be considered an artistic pursuit, then it is the trumpet players themselves that must treat it as such. Our minds should be focused on improving the quality of the music we perform, creating more artistic and creative concerts, and promoting the instrument through education and outreach. It is through these means that we will find in the trumpet a true artistic outlet and art form, and in so doing, we will be preserving a rich tradition for all those that play the instrument in years to come.

I understand that there is a practical side to what I preach. I know that many people are simply trying to get a job doing something they enjoy. To those of you who are in this category, it is easy to understand why you would be mostly interested in being more accurate, playing better in tune, improving endurance, improving sound, etc. Make no mistake about it; those are important elements in the pursuit of any type of artistic endeavor that involves the trumpet. The difference comes in the motivation, in the goal setting. If you are simply trying to win, then you almost surely will lose. Why? Simple. You are trying to achieve victory in an artistic pursuit, a pursuit that has, in its purest form, no real sense of competition. Sure, you may win a trumpet competition by making the fewest mistakes. But if that is your approach when you stand in front of an audience of non-trumpet players, they will almost surely sit on their hands and stare in bewilderment at the strange little game you are trying to play. It may be possible to impress the trumpet players on an orchestra audition committee with your execution, but it almost certainly is your musical expression that will win the votes and hearts of the other committee members.

What then should we do, if we are not trying to be better than everyone else? Isn’t it important to play accurately, in time, in tune, and with a good sound? Of course it is, but not because doing so will make you “the best”, or make you the winner of one audition or another. It is important because it will more effectively communicate your expressive qualities; it will help you paint more vividly the musical character of a given piece or phrase. Playing the trumpet at the highest possible skill level is not an end; it is a means. And that concept has more implications for the future of our instrument than any one of us could possibly imagine. So the next time you hear the “trumpet player’s handshake ,” laugh confidently and loudly, secure in the knowledge that being “the best” wins you only a giant stuffed animal prize to drag around the grounds of the next trumpet fair.

I don’t recall where I first heard it. Perhaps my Grandfather whispered it in my ear, having watched me bowl headfirst into the side of the house, in hot pursuit of one toy or another. Or maybe it was my Father; he would have had plenty of opportunities. Maybe it was after he saw me standing frozen in the backfield during a flag football game, clutching the ball, watching the kid I was supposed to give it to run down the field without it. The parents were screaming at me to run, but I didn’t get it. I had forgotten that the goal of the game was to score points, forgotten that the only thing that really mattered on this play was that we gain yards. My only thought was that I needed to hand the ball off, but now there was no one to hand the ball off to. So I stood there holding the ball, with no idea what to do next. It didn’t take long, of course, for the memory to return. I remembered the goal of the game, the goal of the play. So, I ran. I ran hard and fast, but I ran out of room before I ran out of field — out of bounds, just shy of the end zone. The play was a huge success, but I knew I should have scored, and my Dad knew it to. He could have told me then, but I don’t know if he did. He could have wrapped his big arm around my little seven-year-old frame and said, “Craig, you just couldn’t see the forest for the trees.” I would likely have stared blankly back at him, not understanding why we were talking about trees. But he would have told me; he would have explained the thing we all need to know about forests, and their trees. If I didn’t learn it then, I learned it soon after, in some other similar circumstance, but the point is I learned it. We all learn it. That’s what makes it cliché.

We tend to devalue clichés, casting them off as lacking creativity and originality, but it is important for us to remember why things become cliché in the first place: their universal truth and value. If a saying had little value or relevance, then it would quickly fade away, but some of them… some of them get right to the point. They lay it right out there. And we all become that seven-year-old kid, staring blankly, comprehension slowly sifting in, realizing that this is something we should have known all along. Unfortunately, many trumpet players forget this cliché when they get involved in the audition process. It gets lost amongst the details of our preparation, but with so many auditions right around the corner, I don’t want it to get lost on you.

When people play audition material for me, I invariably ask them what they thought about what they just played. It gives me insight into what they are listening for. Almost always the response is something like this: “I thought I rushed the triplets just slightly, and the dotted quarters were a little bit too long, not enough space after them. The octave jump at the end was solid, but the diminuendo was a bit too fast.” I will sit for a moment, processing what they told me, and compare it to my own observations, which are usually something like: The sound is thin overall; he plays sharp in the upper register, a little tubby in the lower; the articulation lacks clarity; the whole excerpt sounds forced; I don’t get a sense of the mood of the piece; has this person listened to many recordings? Needless to say, our thoughts about the way this excerpt was played are divergent at best. The student is clearly consumed with the details, the trees from the famous adage. I, however, like most listeners, am concerned almost totally with the forest, the big picture.

As performers, and particularly as trumpet players, we are prone to focus on the specifics of what we want to do. This is all well and good until it comes at the expense of our overall product. In the scenario above, if the student were to listen to his own criticism, he would need to work on one set of skills. He would tackle those triplets, making sure they don’t rush. He would work on the lengths of those dotted quarters and the pacing of the diminuendo. However, if he listened to my criticism, he would be examining his sound, trying to make it warmer and more resonant; he would be practicing articulation to get more clarity; he would be thinking about how to best capture the character of the excerpt: listening to recordings to achieve this goal. All told, he would be doing two totally different things, all depending on what he thought were the most important issues to tackle. The problem is, the typical listener will be much more concerned with generalities than with the minute details, and if the student focuses on his own set of improvements, he will be doing very little to achieve better results at the audition. Even if a listener is obsessed with the details, his or her vote is likely to be swayed more by the forest than by the trees. That’s why I came up with the Viola Effect (no offense to any violists).

The Viola Effect is rooted in the realm of the professional orchestra audition, but it is equally useful when preparing for any type of audition. The Viola Effect features a fictional violist who is stuck hearing trumpet auditions for the orchestra he plays in. This person meanders into the hall, newspaper in one hand, coffee in the other, grumbling about the fact that there are no donuts, convinced there must be language in the contract somewhere about donuts at auditions. He slides into the most comfortable seat he can find, opens his paper and begins to read. Meanwhile, backstage, Candidate A is waiting to play an audition for a major symphony orchestra, utterly convinced that this could be the most important day of his life. Now our violist certainly cares about who is in the orchestra and wants to get the best person for the chair. He will listen intently to the audition, but — and this is important — in spite of his seventeen years in the orchestra, he has no idea what dynamic is marked in the third trumpet part at rehearsal 17. He doesn’t have a clue as to which notes are marked staccato, or which ones have accents. He has, however, played this piece 215 times. He knows how it goes. So, he looks at his paper and listens, listens to see if any of today’s auditionees know how this piece goes.

Now, as we look back at our nervous Candidate A, it is clear that the only chance he has to win this person’s vote is to impress him with his forest: beauty of sound, crisp articulation, singing phrases, knowledge of the piece and its style. These are the elements that will make our violist stare over the top of his paper at the screen in front of him. These are the things that will make him put the paper down and listen more intently. These are the things that Candidate A needed to be prepared to demonstrate at this audition. But if our candidate has been focused on the trees at the expense of the forest, then all will be lost. He will be cut after not missing a note in his entire audition, and he will be left bemoaning his fate, convinced that the audition was rigged.

As you are preparing yourself for an audition, any type of audition, take a step back and view the whole picture. Find the forest. What is it like? Does it convey what you want it to convey? How are the generalities of your playing? What is the quality of your basic sound? What are the most obvious attributes of your playing? These are the most important aspects of your audition package. Don’t get me wrong; the details are extremely important. Without them you will be equally lost. If you don’t nurture the trees, the whole forest will look shabby and thin. But there is a definite danger in focusing solely on the trees, for it is by staring into the crooked labyrinth of twigs and leaves that we lose sight of our destination. It is there that the forest disappears, and with it, our dreams.

I was 9 years old, we moved into a house that had a music room. I spent many hours in this room during my teenage years honing my skills, trying to realize my dream of being a professional trumpet player. In this room there was also a lot of music – music that was filed away in an assorted mix of cabinets and drawers. There was piano music, tuba music, vocal solos, barbershop arrangements, and, of course, trumpet music. In my adolescent mind, the trumpet music was divided into two basic groups: music and weird trumpet books. Weird trumpet books were the books with strange diagrams, photos of men breathing by unnatural means, notes extending far above and below the staff, and they were always peppered with claims of improved sound, range, and endurance. I would thumb through these books, mystified. They contained no music, only mundane exercises – whole notes and half notes extending in all directions. I would read the text, try it for a while, and then go back to my regular music, convinced that there simply had to be something better I could be doing with my time. Now, two decades later, my philosophy toward many of those books remains the same. A select few of them, though, now hold hard-earned places in my routine, having proved themselves in the face of extreme skepticism.

The Carmine Caruso, Musical Calisthenics for Brass, is one of those books. It includes exercises I regularly use to increase strength, and I consider it an essential part of my foundation routine. How to use this book, however, is a matter of much debate. Many people have conflicting views and interpretations of what constitutes the “proper” Caruso routine. I don’t participate in that. In fact, I don’t even have a Caruso routine. Instead, I use this book as a collection of exercises – a resource for building range and endurance to the fullest extent. I will scatter these exercises throughout the day, usually using only one or two. If you are looking for the purest interpretation of Carmine Caruso’s ideas, you won’t find it here. Instead, you will find a guide to a practical and sure-fire method for increasing strength and, as a result, range and endurance.

The Caruso book has many useful exercises in it, but to be honest, I only utilize a few of them on a regular basis. Those that do get used, however, are more worn than that old pair of $7 bellbottoms that you found at your local pawn shop (not that I would know, of course). The exercises that I use 95% of the time are the first two in the book. These two exercises address the two basic types of strength: endurance and explosiveness. Explosiveness exercises are used to improve range. Endurance exercises are used to improve – you guessed it – endurance.

The first exercise in the book is commonly referred to as the “six notes” exercise. This exercise is a classic endurance exercise: it keeps the mouthpiece on the face for a long period of time with no rest, it involves notes that are in the middle register that can be played with minimal pressure, and it can easily be expanded (in this case repeated) as you get stronger. This exercise should be played with an absolute minimum amount of pressure, continually moving the horn away from the face. I do two versions of this exercise: a full version and a half version. If you are doing the full version, you should repeat the exercise as many times as possible until you are unable to keep the final C up to pitch. As the name implies, the half version should have roughly half as many reps as the full version. The half version I like to do in the morning at the end of my foundation routine – provided I have a rest of at least 45 minutes before I need to play again. The full version should be done at the end of the day, because believe me, you won’t want to play anything after you are done. Doing it at the end of the day also allows you to push yourself to total exhaustion without worrying about anything else you have to play that day.

The second exercise in the book, called “Seconds”, is an explosiveness exercise. Explosiveness exercises are characterized by a continually expanding range and extensive use of the upper register. This exercise is no exception. There are detailed instructions in the book regarding this exercise; follow them religiously, for the way you do these exercises determines how much benefit you will get from them. If you don’t follow the instructions closely, then you will likely not be able to maximize the benefits of the exercise. I work to minimize pressure during this exercise, but unlike endurance exercises, I do permit a degree of pressure as required. The key here is to balance the effort going out (air), with the amount of pressure coming in. Don’t press more than you blow. I do this exercise either at the end of my skill set – as long as I have a break of at least a couple of hours – or at the end of the day, prior to the full “six notes” exercise. The “Seconds” exercise includes a 15 minute period between the first and second times through the exercise. The instructions indicate that you can play during this period as long as you don’t do any similar type of exercise. As hard as it is to believe, this is actually true. I will often fill that period practicing some articulation exercises in the lower register, initial attacks, or even playing light etudes. It has always been surprising to me how useful that 15 minutes can be.

In addition to the instructions I have mentioned above, there are some general concepts that must be applied in order to get the most out of these workouts. First of all, each of these exercises includes whole rests every third bar. What you do during these rests is absolutely critical. I refer to the rests as “playing rests”; you should keep the embouchure fully engaged throughout the rest, just as if you were playing. The only difference is that you are not moving air out through the instrument, but rather, in through the nose. This means that the embouchure will be “playing” for the entire length of the exercise, not relaxing until you are finished. In the case of the “six notes” exercise, be sure not to relax the embouchure between repeats.

The second concept to keep in mind deals with the text in the book. There are repeated instructions to not “worry about what you sound like.” This comment is often misunderstood, and is a point of some contention amongst Caruso-ites. Some people interpret this to mean that you should play with no regard for how you sound, and while that may be useful in certain circumstances, I don’t recommend that approach as a general rule. Instead, I take the instruction at its literal base: I care about how I sound, but I don’t worry about it. I always try to sound good, but when the sound begins its inevitable deterioration as the muscles tire, I make sure not to make any substantial adjustments to change it. I make every effort to maintain my sound, but I don’t worry about it when that becomes impossible. This allows me to push myself as far as I can possibly go physically, while preventing me from doing it in a way that is inconsistent with the way I normally play.

You can apply these same concepts to other exercises in the book and reap many great benefits. Armed with these exercises and a little insight into how to use them, you will be able to make substantial gains in range and endurance, and there are certainly no trumpet players that I know that would not be interested in that. It was seeing those same improvements in my playing that rescued this book from that dusty old shelf of weird trumpet books in the first place, and it has been a great addition to my arsenal ever since.