Prologue:
I didn't do this repair. In this scenario, for once, I was the
customer. David Teitelbaum did this work, and reminded me of my vast
appreciation for the skills of more experienced and seasoned
technicians like him. His skills and the quality of his work made the
full restoration of this instrument possible. Beyond that the insight
he provided into his process was immensely informative as I worked on
the clarinet bore sleeve detailed in this recent post. More on that
later...
Rebuilding
my personal english horn was a labor of love. But it was also a labor
of wanting to have a functional english horn. So after putting in
that time making parts and sealing cracks and fitting keys and
replacing pads and corks I ended up with an instrument that was
playable. Technically playable. But it was only after putting in all
that work that I looked for other underlying problems. My approach is
not always methodical.
I'd
observed that something was weird with the bore upper joint, but I
see lots of weird stuff and didn't worry about it. Turns out I should
have. The more I played the instrument, the more it seemed to
misbehave. Low notes would growl as if trying to jump the octave.
High notes were difficult to bring up to pitch. Intonation throughout
the instrument was very inconsistent. In searching for the cause I
found a crack
in the upper joint that
was causing problems. After that was pinned and sealed the whole
range became a little easier to play. Then I made a new
octave mechanism on
the suspicion that the original, convoluted mechanism was causing the
octave pads to not seal. That made the low notes more predictable,
but not great. Something
still wasn't right.
Something was still horribly wrong. I continued to recheck the pad
work and regulations, making adjustments wherever possible. It was a
shot to my ego to not be able to play an instrument I'd put so much
careful work and dedicated so much time to.
All
along that weird spot in the upper joint was in the front of my mind.
I knew it was probably the cause of all those problems, but was
reluctant to face that fact after putting in so much time on the rest
of the instrument. What if it couldn't be fixed and all of that work
was for nothing? How could I have been foolish enough to put in all
that work while overlooking something so serious? But like a
papercut, you can't look away and wince forever. Eventually you have
to open your eyes and inspect the damage. Then you get someone in New
York to make you a new thumb and graft it on. Nevermind, the analogy
kind of breaks down there.
Really
taking a close look and seeing how horribly the bore had been gouged
out I felt at once exasperation and relief. Exasperation at having my
fears confirmed, that I had put so much time into an instrument with
such a glaring and fatal problem; relief that maybe my work didn't
suck so much after all. It looked like someone had gotten a swab
stuck up there and had just gone to town with a screwdriver trying to
get it out. (When David called me with his assessment, he said it
looked like someone had drilled it out.) It was a surprising amount
of damage. The fact that the instrument played at all was remarkable.
I
was in a tough spot because I strongly suspected that this repair was
beyond my abilities. (Hindsight: Yeah, it totally was.) But I had put
a lot of time and effort into this instrument, and wasn't prepared to
let it be a total failure yet. Fortunately a conversation with
another oboe technician yielded the good news I needed: it could be
fixed, but there were only two techs in the US who would attempt it.
He advised calling David Teitelbaum.
So
I called and shipped it off. David called me when it first arrived at
his shop to talk about how intensive the work would be and the
likelihood of success (he was cautiously optimistic, but I had the
utmost confidence), and then I just sort of waited for another call.
This was the first time I've been an instrument repair customer in at
least a decade and it was unusual. Usually I know exactly what's
going on with a repair, but this time, with my own instrument, I just
knew that it was in the shop and would be done at some point and
would play better than it had. I hate not knowing, but the experience
was a reminder that I need to do a better job communicating with my
customers about the progress of their repairs.
Skip
to five weeks later and I got another call that the repair had been a
success and everything was good to go. A few days later I was playing
it and it was thrilling. David took the instrument and brought it
back from the brink of uselessness. Where before I could sort of
muscle my way through some passages, now it just plays. It plays
easily! And consistently in tune! It's a powerful instrument. There's
not a great deal of depth to the sound, but it will really project
through an ensemble texture. And whatever it lacks in nuance it makes
up for in ease of playability.
What could have quickly become a folly on my part was redeemed by someone who took the time to develop their skills. I always hope that people will be excited to play their instruments after I've worked on them, so it was nice to be on the other side of that transaction.
I
am regularly impressed by the skills of other technicians made
evident through their work, and I'm fortunate to see work that is
inspiring and informative from colleagues who are willing to share
their experience. In this case, hearing David's explanation and
asking a few good questions was helpful in developing a strategy for
the clarinet bore graft that I just completed. Between the insight I
got from talking to him and Mark Jacobi, that instrument went from a
lost cause (in my hands), to a long shot, to a feasible job, to a
successful and completed repair. It was exciting that while David was
doing that work on my instrument, I was able to do a similar (but
lets face it, much simpler) repair for my customer.
It's
invigorating to develop and refine a new skill that can be useful to
another musician. It's exciting, too, to be that musician and know
that someone who has spent years honing their skills is putting them
into practice on your instrument. I was grateful at having this
opportunity to be reminded of those things.
