December 9, 2006
In the month of December, one instrument, the French horn, finally gets the attention it is due.
You will hear the horn everywhere this time of year, at concerts, on the radio, and on nearly each Christmas music CD you own.
Christmastime is when this instrument shines.
The music of the season suits it perfectly.
You will notice its mellow notes and its unmistakable haunting sound rise above the other instruments because most seasonal pieces give the horn some prime solo time.
I am glad it gets its day because I dearly love the French horn.
Not many folks pay much attention to the French horn, until the holidays. Sometimes, it is even the butt of jokes.
Nevertheless, I long to hear its haunting notes ring out, the notes that can range anywhere between that of a military fanfare and a sweet, low melody.
Surprisingly enough to me, I vaguely remember how to play some of those notes.
The French horn was the instrument I played in high school concert band, so I suppose that is why I am still intrigued by it.
I didn’t always love the French horn, however.
It was not what I wanted to play.
It did not interest me one whit then.
I wanted to play the sax like Sue.
A sax was cool, especially in the late 50’s.
My mother would not hear of me playing a saxophone, and said I would most certainly be playing the French horn.
First, she said I must learn the mellophone.
I had no clue why, and I had no idea what a mellophone was. It was not cool, that much I knew.
Reluctantly, I learned to play the mellophone. This instrument is fingered with the right hand, much like a trumpet and is usually the one of choice when French horn players join marching band. It was fairly easy to learn.
The French horn, on the other hand, is fingered with the left hand, while the right hand is placed in the bell to adjust the tone, tune the instrument, and evoke strange sounds much like those of hunting horns from post-medieval days. At the same time, one’s lips must be made to “buzz” against the mouthpiece, and one must learn to change the lips and facial muscles (embouchure) to play all the notes possible on this ancient instrument.
Music historians tell us that the French horn was first developed as a hunting horn in England around 1650. The French called it a German horn; the Germans called it a hunting horn; and the English called it the French horn. Who knows why that name stuck.
At any rate, when I reached eighth grade, I learned that the high school concert band desperately needed French horn players. So, three of us were moved “up,” if my memory serves me correctly. We were not so great, mind you, but we were the only French horn players around.
“My” choice of the French horn over the sax was looking better and better. The band had a plenitude of saxophonists anyway.
A senior, the lone French horn player in concert band, became our mentor. Dean was good, very good.
He taught us how to make the instrument make grand sounds, and by our freshman year, our director and Dean developed a French horn quartet. Dean led we three freshmen, Harvey, Stan and me, in numerous practices, performances, contests, and concerts. We did infinitely better than “ just all right”, and we knew we were in the right place at the perfect time.
And to boot, we fell in love with this strange instrument, becoming one with it as only a French horn player can understand. We learned, as best we could, how to make it emit its striking sound.
In the fall, yes, we played mellophones in marching band.
Of course, there were French horn jokes to be endured because it was indeed an odd apparatus; jokes such as these:
“What is the difference between a French horn section and a ’57 Chevy? Answer—You can tune a ’57 Chevy.”
“How do you get your viola section to sound like the horn section? Answer—Have them miss every other note.”
Despite the jokes, despite the fact that I really did not want to play it, and despite the fact that a horn was not particularly cool in the world of a sixth grader, I came to adore it.
Somehow, my mother knew exactly what was right for me, even if I didn’t. I suspect she knew it suited my personality and that it would fast forward me straight into high school concert band.
So, when I hear the lovely and surreal sounds of the horn during the holiday season, I become well aware that it is always good to listen to one’s mother.
Sometimes, it takes a few decades to understand why.
