… because of course it can’t be MY fault … right?

Anyway, the reed that I had hoped was THE REED, under inspection today, was cracked. That’s right, folks, I played on a cracked reed at last night’s concert and, until the last line, it played well. This is sort of the story of my life.

Now that I’m thinking back, I believe this might have been the reed that “fell from my hands” (I dropped it, but that would be making it more my fault). If I’m remembering correctly I found it sitting on my oboe desk, soaked it, and liked it. But I probably should have broken it in half the minute I dropped it. Oh well, it still did its duty on some Dvorak low notes, and it now will leave this life and go on to reed heaven, where I’m assuming it will be resurrected and find its rewards.

Not only that, but I also found out that my B vent was leaking slightly, which explains why a slur to B wasn’t exactly a happy thing to do last night. And, after having my oboe adjusted by a master repairman (and I DO mean this, I’m not being sarcastic), I think a few things are just a wee bit off. So not only will I be choosing a reed when I get to the hall, but I”ll also be deciding which oboe I’ll use. AARGH!

Meanwhile, I leave in 3 minutes for the Recital.

And I don’t know, yet, which reed will be the Chosen One. I do have some that are working okay, but “okay” isn’t good enough. So I have a drive of about 45 minutes and I’m hoping some of these guys will decide to transform into the wonders that they should be.
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