Klarinet Archive - Posting 000018.txt from 1995/09

From: CLARK FOBES <reedman@-----.COM>
Subj: Another gig from Hell
Date: Sat, 2 Sep 1995 04:14:15 -0400

I'm certain I have had my fair share of disasters, but the one that
really sticks in my mind occurred when I was a mere lad of 19 and
playing bass clarinet in the Fresno Philharmonic.

We were in PERFORMANCE of Prokofiev's Symphony #5 which has a very busy
bass clarinet part. It was my first year with the orchestra and my
first year playing bass clarinet, so you can imagine I was nervous
enough as it was. I did not own a bass clarinet at the time and was
borrowing a wonderful old Bundy (Professional model) bass clarinet from
my teacher Russel S. Howland. The horn had belonged to his beloved
brother Paul and I don't think it had seen the inside of a repair shop
in quite some time.

We were coming near the end of the first movement and my horn just
stopped playing! I determined fairly quickly that my thumb F pad had
fallen out. BUT where was it!!#$=!?? I was well aware that in about
four minutes I would need to play a rather prominant solo that comes 5
measures into the 2nd movement, not to mention the rest of the piece!

A horn player behind me saw me looking around on the floor in quiet
panic and whispered PSSST!! PSSSST! FOBES!!! I turned around as
descreetly as possible and saw him pointing with his toe at the errant
pad which lay only a few feet away.

SUCCESS! I had the pad, but now what? THINK, I thought. I tried to
shove the thing back in the cup, but it just would not stay. I don't
smoke so no cigarette lighter handy for that trick. By this time I have
missed a few minor ensemble things and I refused to look in the
direction of the conductor! I am going to die, I will be fired and will
never be allowed to play anywhere again. My life as a musician is over.

Then I remembered that for some reason I had stuck a spare stamp in my
wallet a few days ago. I acted quickly. Found the stamp, doubled it
over, licked it all over and jammed the pad on it and into the cup.
That night I believed there was a God.

The conductor gave me a very uncertain look as we ended the 1st
movement, but I gave him as confident a nod as I had in me. I came in
loud and clear on the 2nd movment solo. Wild shuffling behind and
around me. I finished the piece with no further mishaps and went home
and washed my shorts.

I now keep my own bass clarinet in VERY GOOD repair and (Knock on
grenadilla) it has never deserted me.

Clark W Fobes