From: Music As Prayer I particularly remember one lesson from years ago, when I was seriously studying the flute. I was playing for my teacher, John Oberbrunner, a major work that I was about to perform in public. We had agreed that I was to play the piece all the way through, as I would in the performance, and then he would respond to what he had heard. I do not now recall exactly what the piece was, nor do I remember the whole of my teacher’s response. But I have never forgotten one thing that he said. I had played a dotted half note just before a rest of several beats, and I had forgotten that it was supposed to be a sharp, not a natural. During the measure’s rest that followed the wrong note I lifted the flute from my lips and grimaced in disgust with myself before the next entrance. How could I possibly have forgotten that the note was a sharp, not a natural! I had practiced it a thousand times. What was I thinking? Evidently my grimace had been severe enough that it appeared as if I had swallowed something vile and repugnant. My teacher [...]![]()
