Horton Clears the Fence} (2015--16)

It was Robert Horton's birthday, and I thought, ``I will not get him an empty jar and punctured balloon this year; I will instead make Robert Horton a CD of clarinet sounds that he can use in his compositions.'' Because that is one of the things Robert Horton does: he makes enormous amounts of music, often calling upon his friends to add a violin part here, a bass part there, or in my case, a saxophone -- or more often -- clarinet part. My guest appearances in his music eventually led to a regular, collaborative relationship, and has resulted in three commercial releases as the duo, ``Imperfect Masters." Named as such because the characteristic quality of our mastery is the imperfect.

How it works: I receive a call from Robert Horton asking me to add clarinet to tracks of piano, or his homemade (electric) boot, or to some computer-created thing, and within a few days, I stump up the street to put on headphones and play whatever comes to mind, guided by Robert Horton's terse instructions, e.g., ``Play like a queasy Paul Desmond in a hurricane.'' The first take will be used -- remember that we are in pursuit of imperfection. Although I consider myself one sad clarinetist, there is something to my playing that appeals to Robert Horton, as his boot playing appeals to me. We also like baseball.

Other clarinetists don't have my basic difficulties. These recorded sounds are barely music: it's constantly falling apart. A crow and a dog offer help, but really, the _whole thing_ sounds like it is being performed by animals -- which, okay, for me is a positive. It wallows along.

There's a blissful state of mind that sometimes emerges from the heap of disgust and despair I feel about music and my musical limitations. Its like one of those dreams of flying. In my case, I'm never flying more than a foot or two off the ground. It's not for their flapping that we envy birds, it's for their ability to glide. And their quasi-repetitive chirping, with subtle variations in rhythm and pitch. Presumably they find it useful. Or maybe they just like to do it that way.

The "Horton" of the title refers not just to Robert Horton, but to Tony Horton, who played first base for the Cleveland Indians (I am from Cleveland) from 1967 -- 1970. Horton's best season was 1969, when I first started following baseball. He hit .278, with 93 runs batted in, clearing the fence 27 times. He abruptly retired from baseball in August of 1970, and attempted suicide, in part because of "constant booing from the Indians fans." (Wikipedia) I hope I was not one of those who booed; as I recall it was not until I'd endured a few more seasons of abject haplessness by the Indians that I grew disgruntled. Tony was one of my favorite players, along with Sudden Sam McDowell and Leon "Daddy Wags" Wagner. I hope that this music may make its way to Tony! In the end, it's all about baseball, except for that which is not.

--Dan Plonsey, 2016, El Cerrito