—by Chiara Pendrazzetti

I was recently called to play with a brass band in an open-air concert in Mendrisio, Switzerland. The concert was in a beautiful location, on a sweet and warm night of June. Another band performed before us, so when we got on stage it was already dark. Dark summer night means: insects. The big spotlights in the dark were the perfect temptation for two kinds of the most common insects in the month of June: a reddish beetle, an innocuous bug that flies in a clumsy way and falls everywhere, and a horsefly, which stings.

We were playing a demanding program (including the Star Wars Trilogy) for around 50 minutes, and in my breaks I could see the mess that these insects were causing for the players—a horn player who swatted his head; a clarinetist with an obvious phobia of insects who nearly jumped up on her chair to escape the stage when a beetle landed on her music stand; another clarinetist who desperately and silently mimed “Help!” to her neighbor who bent over and flicked the insect away from her; and various other scenes.

I found it all quite funny until I saw a big horsefly on the column of my harp. I discretely tried to wave it away but it wouldn’t move. It was my moment to play. I took the harp towards me, put my hands on the strings and plucked, hoping that it would go away. For a time, I was busy looking at the conductor, my hands, and the score, and I didn’t think of it anymore until a four-bar rest when I saw the horsefly landing on my string. Argh! I had to play a big and loud glissando, so I closed my eyes in disgust and went for it, hoping for the best.

No signs of blood and wings on my harp, but as you can imagine the level of concentration that night wasn’t as high as it should have been. With all the fun and useful gadgets invented for musicians, can we please have an insect repellent to spray on the harp? •