Matt Rudd tries Trumpet                             The Sunday Times Magazine, October 19th 2014

How long does it take to master a new skill? Apparently, the answer is 10,000 hours. That terrifying number was first suggested in 1993 by Anders Ericsson, a professor at the University of Colorado. He had totted up the number of hours Children had practised the violin. Anything up to 4,000 hours and,  well,  meh.  Anything  over 10,000 hours and hello maestro.

But 10,000 hours is eight hours a day, every day, for more than three years. So that’s out. Instead we’ve adopted a strategy put forward in Josh Kaufman’s book The First 20 Hours: How to Learn Anything... Fast. The learning expert has 10 principles of rapid skill acquisition – things like “obtain critical tools”, “emphasise quantity and speed” and “create fast feedback loops”. And while there’s obviously a bit of a gap between a 20–hour–old violinist and someone who’s been at it for 10,000 hours, his plan is convincing. It does appear to be possible to make huge progress in a short amount of time.

Kaufman’s first principle is the most important: choose an enjoyable project. So not golf or trigonometry or, unless you’re my colleague Krissi Murison  computer coding. You must choose something you think might be fun and I thought I’d enjoy the trumpet.

ONE HOUR

Ever since a run-in with a window put an end to what would have undoubtedly been a glittering career in (second) bassooning in a (regional) orchestra, I’ve missed playing music. Five years ago, I got a trumpet and, because you need only one fully functioning hand to play it, I set about mastering it with gusto. Seven minutes later, I became distracted, then the trumpet took itself off to the garage and now, here we are, at the beginning again. But just imagine if I could get up and running. As Kaufman advises, I’ve obtained critical tools (a trumpet, YouTube trumpet lessons, Trumpets for Babies Book 1 A). I’ve eliminated barriers to practise (“Yes children, you can play Minecraft”). I’ve even done a spreadsheet: 20 minutes a day, every other day, with a glass of wine as a reward, the drinking of which is not included in the 20 hours.

TWO HOURS

Well, that was optimistic. Four weeks in and I’ve managed two hours, not five hours. Turns out I can play the trumpet for only 10 minutes before I start seeing stars and my mouth goes post-root-canal numb. I say play but obviously I mean murder. This trumpeting lark is harder than Louis Armstrong makes it look. I can get from C to G but, no matter how hard I blow, I can’t get any higher. It’s dispiriting.

FIVE HOURS

I would have given up but there was the spreadsheet, amended to 10-minute bursts and embellished with targets. I’m up to C and, even though it sounds like a ferret dying slowly in a rusty trap, it means I’ve got a whole octave. I have struggled to endure a series of YouTube tutorials in which a man with a beard and a predilection for Hawaiian shirts takes a “wacky” approach to trumpetry, so I’m abandoning the internet and returning to the books.

NINE HOURS

I’m at a stage where the notes in the books are all really high. The C is still ferrety. I can’t get up to D without a run up. So I’m stuck with pieces called Tip-Toe and Level Headed, which is a long blimming way from Rimsky-Korsakov.

FOURTEEN HOURS

I would say I’ve hit a ceiling or a block or an insurmountable hurdle, but what has happened over the last month is that I’ve plateau-ed. No matter how much I’ve “emphasised quantity and speed”, I’m stuck. The trumpet retreats into our wardrobe, next to the juggling balls, the origami book and the fencing sabre.

FIFTEEN HOURS

When you learn something new, progress comes in fits and starts and I’m all out of fits and starts. Then, one evening, two months into the plateau, I’m at a school concert and along comes Matilda Lloyd, winner of the brass section of the BBC Young Musician, 2014. At the end of the night, I wait by the stage, do some begging and some crying, and the following week I’m having a mini-masterclass. I’m breathing wrong. I’m blowing wrong. Go away and have another go.

SEVENTEEN HOURS

I’m unstuck and I’ve pretty much cracked this horn lark. Well, okay, no. But it’s starting to sound less like the poor ferret and more like a musical instrument. I’m on the right track, thanks to Matilda’s ruthless dismantling of almost everything I learnt from the Hawaiian-shirted joker. I’m doing half an hour a day. I’m enjoying myself. And the neighbour’s dogs have stopped howling.

TWENTY HOURS

I was going to finish with the results of an afternoon’s busking, but as a feedback loop it would have been too dispiriting for my fragile artiste’s ego. Ten thousand hours is too much, but 20 hours is too little. I’ll hit the streets when I’ve ticked off a hundred.