Along the way, she indulged in a lot of behavior typical of the late 1970s and 1980s. By the mid-1980s, when "Jimmy" was ready to leave for Houston, Tindall writes that she was involved with "three of the city's most powerful oboists, each of whom could make or break my career."
"My scenario with these men had felt like wildly romantic fantasy, as if I were starring in a film about the music business. Now it was turning into a bad dream that affected my livelihood."
She saw one of them while at a concert in Carnegie Hall with Jimmy. Looking across the balcony, "I saw a rush of understanding in Jayson's eyes. He turned away. He had finally realized why I toured with Orpheus and he did not."
In return, "Jayson would never again hire me for his studio dates. Other oboists would penalize me for the work Jimmy had provided me and denied them, and I wouldn't play with Orpheus or in Randy's pit again for some time."
On the surface, she was successful. By 1999, she was earning US$82,000 a year and had health insurance, pension contributions and a flexible schedule. But she was also deeply unhappy. That year, she left New York to study journalism at Stanford University.
What happened?
Tindall burned out. She dreamed of getting a full-time job with a symphony orchestra but never got past the first stage of endless auditions. With that, many people can sympathize.
Annoyingly, though, Tindall offers little sense of recognizing her own limitations as a musician. She relates cockily playing a wrong note three times during an audition -- even after a member of the audition committee suggested she look hard at the music. That slip doesn't suggest the perception and attentiveness necessary for a top-notch professional career.
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