Infernal Fagotti was founded in a practice room with no windows and one working light bulb, when four bassoonists discovered they could not be stopped, mostly because nobody could figure out how to ask them to leave. They ride four abreast, double-reeded and leather-cased, and they have been banned from at least three green rooms for “excessive low register.” Their colors are a patch showing a winged bocal crossed with a reed knife, earned only after a prospect survives a full season of contrabassoon cues and a road trip in a car with four instrument cases and no legroom. They have no headquarters, but they have been seen hanging around the reed-making table at 2 a.m., scraping cane in grim silence. Legend says they once outran a brass section to the post-concert buffet, though the brass section disputes this and the shrimp platter cannot be reached for comment. They live by a simple code: never rush, never apologize for the low B-flat, and never, ever let the oboes tune them. Local conductors know to clear the podium when they roll into town, because Infernal Fagotti do not follow the baton so much as escort it.
Tonight they ride again.