Stage presence, particularly bowing and acknowledging the accompanist, is an important part of performing. While applause is an audience’s way of showing appreciation, bowing is our way of accepting the compliment.
    I have seen many performers, including a surprising number of seasoned professionals, look uncomfortable while bowing. While they have obviously spent many hours in the practice room perfecting their musical art, they have spent little time on stage skills.
    I strive to make bowing feel comfortable and natural to my students by making it part of their performance preparation for studio recitals and the school Solo and Ensemble Festival. There is comfort in the familiar, and routines help players relax so they can play their best. When students are proficient on their solos, they incorporate walking on stage, bowing to an imaginary audience, acknowledging the accompanist, and leaving the stage when they are done.

Recital Conversations
    Students usually have many questions before their first recital. Discussing specifics helps them reduce their anxiety and gives me the opportunity to teach stage deportment. I explain that audiences often claps when the performer walks on stage and again at the end of each piece.
    We discuss how good it feels to bow, because it stretches the back and neck muscles, which increases the blood flow to the head. Performers feel invigorated and ready to perform, or relaxed and relieved that the performance is over. We also talk about appropriate recital attire. I recommend either dressy or business-like outfits with skirts at knee length or longer.

How to Bow
    I have found that a little silliness helps students relax. We have fun with the first bowing lesson; it is hard not to laugh when I demonstrate bows to avoid. It is my hope that students will remember this light-hearted introduction to bowing when they start to feel nervous at the performance.
    I teach students a three-second bow:  bend at the waist, look at your shoes, and count to three before straightening up. If students prefer, they can think, “I tie my shoes,” or a word like hippopotamus instead of counting to three. I suggest they hold the flute by the barrel, allowing it to hang at their side during the bow. After they finish the bow, they should look at the audience and smile.
    Encourage students to bend at the waist and neck, tucking the chin toward the chest, so that the back of the head faces the audience during the bow. Don’t leave the head sticking up during the bow. I also remind students to take a large step to the side of the music stand before starting the bow to avoid bumping their head on it.

Bows to Avoid
    Over the years, students have unintentionally come up with amusing variations, which I have filed away and perform for current students. They usually produce a lot of laughter. A few of my favorites are:

    •    Ballerina Bow: Bow with flat back, sticking your bottom out, looking directly at the audience.

    •    Ski Jump Bow: Lift the flute perpendicular to your body as you bow, just as ski jumpers hold their ski poles when they sail through the air    during a jump.

    •    Sneak-a-Peak Bow: During the bow, sneak a peak at the audience.

    •    Premature Bow: Start bending and looking at the floor while walking onto the stage; it saves time.

    •    Tripod bow: Bow with feet shoulder-width apart.

Acting the Part
    Students often ask what they should do if they make a mistake during their performance. I encourage them to keep going, no matter what happens, and to pretend that no mistake was made. Part of performing is acting the part of a performer, as if the recital were a drama production. Stopping, making a face, or groaning communicates the mistake to the audience, most of whom were unaware of it in the first place.

After the Recital
    Performers receive compliments from family and friends after recitals.  While it is human nature to discount these compliments with laundry lists of all of the mistakes that were made, my students are taught to just say, “Thank you.” If they want to add something beyond that, only positive comments are acceptable, including “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” “I had a lot of fun playing,” and “I enjoyed learning this piece.”
    When students practice these skills before taking the stage, they will feel and look more comfortable during the performance. This leads to successful experiences that boost their confidence.

Phyllis Avidan Louke graduated from the University of California at Santa Barbara, where she studied flute with Burnett Atkinson. She maintains a large private flute studio and is a sought after clinician. She is principal flute with the Oregon Pro Arte Chamber Orchestra.

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The Challenges
    Technically, the hurdles are embouchure flexibility, intonation, a subtle array of articulations, and the facility to change tone color quickly. Expressively, all those technical elements are the tools necessary for a great many fast-moving sections that are like brief scenes throughout the piece. Though Copland was against programmatic interpretations of his absolute music, his natural narrative qualities (as the reviewer noted) are very evident in Duo from beginning to end. The sense of a story or set of scenes unfolding is especially strong in the first movement, where I find at least eight character changes that require quick tone quality and/or articulation shifts.
    The marvelous opening recitative could not be simpler in interval structure, nor more difficult in execution. Copland’s trademark use of open 4ths and 5ths combined with thirds immediately puts the flutist’s intonation to a rigorous test. Singing and playing the intervals (see Muczynski article, Flute Talk,  October, 2008) is one way to become open and resonant, and it requires listening closely to these pitches. For pitches from middle G and above, use harmonics to find the best embouchure position.

    For example, the pickup to measure 10 leads to an octave B flat. Play the first B flat, and as you go to the octave, finger low E flat while playing the B flat partial above it. The correct lip angle and air speed is necessary to get the right partial. Finger low C for the next G, and so on. The fingering for measures 9-13 is shown below the written notes. Finger the lower note when there are two, but lip up to the upper note. Play this passage and similar ones with harmonic fingerings, then repeat immediately with real fingerings, trying to maintain the same embouchure position, lip angle, and air speed, which should be faster than you might normally use because of the resistance from the fundamental.
    The opening’s expressive aspect might cause you to question this faster air speed, considering the expansive, prairie-like nature of the music, which could be conveyed with a low-resistance sound. However, the air speed produced by the harmonic exercise is the basis for pitch security and core tone. It is quite possible to put more air behind the sound rather than in it. In this case, you will feel more pressure from the air inside, and it will support the tone and pitch. At the end of the recitative section (#2), you should feel that there is air to expel.
    For the opening, it is important to know what kind of tone you want and also how to get it. Some people think in terms of colors, while others use descriptive words such as open, closed, dark, bright, and hollow. The other important observation is the freely, recitative style marking. I have heard few interpretations of this opening that actually gave a sense of freedom and conversational style, which is what the indication means. It is difficult to look at the page, with its clearly marked meter changes and quarter- and half-note values, and move outside those bar lines. It would be easier if the note values were smaller and had more rhythmic activity. Writing out the beginning until #1 with no meter or barlines allows you to see the phrase direction more clearly and pay more attention to the rise and fall of the line.
    Playing opera in Italy early in my career was the best lesson I ever had in learning to interpret music. We had to be fluid and able to adapt phrasing to follow singers who went many places the notes never hinted at. When you do everything in your power to escape from our beat-oriented, literal upbringing of reading music, you will discover how much musical expression comes from stretching, compressing, and suspending the beat.

Metronome Markings
    We often complain that composers are careless or unreasonable with metronome markings, but of the many details in Duo that require attention, tempo markings are at the top of the list. The first movement has six different metronome marks, and they each refer to the character of their respective sections. For instance, the indication at #2 of a dotted-half  = 60 supports the verbal instructions of Much faster (always flowing), with delicacy. Seven bars later at #3, Copland wants players to remove most of the beats and play in one to the bar in order to achieve a flowing quality.

The sudden tempo change at #6 is an almost stilted moment, and 96 is an awkward tempo – neither slow nor fast.

The tendency is to take it too fast, but awkwardness is part of the character of this section, as if a country bumpkin has suddenly entered the scene. At #8 the tempo indication is 84, just 12 notches under the previous 96 section. In a lesser composer, this would seem unnecessarily controlling. With Copland it complements the verbal instructions relax the tempo and with charm. This smooth and lyrical section gathers energy and climaxes at #10 with very fast 32nd-note runs, but Copland reminds us to be soave six bars before #10 and then don’t hurry on the runs themselves.
    At #11 he marks quarter = 112, then changes to dotted half = 60 a few bars later, which means playing three beats to the bar at #11 and accelerating to one to the bar six measures later. It all fits perfectly with the music and, if you feel controlled at all, it is by the hand of a master, who knows exactly what the music is doing and wants to be sure that you do too.

Suggested Exercises
    Embouchure flexibility exercises for the first and third movements, where legato downward intervals are prevalent, are found in the following collections: Soussmann’s 24 Grand Studies (#19), Marcel Bitsch 12 Etudes (#2 and 11), and Andre Maquarre’s Daily Exercises (#2, 3, & 7). Soussmann’s study in E flat is also included in Trevor Wye’s Tone Book, vol. 1. Wye suggests using the beginning of the study very slowly for playing large intervals with a full and rich sound. The original is faster but has the same goal.

    The relatively modern French Bitsch etudes focus on flexible embouchure, #2 specifically for “flexibility of the lips” in a quiet setting and #11 “for intervals” with more meter and rhythmic variation.

    Maquarre’s Daily Exercises employ the conventional interval structure found in Duo without the modern harmonic underlay. Maquarre’s #2 is a good workout in slurred ascending and descending fifths and sixths.

Exercise #7 of Maquarre has descending thirds and sixths with an upward swing that is close to the note groupings at #2 in Duo’s third movement.

Here I think of Copland’s reminder don’t hurry (quarter = 126, after quarter = 138 at the movement’s start) is cautioning players to keep this passage smooth and cool. After the hoedown mood of the beginning, with its pointed articulation and jagged rhythms, the subtle tempo change is difficult to negotiate without exercising emotional control over the legato arpeggiated figures. This is accomplished with technical control of the lip movement (very slight and held primarily in the position of the lowest note of the figure) and an evenly parceled-out airstream.

Movement One
    Attention to articulation marks is also very important in Duo in order to define the character of each section. The first movement is largely legato, but the middle section (#7-10) reveals Copland’s meticulous care in choice of tonguing styles.

At #7 he writes a staccato and accent over every note, but five bars later he removes the dot. At first glance it looks as though we should play these accented phrases the same way, but the context and Copland’s other indications show differently. There has just been a fadeout into #7, which starts off abruptly with very vertical eighths in both flute and piano – a new character entering the scene. The staccato helps to emphasize the disjunct quality of the line. Two bars later, where the staccato has been omitted, Copland asks for ff   vigorous 16ths. While the figure at #7 was static and a bit grotesque, now there is a scale passage with direction and forward energy that is imitated in the piano as well. It makes sense to connect the notes more at this point.
    Between #8 and 10, there are brief articulation changes that represent character switches and should be adhered to.  Heading into #9 after a lyrical section played with charm, Copland returns for a moment to the marcato character of #7. After this interruption of only three bars, he returns to the lyrical style with an instruction of soave. Notice how Copland’s staccato-legato marks evolve into simply staccato three bars before #10, a subtle but clear sign that he wants more energy approaching #10. Whether or not you imagine actual scenes with a cast of characters, it is crucial to absorb each of these subtle markings and realize them in sound and articulation changes that make the section come alive.

Movement Two
    The second movement’s two musical ideas come from an earlier period, as do those for the outer movements. These ideas refer to Copland’s earlier nontonal writing, and from his Piano Quintet of 1950 in particular. Mood and sonorities are starker than in movements one and three, indeed somewhat mournful as the composer writes. Copland’s score details are once again important to help interpret the sparse beginning. The slow tempo and static backdrop of the piano make it difficult to shape the opening melody and maintain the stillness of the scene. Copland urges us to be freely expressive at the outset, and I try to take him at his word in order to move through the phrases; like the opening recitative of movement one, this is another place to try ignoring bar lines and meter. I also find it effective to use a thin sound with no vibrato. At the second bar of #1, where he asks for a warmer tone, putting the vibrato back in highlights the change. He also makes that designation at #8.

    Decisions about tone colors throughout the movement are aided by Copland’s frequent expressive suggestions. According to Copland’s comments on the writing of Duo, he wanted to ask for a “thin tone” at a particular spot in the second movement. At the time, the commissioning flutists evidently warned Copland against ever suggesting that a flutist play with a thin tone! He responded by inserting harmonics after #3. I have used alternate fingerings for the E and C sharp rather than true harmonics, which for me work better to achieve the cold, still moment I hear there. This was a decision I made before hearing the “thin tone” story, and I pass it on as encouragement to listen with open ears and minds in this movement. It is the most difficult of the three to sell and I think benefits from some artistic daring to bring it off.

Movement Three
    Movement three uses primarily short, accented articulations, with the important exception of the legato figure at #2 (and later at #13) discussed earlier. The effect of this section is that of holding the reins in briefly before letting the horses out at full speed again. The emotional control creates an interesting tension between high energy and the strain of pulling back just a little from it, as though going against gravity.
    There are many articulation studies that help strengthen the tongue and coordinate it with the fingers. It is helpful to review basic concepts of single and double tonguing with Trevor Wye’s Practice Book on Articulation, volume 3 page 10 and onward, if you are having trouble with tone and articulation clarity. (See also Muczynski article, Flute Talk, October, 2008.) Melodic Studies 15 and 16 in Moyse’s 24 Little Melodic Studies are also good for double tonguing in the low and middle registers.
    An etude collection that is not well known but quite excellent for intermediate to advanced players is Anne McGinty’s 20 Etudes for Flute. The etudes are contemporary in ideas and harmonies and provide a musical connection to what students today are playing and hearing. The first etude is on double tonguing with a jaunty, Copland-like motive that works on scalar and interval combinations. I highly recommend this collection for its effectiveness, as well as its musically modern and satisfying compositions.

    As with the first movement, take Copland’s tempo and verbal indications seriously here. Though optimistically tonal overall and arriving up a half step to a triumphant E-flat major at the end, the movement’s middle section from #5 to #12 jumps into some of the atonal territory of the second movement, in an exaggerated and pointed articulation of disjunct intervals. The flute and piano banter back and forth, and there is an almost comic tone to this bizarre conversation, particularly if you exaggerate the accented notes as Copland directs. Give the tiniest bit of length to the notes with accent plus tenuto marks.
    At #8 the instructions are more relaxed, and my own preference is to play this passage with longer note lengths, before returning at #9 to the pointillistic style. Again, noting the score’s details helps me understand and play this middle section more effectively than if I barreled though it all loud, hard, and short – as it looks to be at first glance.
    Despite Copland’s mixed feelings about the Duo, some 35 years later, we are grateful for this fascinating compendium of Copland’s popular and starker nontonal styles. While many can play the work, it is still a challenge at the highest level of artistry.

The post Clarity and Elusiveness in Copland’s Duo appeared first on The Instrumentalist.

A Teen-Age Professional
    “When I was 12, there was a second flute opening in the State Concert Band, the one professional organization in Táchira. I decided to try out. They were paying about $1,500 dollars a month, which was an enormous sum then. That summer I started practicing seriously, about six hours a day for the whole summer.
    “The audition was in September. My dad thought it was just a whim and humored me, but then I got the job, and Dad was in shock. After much discussion, he said I could take the job, as long as I used the money for education. I had to move to San Cristóbal where I stayed with cousins.
    “Immediately my life changed. Because I was in the State Concert Band, I became the flute teacher at my dad’s music school. I went to high school until lunch time, when I left for band rehearsals. Then I took a bus to my town to teach in the late afternoon. The next morning the same routine started all over again. On Friday afternoons, I flew to Caracas twice a month for Saturday morning flute lessons with the piccoloist from the symphony. Saturday night I would take a 13-hour bus ride back to San Cristóbal so I could play a concert with the State Concert Band on Sunday night. This schedule lasted for a year. 
    “I think about those days and wonder how I did it. When I was 13, I heard the Cleveland Orchestra in Caracas while I was there for a lesson. At intermission I approached one of the orchestra’s violinists, and we started talking. My English wasn’t very good then, but I told him that I was interested in taking a summer flute course. With no internet such information was difficult to get in Venezuela then. To obtain information you went to the embassy, put in a request, and waited. This man took a liking to me, and a month later, a huge packet full of brochures about summer courses arrived. I was like a kid in a candy store going through everything. I picked one called Summer Music Experience, a high school program for the Cleveland Orchestra. I took a small tape recorder into a practice room and recorded everything I knew, back-to-back on both sides of the tape and just sent the tape.
    “A month later they phoned my home. My mom answered, but she spoke very little English. All she could understand was that they wanted to give me a scholarship. Then a letter arrived. My dad’s response was, ‘No way. My son is not going to the United States at the age of 14.’ I don’t remember this, but my mom says I waged psychological warfare on him. I started taping notes everywhere he went. In the Bible, in the shaving kit, in the bed, on the door, in the car – all saying, ‘Please let me go!’”

High School in the U.S.
    Granados’ father eventually relented, and decided to accompany his son to Cleveland and pick him up at the end of the summer. “On the way there we did some sight-seeing, and at some point,  my Dad happened to sit next to a musician from  the Cleveland orchestra. He asked the man about the orchestra and the principal flutist. The musician idolized Maurice Sharp and said that Sharp was one of the greatest flutists in America and a legend. My dad thought,‘That’s it. He has to study with Maurice Sharp.’”
    During the summer, Granados won the concerto competition, and the camp music director urged him to play for Sharp, who normally only taught graduate students. Sharp agreed to listen to the boy, and after the audition offered Granados a place in his studio. “At age 14, I called to tell my parents that I wasn’t coming home; I was staying in the U.S. to study with Sharp. The camp music director taught at a private school in the winter, and that’s where I went to school. I lived in a dorm and had to learn English. It was a hard transition.”
    Granados finished high school in the U.S., focusing on English and math. “Imagine, living in the U.S. for just three months and taking a literature class, where you read Shakespeare and Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. It was difficult, but it was a good experience.”

College in New York
    After high school, Granados needed to choose a college, but like the rest of his story, his path took many twists and turns. “I wanted to go to Europe and study with Maxence Larrieu, who was teaching in Geneva. I kept trying to contact him and even sent a tape but never received a response. I didn’t prepare to audition anywhere in the U.S., and was subsequently left without anywhere to go. Mr. Sharp was very kind and generous and invited me to come study at the Cleveland Institute, but I had been studying with him and wanted to learn from someone different. I asked him for a letter of recommendation and went to New York without anything lined up there. I arrived in August to find the music schools were already full. I was just 16.”

    He went to Juilliard and asked to audition for entrance, but they told him to forget it. He would have to submit an application in the formal way. At the Manhattan School of Music, Granados pleaded to be heard, played an audition, and was accepted on the spot. “I started my first week of classes at Manhattan and stayed in a dorm across from the Lincoln Center. Called the New York Student Center then, there were rooms for $11 a night. Each night I went over to the Lincoln Center to see if I could get in to hear a concert.

Julius Baker
    “That’s when I met a young flutist from Juilliard, Elizabeth Mann, who is now one of the leading free-lance flutists in New York City. We talked, and she suggested that we get together to play duets. We set a time, and I went to her apartment. We stated to play and were having a good time when the buzzer rang. To my surprise the door opened and in walked Julius Baker. He was a friend of her family and sometimes used her apartment as a resting place when he was in the city.
    “He spoke to me in Spanish and asked me to play something for him. I played a movement of the Khatchuturian Concerto, some Bach, and a Venezuelan folk tune. He looked at me from the couch and asked if I wanted to attend Juilliard. I explained what had happened when I went there.  He picked up the phone in the apartment and called the Dean. He told him that he had a student he wanted to take and he was coming to see him right now. He hung up, said come, and we went over to Juilliard. The next day I was enrolled. The really hard part was telling Manhattan that I wouldn’t be back.” Granados studied with Baker for one year – a time he describes as “possibly one of the most difficult years of my life all alone in that big city.”

Jean-Pierre Rampal
    Granados was also learning some street smarts and musical protocol. “Rampal was doing a series of masterclasses then at the 92nd Street Y. I was so young, and I didn’t know the proper procedures to follow. I just applied to participate in the classes and was accepted. These masterclasses were open to the public and more like concerts than classes. Rampal and I had a lot of chemistry, and playing for him was fun. Unfortunately, a critic from New Yorker magazine was at one of the classes, and he wrote an article about Rampal and me; Baker wasn’t happy. He called me in after reading the article and said, ‘What’s this? Don’t you know that you are supposed to ask permission?’ I apologized but the damage was done. The incident ended my Juilliard study.”

Europe
    Granados went to Europe for a year and worked with Aurele Nicolet. He was then offered a position in the Venezuelan Symphony. “I spent a little over a year as associate principal flute in the Venezuelan Orchestra. I was very young and inexperienced – just 19. When I showed up for the first rehearsal and met the principal, I asked what was being played that week, and he said they were doing Leonore #3 and one of the Beethoven Symphonies. Of course, I assumed that he would be the one to play Leonore, but just before the rehearsal started, he began walking out the door. I asked what was going on. He laughed and replied, “It’s your turn. Go for it.” Right off the bat, I had to learn all of the intricacies of orchestral playing on the job.
    “Unfortunately, that year turned out to be a difficult one, because the orchestra had various political problems that eventually led to a division of the group into two separate orchestras. All of that turmoil pushed me to return to the states to finish my studies. Had it been a more positive experience, I might have just stayed in Venezuela.”
    To finish his college degree, Granados went to the Mannes College of Music in New York, where he studied with Fritz Kraber for two years. When Kraber moved to Texas, the Mannes flute students were offered the opportunity to choose the teacher they would study with. Granados chose Tom Nyfenger.

Tom Nyfenger
    “He really was one of my main teachers. Up until then, I had been a bit lost, bouncing from one teacher to another. Nyfenger was a real genius. In my previous teachers’ estimations, I played well, but I continued to be frustrated with my sound. When I started working with Nyfenger I got a better understanding of how to produce the sounds that I wanted. Although he could be opinionated, Nyfenger was the most open-minded teacher about style that I had. He understood what I was going after and let me try for it. Some of my other teachers would frown if I was playing the lower register too loud or not understand what I was looking for. Nyfenger knew how to direct that.
    “Probably because I was a young player, my practicing was too fast and wild. Nyfenger taught me to practice properly, and he did it in a way that I will always remember. He wanted me to slow everything down, and I remember vividly a lesson on Andersen etudes. It was an etude with lots of 16th-note sextuplets. I started playing – fast – and he let me go through the first page. I thought, ‘Oh, good, I’m going to get to the end,’ but he stopped me and said, ‘Take the repeat.’ Half way through the repeat he exploded, screaming, ‘What is this? You’re playing the same chord wrong. I’m not a policeman of notes. If you don’t do it right, I’m going to find something better to do with my time.’ He was really upset. ‘Play it again, and play it slowly.’ He never told me which chord was wrong; I had to figure it out. I got through the first page, playing it slowly, and finally got to the end.
    “A small picture of Marcel Moyse hung on Nyfenger’s studio wall. Nyfenger walked slowly over to me, and in a split second grabbed me by the shirt, put my face right next to the picture and said, ‘You see – he’s watching us.’ Nyfenger would not accept something that wasn’t up to a certain level. You had to play the right dynamics, the right phrasing, the right notes.”

Teaching
    Granados plays a lot of Latin American music in many various forms, is involved with chamber music, and does some solo work and masterclasses.  While he doesn’t teach much these days, he hopes to have a full-time teaching position at some point. “I love to teach. I know that eventually a full-time position will come. I do a lot of composition workshops with elementary-age school kids in large groups. These are residencies established with a school for several days. I get the children to understand patterns and rhythms, and then they work with various percussion instruments. They divide into small groups and create different rhythmic patterns. At the end of the residency, I compose with everybody’s ideas.”
    When asked if there were any specific teaching experiences that he would like to share he told an incredible story of a workshop in South Africa. “In 2003 I played a concerto with the Johannesburg Philharmonic in South Africa and was very curious about the culture and people. I was particularly interested in finding out what was happening musically in Soweto. After the first or second rehearsal I struck up a conversation with the principal flutist in the orchestra, who worked with Soweto children. She said the need was so great that music teachers couldn’t keep up with the demands. Most of the time they had to turn away children who were begging for lessons.
    “I offered to help, and she arranged for me to teach at three different schools. The first one was an elementary school, and I was shocked to discover dirt classrooms floors. Most of the desks were broken, and the band instruments they had were barely working – many held together with rubber bands. About 80 kids from about 5th grade through high school came, and they were as curious about me as I was about them.
    “We started doing a rhythm workshop that turned into a composition workshop. The class was to last an hour, but when the time was up, they were still to eager to learn. We just kept going, and the workshop turned into a giant jam session, with students taking turns playing solos on various instruments. By the time I looked at my watch, the class had gone well over two hours. As we finished, I noticed that some of the students continued to practice and play. Two of them were about fourth or fifth grade flute players. One of the boys looked a little weak physically, but he was a wonderful musician – he wrote his own songs and improvised. He was a very mature musician for just 10 years old. When I returned to New York, I posted their photos on my web page. About a month later I found out that the weak-looking boy had died of AIDS. Music was the one thing that had kept him going. My experiences working with these young people really reminded me that this is why I play the flute.”

Composing
    Rhythm is at the heart of Marco Granados, both in his performing and compositions. “My life as a composer happened by chance. I had written Hibbie Jibbies as a fun exercise for myself. I was on tour in Montana with a woodwind quintet, when our oboist was hospitalized with food poisoning. There were still two more concerts to play on the tour, so we started scrambling to find music that would work without the oboe player, including some solo works. The presenters agreed that we could play a mixed-repertoire concert rather than quintet literature, and we asked friends in New York to ship music to us. Unfortunately, the program was still too short. Up to that point, I had never played Hibbie Jibbies in public, only by myself as a type of exercise. Out of necessity I played it in that concert, and it was so well received that I wrote it down and began performing it. The next place I played it was at the N.F.A. convention in Orlando, Florida.
    “Composition is a big part of my performing; it emerges out of my improvisations. Although I have been commissioned a few times, including by the National Flute Association, I don’t yet consider myself a full-time composer. Composition has been an outgrowth of playing Venezuelan music. In fact, most of my compositions are based on Venezuelan music. I try to make the connection between what the flute can do and traditional Venezuelan rhythms and traditions.”
    He also makes that connection with Un Mundo, his flute, cello, and piano trio that is dedicated to bringing the passion and energy of Venezuelan music to the world, instilling in young people the love of music, and bridging cultures through classical, folk, and jazzy arrangements. His eyes light up when he talks about Venezuelan music and traditional South American rhythms. “Venezuelan music rhythms are even more complex than other South American traditional rhythms. Cross-rhythms, odd meters, switching meters, and phrasing against the rhythm are sometimes a bit of a challenge for classically trained people. A typical such rhythm is the Merengue, which is in 5/8. It goes pretty fast, 12345, 12345, 12345, and the bass has beats 1 and 4. The flute can often have melodies of all 8th notes, and the downbeats are delayed a little bit.”

Performing
    Granados describes himself as a Jack of All Trades. “Since moving to New York I have gone from playing in the subway to recording studios, from Broadway shows to chamber music. There have been several different phases to my career. There was a time when I mainly freelanced as an orchestral player, then I worked as a Broadway musician for several years. Over the past 10 years, besides concentrating on a solo career, I have been very involved with playing chamber music. I guess I’m sort of a freelancer. I play with many different groups, as well as with the Chamber Music Society at Lincoln Center from time to time.”
    Despite his humility, Granados is much more than a freelancer. He has performed with the Quintet of the Americas and worked with such distinguished artists as Paquito D’Rivera, flutist Ransom Wilson, harpist Nancy Allen, oboist Heinz Holliger, flutist William Bennett, as well as with soprano Renee Fleming and baritone Dwayne Croft. He recently self-produced a new C.D., Music of Venezuela, that has now been taken over by Soundbrush Records, his new label. They offered him a two-record contract, and a second recording is in the works. His previous recordings include Luna, a romantic serenade of songs from Venezuela and South America for flute and guitar, Tango Dreams, a compilation of works by Astor Piazzolla, and Amanecer. His many performance videos are available on YouTube, and his personal web page is.

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Editor’s Note: From time to time, a story about the love of music reminds me that we are not all professional flutists and teachers. Sometimes, we play just because not playing is not an option. Jennifer Hirsch loves to play the flute and has traveled 5 hours round trip twice a month to participate in the Pittsburgh Flute Academy’s professional flute choir. To further her flute playing she decided to create a private place to practice. She completed the project without financing for about $5,000 and a good bit of sweat equity. She spends around 2-4 hours a day practicing in her new studio.

    Throughout my life I have always dreamed of having a private studio, for practice and perhaps, eventually for teaching. A passion for music came from family; my father and his parents were especially talented musicians. My husband and I had a beautiful home designed and built three years ago, and last year we decided to finish an extra storage room that had been roughed out when the masons built the basement.    
    We decided to design the basement storage into a room that would provide spaciousness and privacy to rehearse. The 15′ x 20′ space started out as nothing more than cement block walls with a concrete floor. We had used it during the winter to store apples and potatoes. Because the room was under our outdoor patio, it was completely underground and had a condensation problem. Insulation was the first priority.
    The project began on Memorial Day weekend in 2007. We water-sealed the cement blocks on three of the exterior walls. Next, my husband made framed walls and secured them into the blocked walls. Then a professional insulation team arrived and sprayed foam insulation on the ceiling and walls. This was the only task that we hired done. We did all the rest on weekends and nights after work.
    Drywall was installed and finished with paneling board. We added a drop-ceiling, track lighting, and electrical outlets. Before adding the final trim pieces, my husband and his brother installed a beautiful cherry laminate flooring, which added a finished look to the room.
    Next came the fun part – decorating. I chose a nice couch for guests and family to sit on during performances. A cherry colored electric fireplace was installed for color and heat, and I added a desk for music storage. With an electric keyboard and two music stands, the studio looked quite complete!
    Outside, the music studio opened into the unfinished basement, which was quite an eyesore, so we spent another two months creating an enclosed hallway from the studio to the stairway that leads to the first floor.
    Out of panel boards and 2x4s, my husband created some free-standing faux walls in case we finish more of the basement some day. He did such a great job that you would never know that they are not real. Between the paneled walls, we also added a door to the unfinished side of the basement.
    The final steps were finishing the carpeting, drop-ceiling, and lighting. The project was complete the day before Thanksgiving, just in time to hold a mini-concert after turkey dinner with my family. It was probably one of the most rewarding performances I have ever played. The versatility of the room that we had designed and toiled over proved worthwhile when my family sat, listened to me play, and shared our new space!
    I am confident that as I rehearse in my new finished studio, I will become a better musician day by day.          

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Inhaling
   There are many theories, philosophical, physiological, and even downright weird on the subject. Assume you are standing in front of a bulletin board, or waiting for the bus, or sitting reading a book. When you breathe, do you raise your shoulders? Do you jut out your chin? Do you pull in your tummy (if no one is looking)? Of course not. Breathing for the flute should be similar.
    Actually, the best example of good breathing is a very pleasant one. The next time you yawn (not now, please) observe what happens. The jaw drops, and the throat opens. Cooled by the incoming air, your ears pop indicating a balance of pressure in your eardrums. The shoulders stay low, and the tummy relaxes as you have an impression of fulfillment. It feels so good.
    I would say a cold throat is the most important indication of a good breath, because it means that the throat is not constricted – nothing interferes with the air as it entered the lungs.
    Why is an open throat so important? We will see later its effect on blowing. Breathing, especially for a long apnea,  is a bellows effect. The air that comes in does not, in spite of our perception, inflate the lungs. It is the movements of the rib cage and abdominal wall that create a vacuum. Then, providing there is no obstacle, such as a restricted throat, ambient atmospheric pressure is drawn in by that vacuum. When the atmospheric pressure is low, as in high altitudes, we have more trouble breathing, due to less oxygen content for the same air volume.

Blowing
    Assuming you have taken a proper breath, apnea is only the first step of playing; it is how you release the air that actually produces sound. Holding the breath is not enough. There must be air flow to play. However, the full chest cavity is supported mostly by the abdominal muscles and, to a lesser extent, the chest muscles. If there were no means to release air a little at a time, we would empty like a carnival balloon. We have to find ways to support and control the air flow at the same time. It’s not impossible.
    I adapted a singer’s technique called appogio to control the air release. The abdominal support is tempered, almost countered by the action of the muscles between the ribs (intercostal muscles) and the lower part of the chest, that resist the collapse of the rib cage. Thanks to this technique, there is no need to attempt to modulate the flow of air by restricting the opening of the throat or by modifying the lip position.

Tenuto, Sostenuto, Ritenuto
    Because appogio is specifically vocal (singers do not have to contend with an instrument or an embouchure), I have worked out a flute technique I call T.S.R (Tenuto, Sostenuto, Ritenuto).    Tenuto implies a steady embouchure provided by the stability of the lip plate on the chin through the left arm. Sostenuto is the abdominal support, and Ritenuto is the prevention of the chest’s collapse, as in appogio.
    Air management is a way to use T.S.R. to save air, especially at the start of an apnea. With a full chest of air, it is easy to blow out too much air. Therefore, our job is to not blow, to save air at the start of a long phrase, instead of spending a lot of air at first and ending up short later. We all know that feeling.

How Much Air?
    If you don’t need a huge breath, however, just don’t take one. A strong attack, especially in the flute’s lower range is more focused on a medium-sized breath. A full chest excessively blown often explodes. A delicate attack in the high register is hard to control on a full tank of air. The problem is that sometimes we don’t have the luxury of breathing any old place.
     Young players are often concerned about their breathing, thinking they don’t have enough air. I try to tell them that the culprit is probably their blowing, not their breathing. I used to ask beginners to blow all their air out and then play right away, even for a second. The short result was usually well supported and focused, albeit uncomfortable. We would then focus on the blowing, not the breathing. It’s the old sophism: What came first? The egg or the chicken? Blowing or breathing?

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