The New Tonalist Movement
     Beaser is often cited as a leading figure in the New Tonalist movement, which includes such composers as Lowell Liebermann, Aaron Jay Kernis, and George Tsontakis. These composers can loosely be described as rejecting post W.W. II cryptic and esoteric compositional practices; they synthesize Western musical tradition and tonality with the American vernacular. With standard musical forms present in both the overall arch of the complete work and also in individual movements, coupled with the use of American folk songs, Souvenirs is a perfect example of this ideology.

The Composition
     The genesis of the work took several years and spanned several countries.  Approached about the commission in the late 1990s, Beaser started gathering ideas. “The movement ‘Cindy Redux’ came from the Mountain Songs. Another movement, “Happy Face,” came from my time in Italy. Eliot Fisk gave me these Federico Garcia Lorca folk tunes from Spain, and I remember playing through them, but I lost them and had to reconstruct them in my head; that is where Spain came from. The title referred to a collection of found objects that gradually, through time were all linked together.”
     The sixth movement of the work. “Ground O” (the letter O not zero), is poignant and marked to be played with great space. Beaser lived in New York City on the Upper West Side during the events of September 11, 2001, so this movement is especially personal.  “This is what I wrote immediately after – I started to write, and I didn’t know why – every one has their own story about that day. I lost a very close friend in the collapse of the first building, and I could see the collapse of the second building from my place. This piece captured what I wanted to say.”
     Often Beaser’s music is compared to the work of the American composer Samuel Barber (1910-1981), who composed a four-hand piano work of six movements in 1952 also entitled Souvenirs. This work reflects Barber’s love of the afternoon teas of the Plaza Hotel in New York City and pairs wistfulness with gentle humor. Beaser says about the comparison, “I called it Souvenirs, of course knowing Samuel Barber’s use of the title. Basically, it was in homage to him, but the title is used in a different context, and there is not a direct connection between the music.”
     When asked about writing for piccolo Beaser says, “There is something special about the delicacy of the instrument and the compressed sound of the piccolo against the sound of the piano that I find alluring. I never expected the range that it has – I would never have guessed. I love the piccolo’s low range. It has both vulnerability and power, but I love that vulnerable quality.”
     This juxtaposition of vulnerability and power is at the heart of the work and should be remembered when exploring the character of each movement. “Y2K” and “Ground O” are the most overtly vulnerable, but every movement has flashes of delicacy, elegance, and fluidity. These paired with the powerful and agitated sections of “Spain,” “Cindy Redux,” and “Lily Monroe” create a masterful work that is varied and richly textured.
     Viewing himself as a green composer of sorts, Beaser reuses material often in a variety of compositions. He has transcribed Souvenirs for clarinet and piano, and it was recently performed on tour by pianist Emanuel Ax and clarinetist Richard Stoltzman. Along with the clarinet transcription, Beaser has also reworked the piece for string orchestra and called it Folk Songs.
     With the flute and guitar work Mountain Songs, Beaser provided options for movement extraction to maintain a certain level of control over the piece. In Souvenirs, the work can be re-arranged for certain concert situations, although the composer would much rather the work be presented in totality. If you must leave something out, Beaser prefers it to be structured similar to Folk Songs. The order is: Lily Monroe, Y2K, Happy Face, Ground O, and Cindy Redux. This reflects a distinct reordering of movements and the longest and most difficult movement, Spain, is omitted.
     When first approaching Souvenirs, there are a few things you can do to create a successful performance. There is a tendency to play the first movement’s opening a bit too softly in comparison to the texture of the piano part. The sound should have a dense and focused quality. If you do not project a little more than the marked piano dynamic, the piccolo sounds shy and has a tendency to be swallowed up.
     In the Helicon edition, there is a missing slur over the septuplet in measure 30. Find a balance between charm and conservatism in “Lily Monroe” and “Cindy Redux.” Beaser provides specific articulation markings that help classically-trained piccoloists to embrace the folk elements. In order for the movements to be truly effective, performers should internalize the style and let go of their inhibitions.
     The first half of “Cindy Redux” repeats the troublesome note, second-octave C#, frequently. It blends better and is more in tune on most piccolos with the fingering 23    234. In “Ground O” strive to match the timbre of the notes outlining the large leaps to achieve a homogenous sound.     
     To date, there is only one commercially available recording of the work, and it was released late in 2008 – American Reflections by piccoloist Leonard Garrison, and pianist Jonathan Sokasits. (TROY 1062) Another recording, Art of the Piccolo, by Mary Karen Clardy, piccolo and Pamela Mia Paul, piano, will be available in the future (Encore Performance Recording 2526). Reflecting on the composition, Jan Gippo said, “Beaser put his best effort into it, and the result is we have a wonderful piece to play. It is just good music.”

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What makes a good flute piece?
    Several composers said that what is true of good music for any instrument or ensemble is also true for flute. Crumb stated that a good piece of music is “well-conceived, projects, makes the instrument shine,” and “brings out the potential of the instrument in achieving the overall musical conception.” Several agreed that a good piece showcases the strengths and particular voice of the instrument.
     Flutist and composer Higdon has written numerous excellent flute works, including Autumn Reflection, which I had the pleasure of premiering. She says that it is important that “the music written fits the instrument and isn’t awkward to perform (which is different than being challenging)…the most important aspect of a good piece in general is that it’s interesting to listen to.”
     Hoover, well-known for many solo and chamber pieces, thinks a good flute piece is “one that allows the instrument to speak, and has something interesting to tell the audience.”

Important Elements
     Some composers noted specific aspects that are crucial for a good flute pieces. Maggio says that “a key element is understanding breathing and registral color.”
Krantz, guitarist and Temple University professor, considers it “important to write in a range that lets the flute be heard without strain,” and that “the natural agility of the flute should be served in some way.” He has written several flute and guitar works and recently did a flute and guitar arrangement of his guitar Sonata that we premiered and recorded. Our Metal and Wood Band (flute, guitar, viola, and double bass) recently premiered and performed his Metal and Wood.
    Dorff, a Philadelphia-based composer and Director of Publications at Theodore Presser, notes that while the concept of a good piece is subjective, flutists should “want to play it. The Bach Partita and other such solo pieces may present breathing problems, but the challenges are enticing and the music’s quality is well worth the effort.”

Influences
    Most thought that studying the canon of repertoire should be part of every composer’s training. Listening to existing works, according to Higdon, gives composers “familiarity with what the highs and lows of the range sound like, and how to balance the instrument against other instruments. It’s also a good way to look at technical limitations, such as how an instrument handles leaps, articulations, and tempi.”
     Gill admitted, “If a particular passage in the flute repertoire catches my fancy, I won’t hesitate to emulate it or steal it outright, but I don’t listen to the repertoire hoping to find such things.” Indeed, a passage in his Parabasis shares a connection to a passage in Dutilleux’s Sonatine, an influence Jeremy confirmed when I asked him about it.
     Maggio listens voraciously to the repertoire of the instrument or ensemble he composes for, saying he is “always inspired by the flute repertoire; it’s incredibly varied and rich.” Hoover considers listening to an instrument’s repertoire to be an important part of her research, and says that “the flute literature actually pushed me into writing, as I was oversaturated in it and wanted something new.”
    Boston-based composer Dianne Goolkasian Rahbee refers to great pieces in the repertoire for inspiration. She wrote Bagatelles for flute and piano for me when I was nine years old. I recently premiered her Sonata for Flute and Piano and a flute concerto is in progress.
    Some composers, such as Boyle and Dorff, pointed out potential drawbacks of studying the repertoire. Dorff credits experiences studying each instrument and listening to friends practice as more important than listening to the repertoire. For Higdon, “being a former flutist, I tend not to do this when writing for the flute, as I know so much of the repertoire.” She does study the repertoire of other instruments.
    When asked what flute piece or moment in an orchestra or chamber work with flute they found the most beautiful, effective, or original, the broad range of responses provided a unique insight into their approaches to the instrument. Several types of flute music figured prominently, such as music by Mozart, Debussy, Ravel, and later French composers. Some composers said there are so many special flute moments they found it difficult to single out one specific example.
    Crumb is interested in how the flute came into its own in the 20th century after a period of neglect. “When music exploded in the late-19th century, the flute was well-suited to what it was called upon to do,” he says, citing how Debussy’s Syrinx and Varèse’s Density 21.5 made the flute function as an unaccompanied instrument, exploring “a wide range of colors” and paving the way for later generations of composers. He quoted Syrinx in his Idylls for the Misbegotten.
    For Crumb, the solo in Brahms’ Symphony #4 “is a striking example of flute music of a certain mode. In orchestral music Stravinsky used the flute, and more so the clarinet and bassoon, in a particularly imaginative way. French composers were also very important as an example for me.” Other standouts include the opening of Debussy’s Afternoon of a Faun, Bartok’s flute writing, and the solo in Tchaikovsky’s B-flat minor piano concerto. Of the last he said, “No other instrument could achieve its precise emotional coloration. The flute is perfectly used in the composite sound, with strings.”
      Cacioppo, a composer, pianist, and professor at Haverford College, is captivated by “the quality of ascent that the instrument conveys, of liberation from heavy burdens, of clarity and flight, as in the G-major solo at bar 329 in [Beethoven’s] Leonora Overture # 3, or the “et incarnates est” solo in the Missa Solemnis. Once one has heard the intimacy, mystery, and consolation of its low register, as in the Canzone of Barber’s Piano Concerto, it can speak powerfully too, especially when coupled with piccolo – think of nine bars before the end of the Beethoven 9th Symphony first movement or in the storm section of the Pastorale Symphony.
    “Brahms recognizes the pathos it can express in the solo variation in the last movement of the 4th Symphony, [and Bach’s] 5th Brandenburg (for the transparency of the outer movements and the poignancy of the 2nd.) I always marvel at what the flute adds to the B-natural appoggiatura in the last bar of the St. Matthew Passion.”

Idiomatic Writing
    Instrumentalists evaluate whether a composer has written idiomatically for their instrument, so I asked composers whether they think in these terms while writing, and whether they purposely push technical boundaries. Dorff and Maggio initially write music they want to hear, later evaluating it for awkwardness. The flutists in the group, Higdon and Hoover, responded that they automatically consider idiomatic issues. Higdon said she loves pushing boundaries on purpose, as she did in Rapid Fire for solo flute, and Gill also consciously explores new sounds. Dorff, Maggio, and Hoover tend not to push technical boundaries on purpose, but think of technical effects as the result of decisions about the musical content.

Extended Techniques
    When asked about the most effective uses of extended techniques,  Hoover voiced a conviction shared by several of the composers, that they are most effective “when these techniques are a seamless part of the music.” Higdon agrees that extended techniques must be demanded by the music, “not for the sake of just using extended techniques.”
    Dorff pointed out that flutter tonguing was shocking when Ravel and Mahler employed it but is hardly considered an extended technique today. Crumb, Gill, and Maggio credited Density 21.5 for its important early usage of extended techniques. Crumb described the repertoire of extended techniques in great detail, noting that he originated the speakflute technique he used in Vox Balaenae (Voice of the Whale), and how he has also absorbed techniques from flutists such as Robert Aitken and Sue Ann Kahn. Crumb is well-known for his pioneering use of extended techniques in his flute works, a lead many other composers have followed.

Piccolo and Flute Comparisons
    Crumb pointed out that the piccolo has a “unique range and coloration” of its own, as does each member of the flute family. Dorff is surprised that a large piccolo repertoire does not exist because he finds the instrument rich in technical and expressive possibilities. Several composers analyzed the colors of different ranges of the piccolo. Maggio is particularly interested in the piccolo’s low range and its ability to be heard at the top in orchestra or concert band textures. Krantz is “attracted to the lyric, Japanese side of the piccolo” in its lower range.

Feedback from Flutists
    Almost all of the composers value input from the performers who play their music, especially advice on awkward passages, technical problems, and phrase lengths for breathing purposes. Crumb, with his characteristic humility, described how “every composer has second thoughts. [The piece] either works or it doesn’t work. You can hear if it is impracticable or not idiomatic. When you’re composing it is internal, even when you play things on the piano. Go to rehearsal and it is externalized, like a listener hearing it for the first time. Then you either change it or if it’s a colossal failure, throw it away.” 

Writing for a Specific Performer
    I asked whether writing for a specific flutist affected the final outcome, and Dorff noted that he drew on aspects of my playing when he wrote Nocturne Caprice for me. The personality of the performer deeply affects Rahbee’s music. The influence “is not necessarily deliberate, but somehow is subconsciously integrated into the music.” Boyle is one of the composers who most takes the individual performer into account, spending “a great deal of time studying their sound before writing the first pitch.” Maggio compared the process to “the way a playwright or a screenwriter might write a part differently if they knew who was going to play a particular role.”

The Flute’s Voice
    Composer Shulamit Ran has said that she strives in her music to capture the soul of every instrument. When asked to describe the soul of the flute, Rorem said that “song is the basis for all music,” and “flute music is song with the voice removed; with the flute as the voice.” For Higdon, it is “beautiful, like a river, always changing in sound and flow.” Krantz averred, “the essence of the flute is lyric sunshine, but in the hands of a great player there is much more, including the noir of tango. I’ve come to love the lowest dark notes.”
    I am grateful to my composer friends for their thoughtful and illuminating answers to my questions. They have all enriched our repertoire with their music. As flutists it is important that we study, perform, and commission new works in order to contribute to the repertoire and create an important legacy for our instrument. I am certain that Curt Cacioppo speaks for all of us when he expressed so simply and pointedly, “life without the flute would be unimaginable.”

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Italy and the Commedia Dell’Arte
    Sicilienne and Burlesque follows the French contest-piece formula of a slow, lyrical opening followed by a fast and virtuosic section. Rather than using a common title, such as Fantasy, or two tempo-related markings (e.g. Andante and Scherzo), Casella used Italian forms to distinguish himself from his Paris colleagues. The siciliana/siciliano was a slow pastoral dance in 6/8, 9/8, or 12/8, characterized by the lilting dotted rhythm we see in the opening bars of the piece.
Starting innocently enough, the lilt escalates quickly into a powerful climb up to high B in the third line. This outburst at the top end of the scale is more reminiscent of Jolivet and Dutilleux, writing some 30 years later, than of Casella’s peers, such as Gaubert, Enesco, or Faure. The same can be said of the cascading section on the second page. Even without considering the somewhat dark and unsettling piano writing underneath, this Sicilienne goes far beyond its Italian origins in mood and beyond the Paris Conservatoire’s typical treatment of range and dynamics for competition pieces.
    The burlesca is an Italian form that goes back to at least the 17th century and is related to the commedia dell’arte, a uniquely Italian brand of theater originating in the 16th century. The plays featured stock characters and parodies of serious universal themes (e.g. love, age vs. youth) that are changed into outlandish and distorted versions of themselves. In music, the burlesque became popular somewhat later; it too used both serious and comic elements that were juxtaposed to result in a skewed and grotesque effect. As with the Sicilienne, Casella’s Burlesque delves into an emotional realm quite outside the contemporaneous flute repertoire’s Romanticism and Impressionism. We see this superficially on the page with dynamics routinely reaching double and triple forte and increasingly agitated Italian phrases during the movement: allegramente, brillante e con fuoco, scherzando giocoso, con forza, stridente, sempre piu vivace, con bravura, stringendo sempre piu.

The French Connection
    Casella’s debt to Faure and his admiration for Ravel showed in his music throughout his career. During most of his sojurn in Paris, Casella’s music was clearly full of the French Impressionists’ style, and the early Barcarola e Scherzo (1903) for flute and piano fits naturally into the melodic and harmonic molds of our best-known French collection, Moyse’s Flute Music by French Composers.
    The fact that Sicilienne and Burlesque is still part of the French style but significantly altered by Stravinsky’s influence presents a performance challenge for flutists: How much Ravel and Faure do we hear, and how much Petroushka and the eerie beginning of Rite? The very opening piano solo, for instance, is reminiscent of the bassoon solo that begins Stravinsky’s latter work. Without the piano, the flute’s first couple of entrances appear to be the typical siciliano pastoral mood; with piano, the tone takes on a murkier quality that lends uncertainty, a heavy suspense, to the languido e dolce that Casella asks for.
    As the movement progresses, we are surprised again and again by harmonies that underlie the flute part, particularly in places where expressive directions and melodic figures suggest something quite different on the page. For example, on line 6 of the first page, the flute’s D-flat entrance is marked pp espressivo with a broad crescendo to the middle of the phrase, then back down to begin a section that breaks into a light and capricious figure (end of line 7 into 8). If this passage were, say, Taffanel’s, the D flat would likely be part of a D-flat or A-flat harmony, and the low Fs three and four bars later might represent F minor.
    The entire passage from line 6 through line 8 strongly suggests A-flat major/F minor and D-flat major/B-flat  minor. When the piano enters, however,  anything remotely suggesting tonality is obliterated. In fact, the only link between piano and flute is the piano’s undulating rhythms of the siciliano, which persist throughout the section. So the flute’s high D flat actually enters as a pale, unearthly dissonance to what is happening below. We must find a tone color to match this mood, not the one we might want to hear in our heads from Taffanel.
    For a brief moment, the harmonies on the second page, line 1 and into 2, suggest a Ravel-like lushness – even a trace of Hollywood – that match the intent of the flute line. But as soon as we reach the trills and cascades of runs, the piano reverts to stark parallel intervals used for driving the flute forward with tense energy. With more traditional French writing, this would be a moment to stretch the tempo and shape the runs. Here we feel no room to relax and instead must propel forward to the high F in line 3 (largamente), which should be an arrival but is in fact a higher level of tension. Casella confirms this by saying senza dim. as the line falls, sempre molto f as we go into the capricious figure from page 1, and senza Rall. at the final bar of the section – a written-out rallentando by way of increasing note values. Clearly, Casella wants the flutist to maintain high tension and discipline to the end.
    We need less beauty and more power, a sound closer to Jolivet’s Chant de Linos than to any of Casella’s contemporaries who wrote flute chamber music. The orchestral Ravel of Bolero and La Valse and the large scores of Stravinsky come closest to conveying the scope of tone colors flutists should seek in this work. The end of Sicilienne dissolves to a haunting low register in the flute, made strange and without repose because the piano’s chords have nothing to do with the D-flat minor triad that is the flute’s sole material. Notice that Casella again writes in a rallentando in the last line by increasing note values; he does not want to give  any expressive leeway even at the close. He finally drops down a half-step to C, which suggests the F minor connection in preparation for the F major coming up in the Burlesque.

France, Russia and Musical Cubism
     Casella has been referred to as a musical cubist during the period in which he wrote Sicilienne and Burlesque. Cubism is thought of primarily as a movement in visual art, with Picasso being its most famous representative.
A painting most musicians know is his Three Musicians, where we see three individuals playing instruments who are both interlocked and fragmented by geometric shapes. With cubism, the artist shows us many different angles or perspectives from which to view the work, rather than a linear and clear picture which the artist has imposed. In music, cubism exists when the composer presents a typical or expected form and manipulates it so that the listener is made to hear the work from several different and often conflicting points of view. This is exactly what Casella has done with Sicilienne and Burlesque: he has taken the familiar French Conservatory test piece and imbued it with the extreme expressionism of Stravinsky and the Ravel’s La Valse.
     The Burlesque, as mentioned earlier, is a musical form that exaggerates character and accentuates the bizarre. The flute writing features lots of marcato and staccato passages, along with exaggerated dynamics and abrupt shifts from aggressive to playful moods. The piano has brassy sounding chord clusters moving up or down in parallel motion, as well as high-register riffs sounding like top woodwinds that recall the opening market scene from Petroushka. There is also a more sinister-sounding, half-step theme in the piano’s low register that precedes the bravura staccato flute passages on pages 4 and 6.
The movement begins and ends solidly in F major and follows through with key changes when the main melody modulates (e.g. page 3, line 7: D-flat major; page 5, line 10: D major). The playful scherzando, giocoso theme also lands on key centers (page 3, line 8: C major; page 6, line 2: F major). In between these “French” areas, however, the listener is immersed in the more intense sound world of Stravinsky, which is represented in the piano’s clusters, riffs and growling bass motives.
     Beginning with page 3, line 9, the piano sets up a low drum-like beat that goes to the last measure on page 4, line 4; the statements of the initial theme by the flute in this section have no harmonic basis, and the drum beat below changes the theme’s character to suspenseful and ominous. You  may want to alter your sound to dark and hollow, with perhaps a more brittle articulation. These are options each player should address as the piano score becomes more familiar. Knowledge of the piano part in a duo work is always mandatory to create the most convincing performance. In this work the need to know the piano score is especially critical, given the combination of styles and perspectives that Casella presents.
     From page 4 through the final return of the main theme (Giocoso) on page 5, the piano allows no tonal foundation. The pace becomes increasingly frenetic, and if you adhere to Casella’s markings starting with the first triple forte at the bottom of page 4 to Giocoso on page 5, the sound and articulation must keep intensifying all the way through. The only moments in the Burlesque that are not intense – the playful theme on pages 3 and 6 –  should be performed with as much dynamic and textural contrast as you can muster. Playing this motive light and dry, thinking tongue in cheek, will add the bizarre edge to the music coming before and afterwards that Casella had in mind.

The Etudes
     Finding etudes that address the technical problems of Sicilienne and Burlesque along with Casella’s heightened emotional demands was a challenge. Sigfrid Karg-Elert’s 30 Caprices, Op. 107 were written precisely during Casella’s  compositional period, and they come from the same highly charged expressive world.  
     In Karg-Elert’s own words, from the Introduction to his Caprices:

     “The 30 Caprices originated from the urgent need of forming a connecting link between the existing educational literature and the unusually complicated parts of modern orchestral works by Richard     Strauss, Mahler, Bruckner, Reger, Pfitzner, Schillings, Schoenberg, Korngold, Schreker, Scriabin, and Stravinsky; . . .The Caprices explore new and untrodden paths in technique; a technique which may be required from one day to another in some new impressionistic or expressionistic work.”

     Number 16, un poco mosso, umoristico, is helpful for the scherzando passages in both movements.  Execute all the carrot accents in this etude, and you will have the context for Casella’s biting humor.       
     Number 20, Ardito, capriccioso ed assai mosso, is terrific for work on extreme and sudden character changes.
     Most of the Italian terms are common or easy cognates (e.g. malizioso, umoristico). One you may have trouble with is loquace, which means loquacious or talkative. How to put this character into the music is a fascinating problem. You might think about a recitative kind of style, which allows for some rubato in the line. Whatever you decide, exaggerate the various characters to the fullest.
     There are two Bach Studies that I find very effective support for several technical passages in Burlesque. Lines 2 and 3 on page 3, and the bottom of page 4 look surprisingly similar to Bach’s writing, as do the staccato bravura passages on pages 4 and 6. Etude #12, Prelude (for pages 3 and 4), and #24, Presto (for pages 4 and 6), are both from solo violin partitas and demand a more forceful or high-energy sound and articulations approximating a violin. To play with this style through both etudes is exhausting and will definitely build embouchure endurance. Using transcriptions you will reach further than you would with one of Bach’s flute sonatas to play a kind of heightened Baroque that will take you closer to Casella’s music. If you think about playing his passages with the even, strong sound and finger technique, and the drive of Bach, you are well equipped to dig into Burlesque with great command of its technique and compelling tone throughout. 
     For the passages that modulate quickly with the same material or are stated in multiple keys (such as Burlesque’s main theme and section at the top of page 5, lines 1-3), Geoffrey Gilbert’s Sequences are helpful. In particular, #8 has some of the same contour of line as Casella’s passage on page 5, and it moves faster than other examples in the collection.  Play it as fast as possible and slur everything if you want to simulate the passage in Casella.
     The last two etudes come from contrasting periods, but both help improve staccato articulation with uneven or widening intervals. One is from Donjon’s 8 Etudes de Salon, which is found in The Modern Flutist. Called Le Tambour [The Drum], its outer sections are a vigorous workout in broken chords that are marked (rather uncharacteristically) fortissimo. The other etude is #3, Pour le staccato from Douze Etudes by Marcel Bitsch. This etude is wonderful for acquiring great embouchure flexibility while maintaining an even staccato.
     At a time when our flute repertoire was firmly rooted in late-Romantic and early-Impressionist styles, Sicilienne and Burlesque offers a taste of the emerging Expressionist (using melodic or harmonic manipulation for expressive effect) manner. Casella’s multifaceted technique, which presented essences of the older styles at the same time as the new, offers us a true musical prism and a unique performing challenge. Sicilienne and Burlesque stood (and still stands) alone in our French concour pieces as a unique representative of its turbulent time. 

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Oxygen and Carbon Dioxide
     Breathing is the most natural thing we do. The Merck Manual of Medical Information reports that “breathing is usually automatic, controlled subconsciously by the respiratory center at the base of the brain. The brain and the small sensory organs in the aorta and carotid arteries sense when the oxygen levels are too low or the carbon dioxide levels are too high, and then increase the speed and depth of breathing.”

Nose and Mouth
     Breathing begins as we take air in through the nose and mouth. The air passes down the pharynx (part of the neck and throat just behind the mouth and nasal cavity). The pharynx is also used as the passageway for food. The air passes through the larynx or voice box. The entrance of the voice box is covered by the epiglottis, which closes when we swallow, channeling the food to pass into the stomach rather than into the lungs.
     As you face forward, the position of the trachea (wind pipe), esophagus (tube through which food passes), and spine in the neck may be remembered in alphabetical order: A for air, F for food, and S for spine. Knowing that the air passage is just under the skin in the front of the neck helps many musicians breathe more naturally and with less tension when they play.
 
Voice Box and Trachea
     From the larynx the air travels through the trachea and branches into the lungs through the bronchi. Inside the lungs the bronchi divide many times before evolving into even smaller airways called the bronchioles. At the end of each bronchiole are dozens of air-filled cavities called the alveoli. Each lung has millions of alveoli, and each alveoli is surrounded by capillaries. The thin walls of the alveoli allow for an easy exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide in the blood of the capillaries.

The Rib Cage
     The lungs and other organs in the chest are protected by a bony cage that is formed by the spine, ribs, and sternum. Each pair of ribs is joined in back at the spine’s vertebrae. In the front, the upper seven pairs of ribs are connected to the sternum by the costal cartilages. Ribs numbered 8, 9, and 10 join with the cartilage of the rib pair above, and the last two rib pairs are called “floating” ribs because they do not join in the front. Most flutists are surprised to learn that the top of the lungs is slightly above the collarbone, and the bottom of the lungs is near the floating ribs.
     To explore how the ribs expand, try these body positions. First, hug yourself with both arms and breathe.  Notice the expansion in your back.  Now, lift your sternum (breast bone) with your shoulders back and breathe.  Is there still expansion in your back? Squat with the right knee touching your chest and the left leg stretched out behind you. Notice the expansion of the lungs to the left side of your chest wall. Explore these and other positions while watching yourself breathe in a mirror.

Intercostal Muscles and Diaphragm
     The intercostal muscles are between the ribs. They help to move the rib cage and assist in breathing. However, the most important breathing muscle is the diaphragm. The diaphragm is a bell-shaped sheet of muscle that separates the lungs from the abdomen. It is attached to the base of the sternum, the lower parts of the rib cage, and the spine. As the diaphragm contracts, it moves down, allowing the chest cavity’s size to increase. This added space reduces the air pressure in the chest. Air then rushes into the lungs to equalize the pressure. The diaphragm then relaxes and moves up. Then the chest cavity contracts and the air pressure in the lungs is increased.
     Remember the quotation from the Merck Manual – “breathing is usually automatic, controlled subconsciously by the respiratory center at the base of the brain.” You can not voluntarily move the diaphragm. It is an involuntarily muscle.
     In managing the air to play the flute, remember that the brain is your best friend. When you run uphill, the brain tells the body to go into panting mode. You do not say, “Ok body, I am going to run uphill. Please increase my breathing speed.” When you recline, the brain tells the body to go into sleep mode. It is all so simple. We inhale. We exhale. The speed of the breath is taken care of subconsciously in the magnificent human brain. So, when playing the flute, let the brain help you organize your breathing.
     One of the tenets of tubist Arnold Jacob was to sing a phrase in your head the way that you want to play it and then let your brain provide the air to do so. Joseph Mariano, the legendary Eastman School of Music flute professor called this “playing on the air.”
   
Panting Is Your Friend
     For years we have heard teachers tell students to “Open your throat.” Most students don’t have a clue what this means. What we should be saying is “Open your larynx or voice box.” You can teach this quite simply by asking students to pant. Notice that when you pant, the vocal folds are separated on the inhale and the exhale. This is the position they should be in when you play. So, abandon the words “open your throat” and now say “separate your vocal folds.”

Vocal Folds and Vibrato
     Vibrato is produced as the vocal folds open and close on the exhalation of a breath. In order to explore a controlled opening and partial closing of the vocal folds, play hah, hah, hah very staccato and quietly on a third-line B. The initial H sound opens or separates the vocal folds (the top of the vibrato cycle), and the silence in the separation of the staccato (between each hah) produces a minor closing of the folds (the bottom of vibrato cycle). After students can play four staccato hahs at quarter = 60, then ask them to slur the hahs. This provides a basic vibrato.

Shocking 
     Some of my students have been told that they were breathing incorrectly in masterclasses with other teachers. My response is: If you are breathing incorrectly, why are you still alive? This remark always produces a smile or giggle followed by a very serious look. Then I know that they are ready for a lesson about how to organize breath.

Getting Started
     Generally the pure act of breathing is not the problem in flute playing. The problem is organizing the air so that you can reach your musical goals.  When the body is at rest, breathing may slow to 15 breaths per minute, but during flute playing you may breathe only 3-5 times a minute. This very slow breathing speed is why we have trouble controlling air use first thing in the day.
     Try picking up your flute without warming up and play a long pianissimo note with a tuner. The first thing you notice is that you can’t keep the needle on the tuner still. Your brain is still trying to figure out what you are going to do. Once the brain realizes you are going to play the flute now, you will be able to play that perfect long note.
     Many flutists also have trouble controlling the first notes of a concert because of nerves. Don Greene, a performance coach at Juilliard, suggests that musicians run up a flight of stairs to produce a fast breathing rate and then immediately pick up their instrument to play a long note. At first, students have bouncing bows or uneven air, but once they can control the bow or air, auditioning and performing become easier in the future.
 
Alignment
     Notice that I used the word alignment rather than posture. Most of us have an incorrect idea of what correct posture is. This usually includes shoulders held back too far and a head and sternum that are raised too high. A physical therapist once told my father to stack it up, and he did. His alignment was much more accurate than if she had used the “P” word. A good message to remember is:

Balance the head on the spine (a small nod will show you the balance point), shoulders over hips, and hips over ankles.

Good alignment helps us manage the breath as well.

Some Tricks for Air Use
1. Think of the breathing cycle as out and in rather than in and out.

2. Before beginning a long musical passage, exhale all your air and wait several counts before inhaling. The breath that you take will be of much better use to you in playing a musical line.

3. Breathe more often. When we play on long breaths, the brain and the small sensory organs in the aorta and carotid arteries begin to sense an imbalance of oxygen and carbon dioxide at the end of the phrase. The brain wants us to breathe to restore this balance. This feeling of needing to breathe produces some tension in the voice box. This tension will change the quality of the sound and perhaps even the pitch quality. This is why many musicians think the sound is better when we play on frequent short breaths. Breathe more often and breathe musically.  

4. Double breaths are some times useful in places like the opening of Mozart’s Flute Concerto in D, K. 314. As you count the opening measures that the piano/orchestra plays, choose the measure in which to exhale, allowing enough time to wait several counts before inhaling. Then, just before you enter, inhale again with a catch breath, which will be the second breath you take before playing that first note. This breathing trick helps us get through the four measures of tied whole notes in one breath.

5. Most flutists use just enough air to make the flute sound, but when you use a bit more, so that air is consciously exhaled and you can feel an airstream in front of you, you produce a better sound. Be sure that you always exhale air when you play. Practicing with the headjoint and a child’s pinwheel helps. I can make a wonderful sound and keep the pinwheel still, but if I make the pinwheel spin, the projection and the tone is actually better. It is the same as projecting the air to a spot at the back of a concert hall wall. This is how we get the air out and moving. The more you move the air stream out and away, the longer it will last. Always think about playing on the exhale and not on just the available air in your body. When swimming and blowing bubbles out, think about how you can bring this concept to your flute playing.

6. Play a series of off-beat eight notes.  Learn to play them with a breath in between each note while opening the mouth like a guppy. This exercise also relaxes the aperture and embouchure. While maintaining the embouchure, play the off-beats with a breath after each set of eight beats, but stop the sound between the eighths with your vocal folds.  This type of breathing is called “conversational air” because it is similar to the breathing you do when responding “Yes” when your name is called. We don’t stop and take in air before replying in such a situation, but speak on available air.

7. In Yoga, one-nostril breathing is taught to achieve balance and relaxation. Close one nostril with your finger tip and breathe naturally a dozen or more times. Then close the opposite nostril and breathe a dozen or more times. Then breathe regularly with both nostrils. Most people find that a more balanced breath is possible after doing this exercise.

8. I am not fond of commercial breathing bags. My main criticism is the shape that your embouchure is in when working with the bag. (The bag is held in the lips and the jaw hangs much lower than it does when playing a flute.) Holding your mouth in this position is not like the embouchure position and aperture used when playing the flute. While the larynx is the first control of the amount of air released when playing, the aperture controls the angle of the air and the final size of the air stream. I think it is better to place a twist and tie bag on the end of the headjoint and practice breathing exericses on the headjoint, where the aperture and jaw placement are more consistent with proper flute playing. Good exercises to do with the twist and tie bag include watching the bag fill when you play a long breath and watching the bag bounce evenly when you vibrate or double/triple tongue

9. Take in only the amount of air required for the specific passage or note. If you find that you have too much air, release some air through your nose and/or mouth before starting to play.

10. Some musicians only expand the abdomen when inhaling and then tighten the abdomen when playing. To learn how much tension should be in the abdominal region, sit in a chair and practice with your legs stuck straight out in front of you. Remember that breathing is an out and in cycle, so the abdomen should have some small movement.

11. Think about how you would use air if you were going to move a heavy object such as a piano. Notice that you will have the abdomen out while blowing out, which is the exact opposite of the breathing in the previous paragraph. I have found that some passages, especially ones that are super soft, are better controlled when pushing the abdomen out rather than pulling it in.

     Note this list of breathing tricks in your practice diary. As you discover more solutions to efficient breathing, write them down. This will help you develop your bag of tricks so that when you perform, your breathing seems effortless and expressive. 

We are Green
     To sum up this discussion, we play the flute by first inhaling. The air is taken into the lungs where the brain balances the supply of oxygen and carbon dioxide. On the exhale, as the air passes through the vocal folds, the opening and semi-closing of the vocal folds creates the shape and speed of vibrato. The air then passes through the lips and is snagged by the outer edge of the embouchure hole. The tone is created. And, best yet, the beautiful sounds and music that are created are made with recycled air.

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On To Juilliard
When asked whether she experienced any problems entering a doctoral program at such a young age, she replied, “It was hard because I was faced with getting used to living in New York by myself. The doctoral classes at Juilliard are small.  Mine had just nine students in it, and seven of those nine had done their masters’ degrees at Juilliard, so they were already used to the environs. I was the youngest in the class by three years. The other students my age were juniors and seniors in the undergraduate program, so I felt like I didn’t belong. Things have worked out so well for me, however, that I wouldn’t change a thing.”

At Juilliard with Carol Wincenc
     “The flute faculty at that time included Jeanne  Baxtresser, Julius Baker, Carol Wincenc, and Samuel Baron. I worked with all of them a little bit, but I chose Carol because I was interested in solo and chamber music. At an early age I knew that I wanted to communicate more directly with the audience, and Carol has done such a great job of that with her career. She has been an amazing, positive mentor. I have never heard her say anything negative about other flute players and really admire that.”

The French Connection
     Clayton had touched base with the French School in high school while studying with Bauman, and later with Michel Debost for two years at Oberlin. “I think working with him got me interested in French music. At Juilliard I chose “The French Flute Sonata and Sonatine from Debussy (1915) to Boulez (1946)” as a dissertation topic – an interesting time span because it encompassed the interwar period. Debussy wrote the Sonata for Flute, Harp, and Viola (1915) late in his life, and Boulez wrote his Sonatine for Flute and Piano (1946) very early in his career. My doctoral advisor was Philip Lasser, who is a half French composer who studied with Nadia Boulanger just before she died. He continued on with Boulanger’s closest disciple, Narcis Bonet.” Years later Clayton’s doctoral work with Glasser would play a major role in her chamber music career.

Going Home to Teach
     Teaching, like everything else in her life, began at an extremely early age. “I’ve always loved teaching, although when I was young I didn’t plan to be a college professor. I just wanted to play the flute.
“I got my first flute on May 28, 1984 and wrote about it in my journal. My two best friends – one in the fourth grade and the other in fifth, had flutes within months, largely due to my passion for the flute. The fifth grader’s family decided against providing lessons for her, so I taught her every week. After a while they felt so guilty about it, that they started giving me $3 a week for the lessons. When she moved to the junior high school, I was in still in 6th grade, and she had been studying with me for two or three years. She placed first chair in the band and became my first success. I remember feeling so proud.”
     Now Clayton is Associate Professor of Flute at B.Y.U., where she won a full-time position at age 25. She insists that her youth has never been a detriment to her work there. She muses with a smile, “I had two masters students the first year, and one of them was 24. I think the reason that no one has ever given me any trouble about my age is partly due to the general attitude on campus. The studio is very positive, and the students support each other.
     “The School of Music has about 800 music majors. The culture breeds a love of music, so I usually have around 17-20 flute majors. Utah has a strong choral tradition, and most of my flute students have grown up singing in choirs, which is excellent for their general musicianship and ear training. An assistant takes some of the technique classes, and I oversee two flute choirs, one for non-majors and one for majors, although I don’t direct them. It is a huge flute program. There are two graduate master’s students who help with the instrumental methods classes and teach the 30-40 non-major flutes.
     “Students receive hour lessons and a two-hour studio class each week. The undergraduates each receive three technique lessons a semester with a faculty member, Hillary Kimball, so that each student has 12 lessons – nine with me and three with her. There are also pedagogy classes. I am in charge of the private lessons and the studio class. Once in awhile I teach flute literature and coach chamber music, but B.Y.U. is very good about avoiding an  overload situation.” In addition to her studio roster, Clayton is also a member of the faculty woodwind quintet and head of the graduate area of the Woodwind, Brass, and Percussion Division.

The Importance of Chamber Music
     “In 1994 Lasser started the European American Musical Alliance (E.A.M.A.). In the beginning of the program, he experimented – with a piano program for a while, and then one for violin – but eventually he opened it up to a more general chamber music program. When he did that he invited me to join the faculty.”
     Clayton joined the E.A.M.A. faculty in 2006 and became the director of the new Chamber Music Program in 2008. “Held each year at the Ecole Normale de Musique in Paris, the program offers studies for composers and chamber musicians in the tradition of Nadia Boulanger, who did not distinguish between the disciplines that should be developed in the training of composers and instrumentalists.       Instrumentalists who attend find a very disciplined approach to music, and they analyze the pieces to be performed in much the same way that composers do. They also have the opportunity to work with many rising young composers. While the chamber music program is just in its third year, the composers’ program is well-established and has an excellent reputation among composition faculty at top universities.
     “In recent years, composers who have taught at E.A.M.A. include Robert Beaser, Lukas Foss, Claude Baker, and members of the Paris Conservatory faculty. In July 2008, one of the most famous female composers of our time, Sofia Gubaidulina, joined the program. We have had four flutists each summer, and that will most likely remain our target number. During my three years there, student flutists from Harvard, Stanford, the University of Michigan, and B.Y.U. have attended.” For more background information on this program see .        

Recording Projects
     The other new music projects Clayton is pursuing are recordings and a Carnegie Hall concert of premieres. “Last year, I recorded a C.D. of flute concertos with the Brigham Young University Chamber Orchestra. Included were the Mozart D-Major Concerto, Lukas Foss’ Renaissance Concerto, and two new concertos that I commissioned by Murray Boren and Todd Coleman. Todd and I received a Barlow Endowment grant for the project. The C.D. will be available in 2009.”

What the Future Holds
     Clayton has accomplished much in a short amount of time. When asked what was left for the future, she replied, “This past school year  was so good for me because I took a sabbatical and really reflected upon my newly-earned tenure and what having that could mean to my future. At B.Y.U. professors can either take a sabbatical semester at full pay or take a full year off at half pay. I chose the year and spent six months in France and three months in New York City. During that time, I thought a lot about where to go from here. After exploring several options, I came to realize how good things are at B.Y.U. It’s a great school, consistently ranked at the top in college rankings, and has excellent grants for research and travel. They have been very good to me, and I am extremely happy to be returning. 
     “Faculty members can take classes at B.Y.U. for free, so I could take business classes and start a flute program in France or a chamber music program in upstate New York. The options are all open. I am always looking for new projects.”    

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