The catch is pulled perpendicular to the opening by a soft spring, and it is prevented from going too far by a stop. When the flute is pushed in from the left, the catch moves aside and lets it enter, but then snaps back when the flute is in place.
    To remove the flute, the catch is moved out of the way with a finger. To prevent the flute from being scratched, line the holder with felt. The spring should be very soft so as to provide the least resistance when inserting the flute.
    The base and catch are wood; the pivot and spring anchor are wood screws; and the stop is a finishing nail. The base is secured to the tripod’s mounting screw by a plastic knurled knob (not shown).
The finished stand allows me to effortlessly stow and retrieve my flute. This also means that during performance I can adjust the music or turn pages without distracting the audience or other musicians.
 

The post How to Make a Contrabass Flute Stand appeared first on The Instrumentalist.

Laundry Room Practice
    I have always practiced in the laundry room partly because it is secluded from my family and partly because I can do laundry while practicing. My first Taffanel & Gaubert 17 Big Daily Exercises routine, conceived in 1983, was based on the time it takes to wash a load of laundry (25 minutes). My objective was to get through the T & G exercises by the time I needed to switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer. I did not know at the time that neuroscientists would later suggest that practicing for 25 minutes and taking a short break (stretching) before practicing again would achieve the best results.
    When I first began this routine, I could not always get through everything in 25 minutes. However, once I could reliably complete the routine in the allotted time, my technique was set. You may wonder if I ever practiced anything slowly. The answer is yes, but most of my slow practice was done when working with students. Exercises such as finding the ring in the sound, seamless slurs, and tone-color studies were repeated many times during my teaching day. With as many students as I taught at that time (45-60), I logged a lot of time playing slow exercises. When I was alone, I needed to play fast to lighten my fingers and keep my technique where it should be.

Back to the Clock
    After the student’s lesson was over, I went down to the laundry room to begin my daily practice. I loaded the washing machine, sat down, arranged my music and music stand, and looked up. There was THE clock noisily ticking away. It was not long before I realized that I had left my favorite metronome (the one with the dictatorial voice) upstairs. My next thought was that I could use the ticking of the clock like a metronome because so many of the exercises I regularly practice are set with the metronome on 60 beats per minute. I began my practice watching the second hand of the clock count off second by second like a metronome. I soon realized I had a visual image to go along with the aural sensation of the ticking.

Measured Vibrato
    Several times a week I like to practice measured vibrato on a few chosen notes throughout the range of the flute. I alternate placing four, five, or six vibrato cycles to each tick of the metronome set at 60. As I began to play this exercise in front of the clock, a couple of things happened. First, I thought the initiation of my vibrato cycle and subsequent flow was better because I could see the energy of the second hand as it moved around the face of the clock from one minute to the next. Second, it was easy for me to play this exercise for 20 seconds right off the bat, and soon 30 seconds was easy too. I have a small lung capacity (3 liters) so long notes have always a struggle. I have to admit long notes can be a struggle for me partly because my tone production sometimes borders on being too high maintenance, but that day the long vibrato notes were easy, ringing, in tune, and 30 seconds long.

Double Tonguing
    Next I progressed to double tonguing practice. I usually practice sixteen counts of four sixteenths, double tongued on a B6 and then rest for two counts before repeating the drill. With the new clock practice aid, I practiced eight sixteenths instead of the usual four sixteenths to each second that the second hand marked off. Once again the flow and line of the rapidly tongued notes was greatly improved just from watching the sweep of the second hand going from one minute to the next. My inexpensive clock purchase was certainly paying off.

Round of Trills
    Another favorite exercise of mine is called A Round of Trills. This exercise begins with the flutist trilling an F to a G chunk in the second octave for ¾ of a beat followed by a rest with the metronome set at 60. The idea is to get a good initiation of the finger movement and then a continuous fast movement throughout the trill. Trills sometimes seem to cycle in speed, first fast, then a moment of slower movements, followed by the fast speed. To correct this cycling, a flutist should find the distinctive position of the hand so the trill is even and effortless. The finger movement should come from the third knuckle back from the nail except in the case of the left index finger which is balancing the flute on that knuckle. After trilling a chunk from F5 to G5 eight or more times, I trill from G5 to A5 eight times. Finally, I alternate trilling the F5 to G5 chunk followed by the G5 to A5 chunk.
    The F finger on the right hand is a strong finger because it is the index finger. However, the G finger (or ring finger) on the left hand is weak. Alternating these trills from a strong finger to a weaker finger helps the weaker finger to trill as well as the stronger finger. As I practiced this trill exercise with the loud-ticking clock, I again achieved a better result than usual. With each movement of the second hand, I trilled, rested, and prepared for the next entrance.

Scales
    Each day I always begin playing the T & G No. 4 Tone Color Scales in chunks of eight notes followed by a rest. Some days I slur the eight notes; other days I double tongue them. I usually set the metronome on a marking between 60 and 80 and try to play all eight notes in one-half of the beat. Of course as the metronome numbers rise, it is easier to slur the notes than tongue them. The idea is to play a group of notes quickly on one puff of air. Even though when I practiced this exercise with my loud-ticking clock, I could only do the exercise at the equivalent of a metronome marking of 60, the benefits were so good that I would recommend trying this. I found the quality of the movement of the fingers on the scale was excellent when I associated this exercise with the visual image of the sweeping second hand. 

Visual vs Aural Learner
    Teachers know that some students are more visual while others are more aural. Often a student will tell you which they are if you listen for it. For example, if you explain something to a student and he replies, “I see, I see,” you can probably conclude that he is at least partially a visual learner. On the other hand if you play a passage for a student, and he plays it back to you right away rather than saying anything, he may be an aural learner. 
    The metronome is an invaluable aid, but an inexpensive, analog clock may be a useful addition to your teaching and practicing tools. Make sure that the second hand is prominent and that the clock has a loud tick. I found that this has really improved my practicing.

***

Laundry Routine
Taffanel & Gaubert 17 Big Daily Exercises

Monday
Daily Exercise No. 1,
No. 4 (Scale Game)
No. 5
No. 6 (Flat Keys)
No. 7
No. 8 (Key of the Day)
No. 10
No. 17

Tuesday
Daily Exercise No. 2
No. 4 (Scale Game)
No. 5
No. 6 (Sharp Keys)
No. 7
No. 9 (Key of the Day)
No. 11
No. 17

Wednesday
Daily Exercise No. 1
No. 4 (Scale Game)
No. 5
No. 6 (Flat Keys)
No. 7
No. 8 (Key of the Day)
No. 12
No. 17

Thursday
Daily Exercise No. 2
No. 4 (Scale Game)
No. 5
No. 6 (Sharp Keys)
No. 7
No. 9 (Key of the Day)
No. 13
No. 17

Friday
Daily Exercise No. 1
No. 4 (Scale Game)
No. 5
No. 6 (Flat Keys)
No. 7
No. 8 (Key of the Day)
No. 14
No. 17

Saturday
Daily Exercise No. 2
No. 4 (Scale Game)
No. 5
No. 6 (Sharp keys)
No. 7
No. 9 (Key of the Day)
Nos. 15 and 16
No. 17

Further Suggestions:
    Variety is the spice of life. Practice with a metronome using all the settings. Incorporate dynamic options and design. Practice a variety of rhythms and articulation patterns (T, K, Hah, TK or TKT). Practice measured vibrato. Play 8va when possible.
    This practice schedule eventually evolved into the Practice Guide in Chapter 5 in The Flute Scale Book by George & Louke (Presser), ©2011.

The post Tick-Tock from a Clock appeared first on The Instrumentalist.

* * *
Flute Talk Classic

A New Perspective On Note Releases
April 1995

    When tonguing sixteenth-note passages at speeds from q = 88 and faster, one of the main goals of a wind player is to maintain clarity and precision with the recurring, tongue strokes. If all the elements of articulation – tongue tension and evenness, breath pressure, embouchure position, and finger-tongue synchronization – are working optimally, a player need not be overly conscious of note “releases” since these occur automatically due to the tonguing momentum. That is, fast tempos make it necessary for the tongue to return to its starting position quickly in order to attack the next note on time. Thus the cessation of one note and the initiation of the ensuing note are virtually simultaneous.
    Assuming that the breath pressure remains constant, a legato style of tonguing could be transcribed syllabi-cally as in Example A. A more staccato style could be depicted as in Example B, and an extreme, hard staccato style would be more like that shown in Example C. The tempos of these three examples would be q = 88 to about q = 126.

    When performing detached notes at slower speeds, flutists and piccoloists have six additional techniques available to them for making note releases (some of these are applicable to other wind instruments):

1. Stopping the air flow internally by quickly suspending the abdominal pressure. This suspension of abdominal pressure immediately reduces the velocity of the air remaining in the respiratory “pipeline,” causing the end of the tone to go flat or fall into the lower octave or fifth (in the case of all notes above Eb5). This technique is not recommended unless carefully coordinated with methods 3 or 5.
2. Stopping the air flow internally by closing the glottis (the opening between the vocal cords). This is almost identical to the glottal sensations one experiences when laughing or doing staccato whistling sounds. The “pipeline” here is much shorter than in No. 1, so there is little likelihood of suffering the pitch and octave control problems of No. 1. If used too emphatically, however, as for example when applying glottal releases in conjunction with abdominal pulses and soft tongue strokes (sometimes erroneously referred to as “diaphragm staccato”), this can cause excessive throat tension. From a musical point of view, also, this method tends to give the tone a diffused quality, lacking in definition.
3. Stopping the air flow internally (as in No. 1), but at the same time adjusting the embouchure as if making a very quick diminuendo. If one is skilled at making artistically rapid diminuendos without loss of pitch or quality, this can be a musically effective method. It works best with detached semi-staccato eighth-notes at tempos under q = 66.
4. Stopping the air flow externally by sealing the lips. This is often an unintended result of overdoing the previous method and is unreliable for regular use, particularly in the first octave and a half.
5. Dissipating the air flow externally by a sudden and dramatic opening of the mouth by a quick lifting of the maxilla while the jaw (mandible) remains in place. Combined with technique No. 1, this seems to be the instinctive method of choice for many flutists and piccoloists because the sudden enlargement of the embouchure opening causes the air flow to dissipate before the pitch has a chance to go flat. The deftness of the upper lip lift (once it has been mastered) is of course preferable to the relative clumsiness and inefficiency of the upper jaw lift. Even though this quick air dissipation effectively prevents flatness, if it is not done with precise timing and skill there still remains the risk involving the notes above G2 falling to the lower octave or fifth. The piccolo is especially vulnerable to this risk, and has a frus-tratingly low tolerance level for this technique. In fact, this unforgiveness constitutes one of the most important differences between the two instruments. It is also interesting to note that of all the woodwind and brass instruments, the flute and piccolo are the only ones that do not require the upper lip to be in contact with the mouthpiece or reed while performing. Although this apparent freedom can be advantageous, it can also be easily negated by carelessness (see my article in the October, 1993 Flute Talk, page 27: “Flutists’ Common Mistakes” – The Opening Hiccup Breath).
6. Dissipating the air flow externally by quickly taking the instrument off the lower lip. As absurd as this may seem at first glance, this technique can have an occasional place in one’s ploys-of-showmanship bag. Akin to the string player’s custom of dramatically whipping the bow off the string at the end of a very intense note, this method is actually an emphatic extension of method No. 5 and could be used in terminating a sustained forte final note of a movement or piece, such as the Bb6 that ends the Hindemith Sonata. At the very least, it can be applied during practice as a psychological tool to counteract the widespread tendency for making sagging diminuendos on what should be strong note endings. I sometimes whimsically refer to this technique as the “whiplash release.”

    Having pointed out in method No. 5 the special dangers inherent in slower speed detached notes on the piccolo, what can be done to ameliorate this octave-grace-note-spillover syndrome? The solution is really very simple, and resides innocently (and invitingly) in the midst of the syllabification pattern of the rapid sixteenth note sequence illustrated earlier in Example B.
    If the tud articulation of Example B works so perfectly and naturally in fast passages, why not take advantage of this tee-you-dee approach (as I refer to it in my teaching) in slower staccato passages? The reason seems to be that too many of us have fallen prey to the prevalent myth that “one should never stop a note with the tongue.”
    The fact that we have six different ways (admittedly, not all of them viable) of stopping a note without using the tongue has perhaps deluded us into believing that we should never use the tongue to end a note. Yet, we blithely overlook the successful use of tongued releases exemplified by Example B.
    Aside from its impressive functions as a taste sensor and masticating aid the tongue is one of the most remarkable organs of our body in its enormous repertoire of movements in speech communication. Go back for a moment to the phrase above with the bold-face letters. These letters represent the sounds directly controlled by the tongue. Pronounce the words of that phrase aloud very slowly, and you will appreciate anew the wonderful sensitivity and agility of the tongue. It has direct responsibility for articulating the following consonants th, t, n, g, s, r, k, I, d, ch, z. The tongue’s ability to move in many directions quickly or slowly, strongly or delicately, with almost infinite gradations, makes it a truly virtuoso performer, and thus deserving of wider recognition as a reliable choice in our toolbox of release techniques for slower detached notes.
    One of the unrecognized advantages in using the tud stroke in detached staccato phrases is that during the split second while the tongue rebounds to its starting position, the size of the air flow escape-channel quickly shrinks, causing the air speed to increase somewhat. This is a crucial factor in pre-venting flatness or the octave-grace-note-spillover at the moment of release, especially in soft passages.
    In learning to apply the tee-you-dee technique to detached notes, try the following two exercises, and continue into all notes within the range of the piccolo and flute.1 In the first exercise avoid the normal diminuendo taper at the end of the opening long note. While keeping the air pressure steady, stop the note with a gentle but quick return of the tongue to its starting position. Another challenge is keeping the air pressure steady behind the tongue during the ensuing dotted-eighth rest, at the same time maintaining your normal embouchure position as if you were still playing. Then tongue the next three short notes as indicated with the tud syllables, again keeping the air pressure steady behind the tongue during the rests. Take a breath only when necessary which should not be very often.2 Your reward for being so disciplined and patient is that at the end of the exercise you may taper the final note without using the tongue to assist the release.
    Exercise No. 2 begins with normally fast single-tongued sixteenth notes, then gradually slows down by virtue of the rhythmic changes. Maintain the tud sequence throughout, and avoid the temptation of opening your mouth during the rests in measure three. Practice both exercises at different dynamic levels, but since the softer dynamics are somewhat more difficult to control, they should be practiced more.

Practice this exercise on all pitches and varied dynamics.

Keep steady air pressure and embouchure throughout.

Notes:
¹ These are similar to the exercises prescribed by the celebrated clarinetist Daniel Bonade in his self-published pamphlet, Method of Staccato (1949), a work that 1 have admired and referred to often over the years. It has long been out of print, but for those who are interested, it might still be found circulating within the clarinet fraternity.

² Lest there be any misunderstanding, 1 hasten to add that keeping the air pressure and embouchure intact during such relatively long rests should not be considered a normal procedure. I only advocate it here as a disciplinary strategy for improving awareness and control, and as a preliminary set-up for the upcoming faster rhythms.

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Anxiety
    The body can affect performance adversely most commonly through performance anxiety. We can all be sure to count on some level of physical and emotional anxiety at the moment we walk onto the stage. How we train can make the difference in learning to embrace and minimize its adverse affects. It is helpful to de-mystify anxiety by first examining the physiological responses that it creates.
    Adrenaline (or epinephrine) is a hormone produced in high-stress situations. The purpose of adrenaline is to save one’s life by creating a fight-or-flight rapid response. It manifests as increased heart-rate and a generally heightened body response, so one’s life may be saved. The side effects of this response can become liabilities in performance, such as excessive perspiration, particularly in the hands, shortness of breath, dry mouth, quivering muscles, and butterflies in the stomach. When I feel this adrenaline before a performance, I have learned to view it (mind training) as extra inspiration – excitement and delighted anticipation for what is to come.
    When adrenaline courses through the body, heart-rate increases and this causes breathing to become more rapid, and oxygen to be in short supply. This is a condition all wind musicians can train to alleviate. It is important to realize that the brain reacts to this physiological lack of oxygen and panics, which can be distracting. Familiarity with both the condition and the feeling itself will help musicians avoid panic mode. We also can teach ourselves to slow the heart rate, calm down, and come back to our center.

Body Training
    Three methods work for me in alleviating the problems caused by a rapid heart rate and shortness of breath when in the performance spotlight. The first is daily physical training for increased endurance and lung capacity. Take the perspective of flutist as athlete. Increasing the supply of oxygen will only come from aerobic training, a genuine puff and sweat activity, much like the work of any athlete. It means a consistent practice of aerobic activity, with emphasis on consistent. I walk aerobically five days a week on the treadmill for thirty minutes (or forty-five, on an ambitious day). Alternatively, I ride fiercely on my bike outdoors for at least an hour, or walk in the woods at an aerobic pace for two or more hours. I have also  practiced Yoga for over fifteen years, and though this is not particularly aerobic, it is vital to my flexibility, strength, depth of breathing, and mind focus.
    Not only are these methods physically helpful to flute training, but I find in each of them a personal grounding – a place where I know myself, and work with whole-hearted attention to dig deeply, pushing beyond my own apparent limitations. Flute playing is an enormous physical challenge, particularly as one’s age increases, so keeping physically fit is essential. Here, the foundation of our being is being prepared for the rigors of performance.
    My second method of physical training involves the flute. Let us console ourselves with the fact that the most challenging piece of music in your performance is your first one. This is where your heart rate will be at its highest speed, with the resulting necessity for more oxygen. I train for this by either running a flight of stairs, or doing a series of wind sprints to deliberately raise my heart-rate. Once I have done these sprints, I immediately pick up the flute in this out-of-breath condition and play the piece of music. I make it a game for myself (mind training), that no matter how extreme my puffing is, I do not stop until the first piece (or first movement) is finished. This training specifically and perfectly simulates a state you may find yourself in during a performance, with one happy exception: you will never be this out of breath in an actual performance. It trains you to the extreme, so you become familiar with both the need for oxygen and for the mind to calm the respiratory system down.
    This extreme sport also teaches you to prepare for added breaths without interrupting the musical lines, since now extra breaths will not be an urgent gasp in performance, but planned for ahead of time due to this training method. You learn not to let the brain fool you with declarations of, “I’m dying, here, no oxygen; too much oxygen! Someone stop this train!” You instead become intimately acquainted with what is, after all, only a feeling of panic, not an actual emergency. It is a wonderful training method that incorporates both body and mind.
    My final physical method comes into play minutes before walking out onto the stage to perform. Without playing, I put myself through a series of deep inhalations through the nose, full abdomen expansion, hold it, and then proceed with a deep but very controlled exhalation through the mouth, continuing until there is not a single drop of air remaining. I may even form a flute embouchure using one of my fingers for the flute if I want to control the exhale more keenly and slowly. This allows my body to receive ample oxygen, while placing my system where I need it for optimal playing. It feels as if I have already played a first piece before I walk out onto the stage with this breathing exercise.

Music Training
    Another vital and undeniable element to improving your performance is being absolutely prepared, technically. This means you really know the music and are in a peaceful place toward it, a kind of “I completely understand this piece, and can’t wait to perform it,” repose. The way you approach daily practicing will have much to do with whether you can play calmly in the storm. I spend much of my practice time with a prevalent awareness on relaxing muscles in my hands, face, throat, and shoulders, particularly during the difficult passages, while never sacrificing the musical energy or intensity. Just because what you are doing is difficult does not mean it should look like a painful struggle. An unfurrowed brow, confident and inviting posture, joy in what you physically communicate in your delivery – there is only one thing that will get you to this kind of performance repose, and that is careful preparation over time.

Visualization Mind Training

    Another way to prepare is through visualization. See yourself happily performing while you prepare the notes and phrases and the story you will tell. This is also a good technique to use before falling asleep at night, or while on an airplane, in a car, or any place you are already in a state of relaxation. Picture yourself on the stage in utter joy and offering your best self. Rehearse serene experiences and feelings that are manifested by them. Think about how you feel when great news comes to you; the supreme beauty of a lake sunset; the sweet sound of songbirds; or the smell and sight of flowers. Engage as many senses as you can in the visualization. Everyone visualizes future events, so make sure you only visualize helpful images. The alternative is to focus on the “what if” fearful chains of thoughts. Such as, you forgot to dress for the concert, and come out in your pajamas; or you walk out and start to play but the flute is broken – don’t go here, except for a laugh. Visualize joy and fulfillment.
    Both physical training and visualizations of seeing yourself utterly delighted to perform will help bring your performances to the level you want them to be. Do you love flute and music, and have you prepared? This is cause for joy – you are doing something that feeds your soul, and feeds those who listen. As a more worldly and noble vision, you are being permitted to be an Artist in what you do and offer, a timeless beauty. Don’t allow yourself to relinquish this positive vision by minimizing what you are striving for. Train deliberately for the best outcome. It is all in your physical, cerebral, and emotional practice methods.

Character Training
    Finally, I add a fourth element to performance training: courage. I think of courage as character training. Courage is required to perform publically. There is no getting past this truth, as we walk out into an unknown world with fear and trepidation. Courage shows up in my own daily training. It requires courage to look at myself in front of a full-length mirror in performance mode as I practice, especially if my hair is completely disheveled or I wish for an entirely different body on this day or this year. I cannot hide from what is before me, so the only productive response is to embrace it. This is a great moment of courage because it demands that I accept myself as I am, right here, right now, and set to work to improve, to create Art.
    Courage is also called for when learning anything new – a new technique, flute or piece of music. I accept that I may not yet be adept at the particular task at hand. However, I am emphatically saying yes to improvement and simultaneously agreeing to accept the necessary work and time required. I will always get better at something if I am persistent, and work for improvement deliberately and consistently. What greater life goal than this? We are simply the fortunate few who get to practice this as our way of life as performing musicians. If we can do this in our practicing and training hours, we can then expect to bring it into every performance. Flutists are practicing monks, musically speaking, if we train to approach it as the soulful work it really is.
    As a final thought in improving the effectiveness of live performances, I would like to suggest that you perform as often as possible. If you only perform once a year, you will not have the opportunity to become better acquainted with the challenges involved (body, mind, and music). You set yourself up to remain fearful because stepping out into the spotlight is too rare to become familiar and friendly toward those bright lights and keen ears before you. Start by performing for family or friends, or in local churches – situations with people who will love you no matter how you play. That is the real state of your audience, by the way; they are on your side. but it takes some mind training to see them this way.
    Accumulating positive performance experiences will expedite your progress in the true gift that performance offers, first to your own self, and then to your listeners. The only thing to fear is poor training and unpreparedness, so take up courage and attend to your daily training. Make a New Year’s resolution today to begin specific methods to evolve confident performance prowess and effectiveness, so your music will soar without human obstruction into the hearts of your listeners.

The post Performance Training appeared first on The Instrumentalist.

    Cynthia Myers joined the Boston Symphony Orchestra as principal piccolo in the fall of 2006. Previously she was principal piccolo of the Houston Symphony for nine years and prior to that principal flutist of the Omaha Symphony for nine seasons. She has also performed with the Minnesota Orchestra, Chicago Symphony, and the Grand Teton Music Festival Orchestra.

How did you begin studying music?
    I began playing piano at the age of three mainly because my sister, who is 15 years my senior, was a wonderful pianist and I idolized her. My first musical memories are of sitting on the piano bench and listening to her play Debussy. I don’t really remember a time that I did not want to be a musician. When my mother told me there was such a thing as a music major in college, I decided that was for me, though I had no idea what that really meant. When I was six, I started formal lessons on piano and continued until my sophomore year in college. I believe it is essential for all musicians to have at least a basic knowledge of keyboard as it is so helpful with note-reading during early studies and with theory and score reading later on.
    I began playing flute in the 4th grade in my school band program. Actually, my first choice was the oboe; however studying the oboe was not an option in my very small elementary school in western Pennsylvania. I was terrible at the flute. In fact, I distinctly remember the elementary school band director telling me that I would never be able to master the instrument. It was not until the 8th grade that I found a private flute teacher, Vicki McDowell, who was the wife of the new high school band director. She also played the piccolo in the Johnstown Symphony. It was an eye opening experience to have someone finally explain how to make a decent sound on the flute. She introduced me to Taffanel & Gaubert, Handel Sonatas, Anderson etudes and later, the French repertoire. I was hooked, and piano became something I did to supplement the flute.
    In my junior year, she decided it was time for me to move on and sent me to Pittsburgh to study with Bernard Goldberg. He was very tough. Goldberg introduced me to the Moyse Tone Development Through Interpretation. I will never forget his colorful explanation of those pieces.

What were your college experiences?
    In college I studied for the first two years with Ethan Stang, Pittsburgh Symphony piccolo, at Carnegie-Mellon in Pittsburgh. Ironically, we never worked on any piccolo during the time I studied with him. His main emphasis was on basic flute skills. We spent a lot of time on Taffanel & Gaubert and Anderson etudes. In the spring semester of my sophomore year, Stang left the school, and I called Julia Bogorad, the principal flutist of the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra, to set up a lesson while I was vacationing with my family in the Grand Teton National Park. Bogorad was playing with the Grand Teton Music Festival (GTMF) and made the time to hear me play. I will never forget the experience. We spent over two hours on Moyse De La Sonorite. I think at least 45 minutes was spent just on playing a B natural with beautiful sound. She opened up an entirely new world for me, and I spent the rest of that year putting into practice what I had learned in that lesson about using my air correctly as well as the correct form of my embouchure. I was fortunate to take another lesson with her again on a trip to St. Paul, and I had the opportunity to work more closely with her when I was a student at the GTMF Student Orchestral Seminar.
    After working with her, I contacted Jeffrey Khaner, who at that time was the principal flutist of the Cleveland Orchestra and flute professor at the Cleveland Institute of Music, and asked if he would have time to give me a lesson. I should say that Khaner had heard me a year before and had not been impressed with my playing. I think it was the only time anyone had ever given me a C+ on a jury. So, when I called him, he was somewhat reluctant to hear me play. However, when I finished playing a bit of the Martinu Sonata for him, he stopped me and asked, “What did you do between now and the last time I heard you?” to which I replied, “I took two lessons with Julie Bogorad.” He was pleased to hear the changes that I had made in my playing and agreed to take me on as a student. For two years, I commuted from Pittsburgh to Cleveland every other week to take lessons with him. Those years were really the beginning of my career. I ended up doing my Master’s degree with Khaner at the Cleveland Institute of Music. He was able to refine my technique and constantly challenged me to learn new and more difficult repertoire. During the four years I spent in Cleveland, I also played in both the Akron and Canton Symphonies.
    I think the most important thing that my flute teachers gave me was a strong base on which to build my piccolo skills. If not for Khaner, I would have never been introduced to William Hebert, my first piccolo teacher. As students at CIM, we had cheap tickets to The Cleveland Orchestra concerts, and we did everything we possibly could to hear them play as many times as possible during the week. It wasn’t unusual for us to hear the same concert two or three times. There was one concert in particular that changed my life. The orchestra program was Ravel’s Mother Goose, Shostakovich Cello Concerto No. 1 with YoYo Ma, and Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloe. I was so enthralled with Hebert’s playing that I ran backstage to catch him before he left, but sadly missed him. Soon after that a piccolo job came open in the North Carolina Symphony. I talked to Khaner about taking the audition, and he very wisely told me to call Bill Hebert. I did and the rest, as they say, is history. I remember leaving my first piccolo lesson filled with so much information; I thought I would burst with excitement. I made the finals in the North Carolina audition and was hooked on piccolo. I studied with Hebert for the next two years, and even long after I left Cleveland, I made the trip back for brush-up lessons.
    I used to joke with him that his lessons were like going to the doctor because he is such a great diagnostician. I would come in with a problem that had come up during practice, and he would say, “let’s take out Taffanel #10, diminuendo to the top, crescendo to the bottom.” In a few minutes, he was able to diagnose the problem and find the best way to address it. If one thing didn’t work, he would help me find another. He also gave me the tools to help me heal myself; this was one of the many great gifts I received while studying with him. He also passed on the great tradition that was the Cleveland Orchestra of the Szell era, particularly in the aspect of rhythm and phrasing. The last lesson I had with him was in 2006, right before the BSO audition. I still go back over my notebook and lesson recordings for inspiration.

What were your orchestral experiences in Omaha, Houston, and Boston?


    I have loved every place that I have had the privilege to play. All of these orchestras have great things about them, yet each is very different. I won the principal flute position of the Omaha Symphony in 1988 when I was in the thick of taking many piccolo auditions. At the time, I couldn’t afford, literally, to be picky about piccolo versus flute jobs, so I took any and every audition that came along. I never pictured myself living anywhere west of the Mississippi, let alone in Nebraska, but I knew this was a good orchestra. I was lucky enough to win the audition and spent nine wonderful years there. It was a very tough 38-week schedule, but we played a great diversity of music. One week we would play chamber orchestra, and the next would be full-orchestra repertoire. Other concerts included pops, opera or ballet and then there was the woodwind quintet that was made up of the principal winds of the orchestra. We played dozens of children’s concerts a year and learned how to put together an educational show and speak to an audience. I met my husband, Steve Laven, who was the principal cellist, and had my first son while we were there. When I left Omaha to go to Houston, many musicians made the comment that I must have been glad to move on. Actually, the only reason I left was because I was a closet piccolo player at heart!
    In going to the Houston Symphony in 1997, I achieved a goal that I had been working toward since I met Bill Hebert. The experience of playing in that orchestra was incredible. At the time Christoph Eschenbach was on the podium, and the wind section played like a single unit. My three colleagues in the flute section quickly became three of my dearest friends.
    When I began my job as the piccolo player of the Houston Symphony, I started with a European tour. Now, by this time I had considerable experience in orchestral playing, but as a principal flutist, not as a piccolo player, so I was quite green and extremely nervous. One of the pieces was Mahler Symphony No. 1, and I spent hours working on playing the opening measures to get it exactly right – in tune, soft with beautiful legato. I arrived at the first rehearsal and after the orchestra tuned, Maestro Eschenbach warmly introduced me and welcomed me to the orchestra. We then began the first movement of the Mahler. I was so nervous, I promptly started the piece on an A flat rather than an A. Needless to say, I was mortified. Eschenbach was very gracious and joked “Well, now that we have that out of the way, let’s begin again.” We played the Mahler at Tanglewood a couple of years ago with Christoph Eschenbach on the podium and he remembered (fondly) those fateful first moments in my new piccolo career.
    The Houston schedule was busy, but much more predictable than Omaha. I was there for nine years and thought, at the age of 43, that I was done with auditions. When the Boston piccolo audition was announced, however, my husband suggested that I should go. I had made the finals back in 1990, and it might be fun to try again. Fun is not exactly how I would describe preparing for that audition with two young sons and a full time job. Just to play in that hall one last time would make the trip worth the effort, however, so I decided to try. I made a trip to Cleveland to play for my teacher and looked at the audition as a way to challenge myself.
    I was thrilled to win the job, and my section here is very special. In fact, I have been very lucky in all three orchestras to work with amazing colleagues. The Boston Symphony Orchestra schedule is one of the most difficult I have encountered, especially at Tanglewood where we play three different programs a week with very little rehearsal time. It is very rewarding and difficult work at times, but to do it in such a beautiful place makes it quite special. I feel that way about Symphony Hall as well. There are times that I quite literally have to pinch myself to believe that I am here, working with amazing musicians and conductors whom I have admired all of my professional life.

What is your teaching philosophy?
    I love teaching and passing along the information that has been given to me over the years. When I was in Omaha, I did quite a bit of teaching, but due to the BSO’s demanding schedule, I have limited time to teach now and also want to spend as much time as I can with our two teenage boys. I feel strongly that teachers should help students find a good balance in using their practice time. I insist that my students do tone studies, usually Moyse De La Sonorite; however, I find Trevor Wye’s Tone Book a very good resource as well. Moyse’s Tone Development Through Interpretation and 24 Petite Etudes, the Taffanel et Gaubert 17 Daily Studies and Andersen etudes are all very important components. When I was a student, I set up my practicing somewhat like this: tone studies, technical exercises and etudes, finishing with pieces or excerpts.
    On piccolo, I found that much will cross over. Taffanel is very important for working on an even sound and intonation through all registers. I love the “Aquarium” exercise in Trevor Wye’s book. This is such an important study for intonation – really listening to the width of intervals – as well as a way to work on smooth legato. Hebert suggested that I work on the Ferling Studies for oboe and they are great on the piccolo. Some passages need to be reworked for the octave differences, but they are wonderful little pieces that cover every key and difficulty on the instrument.
    I don’t stress the piccolo in lessons. In fact, I don’t like to teach a young player only piccolo because so much is dependent upon the basic skill of playing the flute. However, it would be silly for someone to study flute with me and not have some amount of piccolo lessons, so I break the time up with approximately 3/4 flute and 1/4 piccolo. I do have students who will regularly coach piccolo with me in the months leading up to an audition. I stress that having ample time to become comfortable on the instrument is very important. I always find it a bit funny that two weeks before an audition, I will get rather panicked phone calls from students who want me to teach them the instrument in two weeks or less. It really doesn’t work that way.

Do you have any unusual audition experiences?
    My life had undergone significant changes compared to the last time I made the finals for the BSO in 1990. With two young sons and a full time job, I simply didn’t have the same amount of time to prepare for an audition. Since I could not sacrifice my family responsibilities or my job, something had to give in the audition preparation and Semiramide simply didn’t get the attention that it needed. Of course it was the last piece on the semi-final round. I played the required section, and it did not go very well. From the other side of the screen, I heard a voice kindly ask if I could do it again, a bit slower. I did. Then the same voice asked if I could do it again a bit shorter. I did and that was the end of the round. The Semiramide excerpt came up again in the next two rounds and each time, I was sure to play it a bit slower and a bit shorter. Had the committee not asked me to play the excerpt again, I would not have had the chance to prove that I had the ability to change and be flexible, not to mention the ability to fix what was wrong.

***

A Piccolo Practice Routine
    My practice routine on the piccolo really doesn’t differ that much from what I do on the flute. I begin with tone studies – either De La Sonorite or The Aquarium exercise in Trevor Wye’s Tone Book. Then it is important to warm up the fingers, so spending time on Taffanel et Gaubert, or the equivalent is essential. I find #10 particularly helpful. I begin forte and then diminuendo to the top and crescendo as the line comes back down to the low register, concentrating on the speed of air and support from the diaphragm. I also like to work on etudes – Anderson Op. 33 and 63 are two favorite books. The studies by Ferling for oboe and saxophone are wonderful little pieces for the piccolo. Some of them have to be transposed to a different octave, but mostly, these etudes lie well on the instrument and are great for working on technique, sound and intonation. They are also good pieces for practicing any alternate fingerings that you might want to become more adept at using.
    Doing all of this preliminary work is similar to entering information into the hard drive of a computer. When the time comes to access this information in repertoire, the work has already been done, so the fingers and the embouchure can function smoothly. Then we can take the time to really think about the intricacies of the music, rather than worry about the technique.

The post A Conversation with Boston’s Principal Piccolo Cynthia Myers appeared first on The Instrumentalist.

    You often refer to Jean-Pierre Rampal as one of your models and mentors, and about the ease and charm of his playing. What do you recall of his ideas and idiosyncrasies?

Debost:
    I never really studied with Jean-Pierre Rampal. He never agreed to give me formal lessons. He would say, “If you want to learn from me, listen to me.” And that I did! I listened from the audience and when I sat next to him in the Paris Opera as a sub. We became great friends, and more than forty years ago, he was my son’s godfather. I admired him devotedly, but I could never duplicate his facility in every area of playing, among them his finger technique. He had little chubby hands and short sausage fingers (he said so himself), which never seemed to stray away from the keys so there was very little apparent finger movement.
    I did not have that facility, and my fingers are long and clumsy, but I think that if the left-hand fingers come down from too high, they will slam (I call that slam-and-squeeze). The harder the fingers come down on the keys, the tighter the grip will be. If the grip is tight, it takes more effort to lift the squeezed fingers, and the louder the key mechanism will be. Have you noticed that key noise comes from downward fingers, because venting or opening keys (except G# and D#) makes no noise? When playing from B to A, the A has a tendency to slam; but when playing from A to B, the lifting does not make any noise. This is why I say a good technique is not always the fastest one, but the most silent and smooth one, even in slow passages. Playing a slow phrase smoothly and seamlessly is just as technical as the opening page of the Ibert Concerto.

What else do you recall about Rampal’s finger technique?
    He had a very special, light, effortless control of his fingers that at times sounded feathery, tender, etc. Every note spoke with a liquid clarity. The intervals were seamless between each note no matter the interval. One can often hear seamless intervals in flute players who have studied or collaborated with Rampal. What is this special touch? I think he did not do any slapping or gripping of the keys because all of this affects the tightness of the body and that in turn affects sound.
    I don’t think the old French system flutes have a significantly different finger spacing than flutes have today. However, even having played most of my life on an inline mechanism, I must confess for purely cosmetic reasons, I think that offset G key is a better configuration for ergonomic reasons. I also think that open holes (of the French system) are not absolutely better than closed. It is more a question of convenience than necessity. Experiment with plugging the three left-hand open keys one after the other, one at a time, and see what is most comfortable for you. That is the real issue. If plugs or key extensions work for you, use them.

What should I practice to develop a smooth technique like Rampal’s?
    I think there is nothing better than comfortable scales in all keys and articulations (Taffanel-Gaubert, #4, nicknamed the Debost Gamme-Game). Speed is not the issue at first. Practice the scales in a slow, smooth, unbroken, un-slammed, and musical way. Rampal advised to play scales as if you were playing a concerto, although, I think at the time I knew him, he was not practicing much anymore. Don’t be dogmatic about theoretical aphorisms. Do what works for you. You are your own best public and your own cheapest professor.
    While other prominent flute professors may disagree, I think lifting fingers is harder than bringing them down. Check this without the flute by resting your open hand on a flat surface. With the heal of the hand resting comfortably, and the fingertips on the table,
    • lift one finger: no problem
    • lift two adjoining fingers together: a little effort
    • lift two opposing fingers simultaneously: awkward
    • lift one finger while lowering another: torture (E to D figure or vice versa)
    Concerning the break C/D or vice-versa (which I call the bridge in my book, because we cross it 10,000 times a day), I try to get rid of the right pinky early, balancing the flute with the D key (called “dead or silent key” in my book The Simple Flute).
    I also think that when possible, it is more stable and comfortable to have at least one finger of each hand on the flute. For example when trilling low or medium B to C, place the right ring finger down as dead-key/stabilizer. The sound is not affected and the tone may even be a little more focused. To create an even trill from G to A, rest the right-hand index finger on the Bb side key to keep the flute stable.

Do you or Rampal have any exercises for flutists to find the most comfortable position for each finger of the left-hand?
    Personally, I do not feel happy with the distance between the left-hand first (index) and second (middle) fingers. The distance feels too large and makes reaching the third key (G) impossible without bending the left wrist at a severe angle. The severe angle of the left wrist is perhaps a source of discomfort for some flutists. I try to keep all the left-hand’s tendons inline and not break my wrist. Even recently, before I stopped playing, I had no qualms about plugging up the G key with a small piece of real cork (preferably from a French wine bottle).
    Marcel Moyse, who never had a naturally easy technique, designed what we used to satirize as “the Orthopedic Couesnon Flute.” Jeanne Baxtresser, former principal flute New York Phil, played a flute with offset left-hand keys. Theobald Böhm, our own genius of the modern flute, chose the offset G for at least two reasons. It requires less strain on the left hand and wrist and is more mechanically sensible than the long rods of the French system, which tend to bend outward.
    I think it is just a matter of finding a way to have every finger in the left-hand move up comfortably. The 2nd (index) and 3rd (middle) fingers of the left-hand grip the flute the most. Going from C to D in the 2nd and 3rd registers are big scale devils. You just want to get a smooth transition in the bridge. I can say that the main fulcrum or balance spot (first phalanx) of the left hand is the only fixed position. It is the main anchor of flute technique. It provides stability, it does not move, and it does not produce notes, just the stability. Remember to reach the G# key or even the third (ring finger) key, you should not have to lift the wrist.

What are your thoughts about creating stability of the flute in the chin?
    In spite of all the contemporary preoccupation with relaxation and fear of tightness, I think a bit of logic here would not hurt. Stability is not a bad word that is interchangeable with tightness. Everyone agrees that rough finger movements rattle the embouchure. These rough finger movements produce broken notes, fuzzy staccato, faulty attacks in the all the wrong places, especially for tricky long-note onsets in the high range of orchestra chords. Let us not confuse chin stability and embouchure tightness. It is the lips, and somewhat the cheeks, that must be flexible and relaxed, not the embouchure/lip-plate point of contact.
    Something has to hold the flute. The fingers in movement produce the various shapes of the musical phrase, and they cannot do that smoothly if they are trying to hold the instrument. My logical conclusion is that the flute should be held by three (+1/2) points. The symbolic 1/2 finger is the right pinky (little devil #2), which is often so tight and bent that it hurts. It is vital for certain notes, of course, but the three other points of stability don’t form notes at all, and therefore do not move. I can call them the three fulcrums.

    If the fulcrums do not produce notes or move, their primary function is to ensure the stability of the embouchure/lip plate contact. Therefore, ideally, the moving fingers that create notes will not be holding the flute, slamming on the way down and lifting with reluctance and effort on the way up.
    A good rule in my view is to find out for yourself what moving fingers are slamming and holding the instrument. A noisy technique, however fast, is not an efficient tool for improvement.
The following exercise is one that I used with young players and mature students alike who had trouble improving their finger playing.
   Hold the flute in playing position, but place the right hand on the barrel of the flute or over to the maker’s trademark. Without any effort, you will feel a comfortable contact of the embouchure plate with the chin. This way you can play quite a lot of nice tunes just with the left-hand. Beethoven’s Ode to Joy (in G major) is one, Chabrier’s Espagna is another. One of my favorites was the initial solo of Debussy’s Prélude à l’Après-midi d’un Faune. You will have to do a little side-stepping with the thumb, but you might get the feeling that this evanescent C# can have many different colors, and the hesitant chromatic fall of the tritone sliding into the expectant G4 can express your own various moods and secrets.
    Said Archimedes of Syracuse (of Greek Sicily, not New York) (± 287 to ± 212 BC), “Give me a fulcrum and a lever, and I will lift the Earth.”

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