Teachers introduce young flutists to a  complex new language as they begin to teach them to read and understand music. Many aspects of this language are brand new to them. It is helpful to connect new concepts to ones they already understand: we teach rhythm, for example, by linking it to math, and articulation by comparing it to spoken consonants, or to spitting rice.
    The concepts involved in basic music theory can be especially challenging for young musicians. Those who have studied piano have an advantage because the piano presents a visual and tactile experience with music theory, so that such ideas as half and whole steps, scale structure, and the idea of the octave become visible and tangible.
    Although most flute teachers already use the piano as a practical tool in the studio, the following are some additional applications that will assist in conveying basic concepts of music theory to beginning students. In addition, serious musicians should achieve a certain comfort level with the piano. When teachers introduce the instrument early, they give their students an advantage in developing this necessary skill. Just as we expect that students should know how to use a dictionary in school, young musicians should be able to find their way around a piano. In the long run, using the piano as a teaching tool during lessons actually saves time that would otherwise be spent explaining or correcting concepts that were misunderstood initially.
    I use the piano to briefly illustrate new concepts as they are introduced on the flute. When a student first encounters an F#, for example, we take a few minutes to observe the general layout of the keyboard, to find an F#, and to discover other F#s and how they sound compared with F# on the flute. I want my students to know that even if they have never taken piano lessons, they can understand and use the geography of a keyboard.
    As they learn more notes students are interested to compare their own expanding range with the three-octave span used by flutists, and to see where these three octaves fall on the piano. Discovering that a half step can include a black key and a white key or two white keys, and then constructing half- and whole-step dissonances across the keyboard is a great listening exercise. The new musical vocabulary of consonance and dissonance and tension and release begins to make sense.
    When students start to play scales, the piano provides a perfect opportunity to put their understanding of half and whole steps to use. I ask them to play each new scale they learn on both flute and piano, and to notice the location and sound of the half steps. When the chromatic scale is introduced, we explore enharmonic names and the idea of double sharps and flats. Often these concepts are confusing even to older students, until they see that a B# is really the same as a C, and that because they know F# they already know the fingering for Gb.
    Befriending the piano also makes possible some discoveries about melody and harmony. Playing two notes simultaneously on the flute is an advanced skill, but it is easy on piano, and opens up a new realm of listening and comparing sounds. It is important for developing flutists to realize that their ability to sustain sound with breath distinguishes them from pianists, whose tone begins to disappear as soon as it is produced. This realization is the best motivation I can think of for a young flutist to learn how to breathe well and manage the airstream.
    Once a young flutist is confident with reading notes in the treble clef, it is not hard to extend that understanding to reading the bass clef. When the mystery of the bass clef is gone, they can look at a whole score and discover how the flute and piano parts intersect. Students who are ready to play accompanied pieces should practice with the score. Their ability to understand the notation of the piano part makes possible a full understanding of the composer’s intention. Not all students will be fascinated by score study, of course, but my hope is that some of them will be as intrigued by deciphering the wealth of information in a score as they are by reading an engrossing book.

Here are some keyboard activities for young flutists:
• Find all the Ds, Bbs, etc. on the piano
• Play half and whole steps
• Play a major scale; name the notes and notice where the half steps fall
• Play a chromatic scale; name the notes and notice the half steps
• Give two names (spellings) for a given key
• Play a whole tone scale
• Find the top and bottom notes of the student’s range on the piano. Repeat periodically as more notes are learned
• As the teacher plays the interval of a fifth on the piano, the student plays the major or minor third on flute to experience the sounds of both triads. Reverse roles.
    Related activities will be generated by students’ questions, their interest levels, and how much time you choose to spend at the keyboard. There are endless other activities using the piano related to the music your students are playing. Find the ones that seem to be best suited to your own students, and then enjoy the moments as they say, “I get it now!”

The post Music Theory Made Visible: Using the Piano in the Flute Studio appeared first on The Instrumentalist.

    After taking some auditions young flutists may come to the conclusion that those who have won the jobs are different, or did so by magic or political maneuvering. Certainly my own story had elements of luck and politics as well as skill, and may provide perspective to some, but it is difficult to generalize. Every player has his own journey towards becoming a professional performer.
    With the proliferation of advice about how to play orchestra excerpts and take auditions, it is surprising how few successful professional players have shared their personal audition stories. This is needed, because young players should have a clearer idea of what awaits them after graduation, and teachers need to give real-world advice. My journey with auditions started in the lower ranks with a dream and only a foggy notion of what I was getting into.

Early Auditions
    As with many young musicians, I was notified of the opportunity to play in the local youth orchestra. “Of course, you will have to audition,” my teacher said. I broke into a cold sweat. This flute stuff was supposed to be fun. Performing a difficult solo, orchestra excerpt, scales, and then the dreaded sightreading; a dental visit sounded more attractive. My attempt was unsuccessful. The next year, I felt less intimidated. I had progressed, and could now play some French Conservatory competition pieces. Besides, I had something to prove this time. There was a long silence after my last note. From the dark abyss of the hall, the conductor slowly approached the stage. He looked at me for a long moment. He said, “Show-off! Do the sightreading!” Interestingly, the required passage was not a solo, but a tutti passage from Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony. I had worked on my sightreading, and was admitted to the orchestra. I learned that part of the term talent is tenacity.
    Brimming with confidence, next I tried out for the semi-professional orchestra in town. For the audition I had to play the solo from Brahms’ First Symphony, a work I felt I knew from my listening. Thumbing through the part, there did not appear to be anything really challenging about it. There was a flute bit in the last movement with long notes but I didn’t really see a need to practice it. My big moment came. Full of fire, I let forth a resounding E-flat for the first note of the solo. Upon reaching the next note, D-natural, realized to my horror that the passage was in C major. Just try covering that one up.
    The degree of my talent was somewhat in question early on. My parents were advised to take me to a certain flutist in the Cleveland Orchestra, for evaluation. I launched into my Poulenc Sonata, but was stopped in fairly short order. “I really don’t think you have it,” the professor pontificated, “Maybe you should consider doing something else for a living. You know, making it in professional flute playing can be very hard.” I appreciated his honesty, but after he spent the rest of the lesson talking about how much he loved his sailboat, I went home eager to prove him wrong.
    I attended a Julius Baker masterclass, and gained admission to Oberlin. I began to get a broader sense of styles and the general level of my peers, and it was intimidating. I began to realize how much I had to learn. After a couple of professional orchestra auditions, I found that there would be little if any feedback from audition committees.
Just loving music was not going to be enough. It was depressing. I questioned whether I was on the right track.
    I decided to try out for Juilliard. Maybe if I became a Julius Baker student, things would pick up. I went to New York to audition for him privately. After my Bozza he had had enough. Looking at me through heavy eyelids he said in that New York accent, “Pretty good Spaaaks, but you know, it’s tough; these girls (“goils”), they’re really good!” It was a different age, and a dead end.

American Wind Symphony
    Gradually there were small successes. I took a bus to audition for the American Wind Symphony, lovingly referred to by its members as Barge Band. All I had was an address in Pittsburgh and a time to show up, and when I told the cabbie the address he thought I was nuts. Dropping me downtown at the river, I found myself standing in a torrential downpour, looking at an odd barge-like boat. I was soaked to the bone. I didn’t care what the thing was, I was going on board. Crossing onto the craft, I entered an office. The receptionist told me to go into the pilot house of the boat and warm up. Trying some Mozart amidst the forest of navigational machinery, I wondered if this was to be my last audition. Maybe if dismissed, I would have to walk the plank. Then a man entered who introduced himself as the conductor, and I learned that the Wind Symphony actually performed on the boat. Lightning struck deafeningly nearby, and the boat pitched back and forth. Things were getting weirder. I launched bravely into my Mozart. The conductor seemed to like my playing and in the end offered me a job with the ensemble for the upcoming summer. Saved from the watery depths! The rain stopped, and I felt light as a feather. That summer I learned that the auditions were worth it. Life was a complete blast as professional player.
    At Oberlin, Robert Willoughby offered a one-month orchestral excerpts seminar. We performed solos and learned all the passages and parts of Ravel’s Daphnis and Chloe, and Hindemith’s Symphonic Metamorpho-sis. Willoughby was a first-rate orchestral musician, and he taught us to prepare everything. I auditioned for the National Repertory Orchestra, a high level summer training program. The first two times, I did not get in, but I got good feedback from the conductor, who heard the auditions, and urged me to keep trying. The third time was the charm, and he admitted me.

Venezuela
    Studying in Boston the next year, I kept in touch with Laura Gilbert, the principal flutist from NRO. She told me about a second flute vacancy in the Caracas Philharmonic in Venezuela. I could go to New York and audition for the principal flutist. I decided to go just for the challenge, and though there were quite a few players there, I ended up being chosen, and was off to Venezuela the next week.
    The job was fun, but the beaches were better. Soon after arriving in Caracas I went with friends to a remote location on the coast for an afternoon of snorkeling. Once we were in the water my passport, visa, and clothing were all efficiently swiped from the beach by thieves who had followed us. Unfortunately, there were police checkpoints everywhere, monitoring travelers. Documents were scrutinized by armed teenagers posing as authorities, looking for illegal aliens, bribes, and drug traffic from Colombia. It was not unusual to see cars virtually disassembled at the guard stations. Returning to town in the passenger seat, wearing just my swimsuit, with no visa or passport, I contemplated the delightful subject of jail time in Venezuela. We arrived at the alcabala, (a lovely-sounding Spanish word for these checkpoints.) The guard, casually placing the barrel of his AK-47 on the open car window ledge, asked for our papers. In the sweltering heat, I felt sweat trickle down my back. His cold eyes swept me. I will never know what my friend, a long-time resident fluent in the local dialect, told the officer. There was a tense moment, but then we were waved through. “Do not turn around,” my friend warned from the driver’s seat.

Canton and Memphis
    I returned to Boston after a year in Venezuela, and learned that the Canton (Ohio) Symphony, which happened to be directed by my youth orchestra conductor, was looking for a principal flute. It was a small job, but the orchestra also had a busy woodwind quintet. I practiced as hard as I could, and won the job. I was surprised how many flutists were there. Perhaps in the end my previous contact with the conductor helped, but it was a serious audition, behind a screen with multiple rounds. Abandoning work on my master’s degree, I moved to the bustling metropolis of Canton, Ohio. It turned out that I was quite busy, and obtained a full studio of middle school flute players. I enjoyed teaching, which helped me figure out my own playing.
    After listening to recordings of the orchestra performances, I recorded my practice sessions to develop a better sense of my own sound. A principal job had opened in Memphis, Tennessee, and after using the recorder for practice, passing the tape round of the audition was not so hard. When I went to the audition, I heard lots of players warming up, and some of them sounded remarkable. It was like being lost in a maze of Classical Symphony high Ds, with dive-bombing birds from Carnival of the Animals. When I got onstage and began playing I could really hear myself, just like on the recorder, and focused on my execution. The committee seemed to like what I was doing and I advanced. This audition business was starting to be fun.
    In the last round, there was a surprise. The music director came on stage, and conducted us through a tutti from Petrouchka, a passage I knew well. I felt a nice rapport with the conductor. My preparation paid off, and I won the job.

San Antonio
    After a few months in Memphis, principal flute in the San Antonio Symphony opened up. The orchestra had a much fuller schedule than Memphis. By then, I was performing a lot and practicing quite obsessively at all hours. Someone told me a story about Julius Baker, who apparently would keep his flute out of the case by his bedside, and play A Midsummer Night’s Dream Scherzo upon waking. Bet his wife really liked that. This time I practiced extra excerpts that weren’t on the excerpt list. I recall some of the older players telling me “All these lists. In the old days there were no lists, you showed up prepared to play anything!” My teacher Robert Willoughby performed the Faure Fantasie for his Cleveland Orchestra audition in the 1950s, with the legendary George Szell himself accompanying at the piano. There were two other candidates at the audition. I guess things were a little different back then.
    The day of the audition there was a freak snowstorm in San Antonio. I got to the hall, had a brief warmup, and then the usher took me through labyrinthian hallways, saying “it’s just a bit further, this way.” Opening a door, we proceeded outside, across a snow-covered courtyard. I thought, “I guess they will find out who can play while they are freezing cold. I should have practiced with no heat.” Reaching the audition room directly across, I played briefly and felt sure I would not advance, but they told me I was going on. The next round was on stage. I felt encouraged and played well through the final round. We gathered backstage. I was elated when they announced I had won the job, but another candidate began sobbing uncontrollably saying, “Why did he win, and not me?” I felt strangely guilty and realized that humanity sure can go by the wayside in these things. Suddenly I was approached by the principal bassoonist, who said, “Congratulations! We are going on strike tomorrow.” I was in a new league.
    Turmoil ensued when I returned to Memphis. To my surprise the management pressured me to sign a resignation so they could open the position, and I did, only to find out afterwards that San Antonio’s strike was deepening and rumors of bankruptcy were rife. I panicked and went to the General Manager’s office and asked to see the resignation letter. I promptly thanked her and said, “I am going to have to take this,” and walked out. She was struck speechless, like a person who has just seen a cow eat their cellphone. Lawsuits were threatened, people were upset. My affairs apparently really mattered to some people. The personnel manager stormed my apartment. I eventually surrendered the letter. Luckily, San Antonio settled just before I went there.
    After a year, however, the orchestra in San Antonio was in even more serious trouble. Scanning the announcements, I saw that principal flute was open in the Baltimore Symphony. By then I had a firm audition prep routine, and was now in the habit of over-preparing somewhat, learning additional solos, the tutti passages, plus some woodwind quintets in case there was a chamber music round. I wanted to prove I was qualified.

Baltimore
    Accordingly, in Baltimore the committee heard a lot of extra material. They even asked us to play in Baroque style, with no vibrato. Advancing to the third round, I walked on stage to find the entire committee seated around the principal flute chair, and the music director on the podium. Next to my chair was a stack of music on a stool. I was conducted through numerous excerpts and my additional preparation paid off. With clock approaching 10 p.m. the committee decided it was time to play woodwind quintets. I was ready. They asked two of us to return in a month, to play a final round with the entire orchestra. In the end the other applicant, Robert Langevin, was offered a one-year job. He could not do it, so I was offered the position. During the audition Robert and I got along nicely, and I was proud to be trying out with such a great flutist.

Audition Ups and Downs
    After a year, I was offered associate principal flute and accepted it. I learned that having a job is much more than winning an audition, especially when the orchestra went on a 26-week strike in my first tenured year. While in Baltimore I decided to change to a different flute, and my timing could not have been worse. A few months later, there was an explosion of principal flute opportunities across the country. I did not feel settled and lost seven straight auditions.
    Five years and many headjoints later, just as I was about to give up orchestra playing and look for a teaching position, I decided to try out for the recently-announced principal opening in the New York Philharmonic. I had done a tour with them as assistant principal, and thought I had a chance. They were unsure about my playing at first (at one point I was dismissed, but the personnel director chased me down in the elevator and said that the committee wanted me to come back), but I managed to advance. By the end of the day, they narrowed it down to another candidate and myself. The final round a few months later was an audition with the orchestra. The committee requested that we both remain on stage through the audition, so we could play the excerpts immediately after the other. This is quite uncommon in the United States. That was interesting, as we both got to hear the player we were competing with. In the end we were summoned to the music director’s office. “We are looking for the best flute player in the world,” he said in all of his heavily-accented majesty, and neither of you is that player.” It was a long flight back home.
    Soon after, a vacancy for principal was announced for the Chicago Symphony. Again making it to the last round, this time I encountered a new conundrum. I was in good favor with the committee, but the music director, entering the scene in its final moments, declared that a fresh candidate of his own choosing, new to the audition, would have the position and that was that, end of story.

St. Louis
    The following year I was contacted by the St. Louis Symphony, and played several concerts with them. Eventually there was an audition, and I was invited to the final round. More rounds were planned but surprisingly, the audition process came to a halt when apparently I earned a unanimous vote from the committee. There were no more rounds. The scene was not entirely wreathed in rosy afterglow. After the results were announced I greeted a fellow candidate with whom I had had a congenial relationship with for some years. She fixed me with a fierce glare. “So, it’s you,” she said. It was a short, uncomfortable conversation. There certainly are those who do not share your joy in winning a position.
    What, you may ask, is the moral of the story? I am not sure there is one. Do not expect the audition process to always be fair and straightforward. When the system does not function as expected, it can work for or against you. Don’t give up. To yourself be true but do not ignore advice from others when you can get it. Find your own voice.
    My story may be quite different or similar to my colleagues’ and is still evolving. This is simply what happened to me.        

Top photo: St. Louis Symphony Orchestra, photo by Scott Ferguson      

The post One Orchestral Flutist’s Journey appeared first on The Instrumentalist.

    Swiss flutist and composer Matthias Ziegler (b. 1955) teaches at the Musikhochschule Winterthur Zurich and performs throughout the world. He was formerly solo flutist with the Zurich Chamber Orchestra. While his repertoire includes the traditional and contemporary literature for the flute, his search for new sounds has broadened the expressive potential of the traditional flute and the electroacoustically amplified contrabass flute. Composers Michael Jarrell (Switzerland), Benjamin Yusupov (Tajikistan), Matthias Rüegg (Vienna Art Orchestra) and Mark Dresser (United States) have written flute concertos for him.
 
What inspires you to create a new piece?
    Sometimes after a concert people ask if there is a possibility of their playing my pieces. Since I often improvise music, I have to write my ideas down.  Some of improvising is hard to put on paper, however, so the pieces may change as I write them out. I suppose this is a good exercise in learning to nail down the ideas. 
    Sometimes the music that inspires me uses particular flutes that make special sounds. Non-flute music is a big source of inspiration. It might be Iranian, South American, or Renaissance music that I hear and then make a sketch of it on my instruments.
    The process of writing the music down on a piece of paper is the last step of composing. You get the idea, make sketches and try the idea out from one end. Putting it down on paper means you know what you are going to write. It is like architecture. It is not just designing the house, architecture is the whole process of getting to the point where you are able to put it down on paper, to condense the idea.
    I might pick up old ideas from a recording I made or a piece that I wrote down earlier. Sometimes it is just a set-up of instruments that inspires me. For example, with Low Flutes at High Tides, I was asked to write seven or more parts and use alto, bass, contra alto and contra bass with no electronic equipment. It was interesting to do something for just low flutes. It was very different than an open set-up when I can include any instruments I want to use.

What challenges did you face when you wrote Low Flutes at High Tides?
    When I write down “shshshshsh” in the German way, the Americans read it differently. Americans think it should sound like “she she she she” and I wanted something softer, more like the “sh” in shoe. The lips are more forward and the sound that is produced is less bright, more caressing. As soon as you include language with an effect, you have to be very careful and, of course it came out wrong so I had to correct it.
    I felt that some people would not be able to do the effects I wanted very well; they would need lots of practice. So I tried to be clearer and simpler to get the effect that I wanted. Some of the passages I wrote were complex, and I tried them out with my flute class in Zurich. Some of them sounded a little different from what I thought, but the result was still interesting.
    There were problems with sounds that transform while you play, like going from clear pure flute sounds to air noise. I found out how to make it simpler for the individual players and get the same result at the end. Instead of asking everyone to change from a clear sound to a breathy sound, I found if I let two people keep the clear sound and asked for airy, unfocused tone from six people, the overall result is a breathy sound. That was very nice to discover. Not everyone has to make a change in order for the new texture to be effective.

How did you discover the unusual percussive and vocal sounds that no one knew the flute could make?
    Some of them I found improvising with the instrument. I discovered others when I was practicing and listening very closely or by putting my ear on the flute while I was sitting in the orchestra during boring rehearsals with choirs. I was listening to the choirs through my tube and hearing harmonics. Then I started singing into the instrument myself and using different fingerings to produce various harmonics.
    Another source is the solo flute repertoire. In the beginning of the 20th century we have the Debussy Syrinx which is clear, straight flute playing. Then we have the Varese Density 21.5 that uses key clicks. Next is Andre Jolivet who uses flutter tonguing and also harmonics. I would say the next solo piece in line is the Berio Sequenza. Here you get multiphonics, frullato (singing while playing) and key clicks. After this you get Takemitsu using the voice, lots of multiphonics, and frullato; he is almost using the whole palette. In the 1970s Heinz Holliger was already using tongue rams. In addition to learning the techniques, flutists should know the musical potential of each one by using it throughout the instrument.
    I found out which sounds survived live on stage and which were rather private and soft. A big step was putting microphones inside the instrument, and all those sounds came to life. The sounds got to a level that people could hear them. At that point I started making a library of my sounds. I defined them, wrote them down, recorded how long I could play them and outlined the possible dynamic range. It is a lot of work and research, but I enjoyed investigating a long history of wonderful flute playing.

Did you put microphones inside the flute because you heard a sound that was so soft you knew that would be the only way it could be heard?
    Well, it could be like that. It sounds very logical, but my entire life, I always took things apart and put them together again. I have a basic technical interest in how things work.
After graduating from the university in Freiberg, I went on tour with Andreas Vollenweider who played electro-acoustic harp. He had wonderful technicians, and this was the place where I heard that playing my flute on a live stage could sound like sitting in front of a stereo. This was a wonderful thing because I realized that the clarity of sound, this quality of the details of sound, could be attained. After this tour, together with the technicians of Andreas Vollenweider, I developed this amplified flute.
    The summer I was working on this, I was at the concert of a didgeridoo player who put a microphone at the end of his tube and got the most wonderful sounds. That same night I went home and put a microphone at the end of my flute on the inside. Technology was at a point where microphones were small enough that one could think about putting them inside the flute.
    I experimented all summer. I started by taking off trill keys, putting cork in the opening and placing a microphone in this cork. From there I kept going with help from friends in electronics and flute-making fields. It became a huge, creative motor. I was playing traditional repertoire and co-founded the contemporary music group I am still with 20 years later. I also was principal flute with the Zurich Chamber Orchestra and teaching. At that point, I really felt like that creative motor was the thing that kept me going. It was fantastic. I will always think I was very lucky to have discovered something like this.

How do you develop your experiments with tone colors, rhythmic patterns, layered harmonies and percussive effects into a piece?
    What I like is to improvise and record it and then leave it overnight. I start the next morning with the recording and write down elements, sketches, like four bars or a phrase. I write some comments on the page and add colors. Then I take those sketches and see if I can notate them in the computer. I do not want to spend time developing an idea only to discover at the end that it cannot be written down.
    I try out new ideas in concerts and then listen to what I did. Developing an idea in front of people is much more reliable than doing it alone at home. So I go with a first catch on stage and see what the reaction is. I record this concert, go home and keep working. All these pieces constantly change. I do not compose one measure after another; it is half a bit here, half a bit there.

You wrote a solo bass flute piece for me,  Voices, that includes a whistle created by inhaling through the flute. What other interesting sounds have you discovered lately?
I am looking at sounds that combine different techniques. For example it might be a trill played while doing something different at the same time with articulation. There is some of that in Voices. There is a lip slap that does not really lock in with what is occurring with the fingers. I am looking at mixing gestures in order to get a new sound.

Why do you use Renaissance music in your compositions?
    I was not listening much to Renaissance music until I played the low flutes. The sound of the low flutes reminded me of the viola da gamba.
    I played Bach Sonatas and gamba sonatas with the bass flute; it worked perfectly and is very beautiful. I played music from the Tratado de Glosas, a collection of music for viola da gamba published by Diego Ortiz in 1553, and this inspired me to learn more about Renaissance music as well. I started working with Rolf Lislevand, a Norweg-ian lute and theorbo (long-necked lute) player. He is an expert on Renaissance and early music. We started playing together at my festival in the Swiss mountains and have continued to play together for the last five or six years.

You used a loop station in the Yusopov Concerto at the New York NFA convention. What constitutes an effective pattern to use on a loop station?
    (Editor’s note: a Loop Station is a type of recording device. You start by recording and saving one pattern, then add more. It can play patterns individually or simultaneously and will repeat until you signal the device to stop. Foot pedals control the functions of the machine. A of Matthias playing the Yusopov Concerto with the Belgrade Philharmonic can be found by searching for “Jusupov: Nola.”)
    Simplicity is a big issue when deciding on a pattern and you must be able to play them really precisely. You are going to hear your playing over and over again so make sure it is not limping. It can be something like a shuffle going fwofwofwofwofwo; it can also be more complex. The important thing is that you remember there will be other layers on top of it. Do not fill all the gaps with your loop pattern because you are going to be a very unhappy flute player if your loop covers everything.

Do you have favorite rhythmic patterns?
    I am very interested in polyrhythmic patterns because you can twist them around and everybody will hear how the patterns contrast with each other and how they combine. Everybody can sit on another leg of it by listening just to one layer of the pattern. I love to play polyrhythms like four against five against six, and I like the ambiguity that is within the polyrhythm. There are many examples of this in Voices. One of the easiest places in the piece is where I have a rhythmic pattern in triplet 16ths in the fingers against a pattern of vocal sounds written as straight 16ths and 32nds. (see below) The air produces an effect and the sound intersects with the fingered notes, sometimes together, sometimes not.

This excerpt is from Voices for solo bass flute, premiered at the 2013 New Orleans convention by Chris Potter and is an example of the use of polyrhythms. The top line contains the vocal effects which are rhythmically independent of the fingered pitches shown on the bottom line.

Why do you have a laptop on stage when you perform?
    The laptop runs my sound card. The microphone signals go through the sound card to the computer and this basically is a mixing table. As I am using foot pedals for the faders, I need to have a whole midi set-up and it is the most elegant way to do this. A laptop is the most compact equipment I can carry with me. I travel a lot and have to be able to get on a plane with not too much weight. Already I am at the limit: I have my checked luggage full of pedals and wires and equipment stands. I am carrying so much weight on my body just with electronic equipment that a laptop makes sense.

Have you ever considered writing for instruments other than flutes?
    I hesitate and maybe should write more. I wrote a piece for double bass, flute, drums and trombone but this is composing for improvisation that just defines fields. For example, I will tell the trombone player “Look, this is the range. Within this range, play short notes.” I give the pianist a cluster and say “vary the color of it by playing more or fewer notes together.” I describe what I want, rather than compose. If I were to have to write down a whole piano accompaniment that would be complex, and I cannot do that. Being a composer is still a profession. I do not call myself a composer, I am much more of a hunter and collector of ideas. I see how much I have to know about my instrument to be able to write for it. I do not know if I could get to a point where I would get to know the string instruments as well as I know the flute.
    If I look at contemporary composers, really good composers like Heinz Holliger, he is able to show all the effects of the violin he writes down. He goes to the violinist in the ensemble and says “please give me your violin and I will show you how we do this.” He can play it on every instrument. It is really impressive. So it is fine for me to write for the flute because I know the instrument. Everything else is for the next life.

    There has to be another reason than just a commission to compose. You have to have an interest in putting your music down on paper. The field between improvisation and composition is a very interesting one. If I reduce it to one question it is, “how little do I need to write down to get a maximum of complexity?” Or maybe “how complex can I write simplicity that it still makes sense?” Some contemporary composers are not complex, they are just complicated.
    I went to school and had a teacher to help me learn how to play the flute, but the real learning started afterwards. The input I got from conductors, composers, and fellow musicians was invaluable. I was constantly improving, learning and experimenting. Playing both improvised music and notated contemporary music, I learned so much. It is not that you go to school and then you just play what is put in front of you, you are constantly questioning.

Recent Recordings
Ziegler’s most recent CD is with the Casal Quartet and features works by Mozart. Other recent CDs included La Rusna and Tidal Affairs and are available from Leo Records. The Dutch online TV station Zappbach-TV has published a documentary about his collaboration with flutemaker Eva Kingma. Matthias performs on bass and contrabass flutes, as well as on his own invention, the Matusiflute, a uniquely designed instrument with a vibrating membrane. Contact Ziegler through his website www.matthias-ziegler.ch.

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