Musings

The life of a professional recorder player

Many careers have a clear path, through a degree, perhaps some additional training, and then a reasonably predictable trajectory through a fulfilling working life. Being a professional recorder player certainly isn’t such a job! I imagine your connection with the recorder players and teachers you encounter perhaps reveals just one or two facets of our working lives. With this in mind I figured you might find it interesting to come with me and explore what it is I, and others like me, do to earn a living.

Along the way I’ll share some of the decisions I’ve made through my working life - some of them by choice, others triggered by circumstances in my life. It’s been an interesting career so far, with plenty of twists and turns I didn’t foresee when I started out, and I’m incredibly lucky to earn my living doing something I truly love.

Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do.' – Steve Jobs

How does one become a professional musician?

When it comes to training, being a professional recorder player isn’t so different to any other musician. After A levels I had to figure out where I was going to study next. For music there are two options - studying at a university or a conservatoire. After weighing up the choices I chose to go to Triniy College of Music so I could study with Philip Thorby. I took the Graduate Course, which earned me a graduate diploma - the equivalent of an honours degree. At the time there was another option - the Performers Course - which was less academic and based around performance. While it was tempting to spend more time playing, I wanted a degree to allow me more options when I emerged into the world of work. These days all students going through a conservatoire training follow a degree course. This is an undoubtedly a positive development in today’s fluid working environment. I followed my GTCL with a postgraduate year, focused entirely on performance. This was an absolute joy after the long slog of my finals, where I had lots of academic work, including a full length thesis to write. During my postgrad year I also passed my LTCL teaching diploma.

What comes after the degree?

Graduation is a tricky moment for musicians. You’ve received an intensive training, learning to play your instrument to a high level, but that doesn’t necessarily reveal a clear path into working life. For players of orchestral instruments, there’s the possibility of an orchestra post, although few of these are long term salaried jobs today. For a recorder player this isn’t an option unless you happen to double on another baroque wind instrument, which might allow you to follow life as a woodwind player in a period instrument orchestra. Instead, most recorder players have to pursue what’s often called a portfolio career - in other words, a bit of this, a bit of that and a bit of the other!

A performer’s life

Without the possibility of a career as a full time orchestral musician, recorder players have to get creative and find other ways to perform. Occasional orchestral opportunities will arise, particularly in Baroque repertoire. I’ve played the recorder in Handel’s Acis and Galatea, Telemann’s Water Music, Purcell theatre music and many other pieces, but such performances are pretty irregular.

Another occasional pleasure is the experience of performing concertos with an orchestra. I’ve probably performed around twenty different concertos over the years, but for a recorder player, doing so is never going to provide an income large enough to live on. There are many pianists and string players working the concerto circuit, performing all over the world, but our chosen instrument is likely to remain a niche addition to the concert scene by comparison.

The most common route when it comes to performing on the recorder is to join friends and colleagues to form an ensemble. I’ve played with the Parnassian Ensemble for over 25 years now and it’s truly wonderful working with a group of friends I know so well. Finding performing opportunities is always a challenge though, demanding a lot of proactive work to seek out venues and concert series.

As a chamber musician you have two choices. The first is to find and book a venue and promote the concert yourself, hoping you’ll attract a large enough audience to cover your costs and make a surplus to pay all the performers. It can be a nerve wracking experience, but if you know you have a following in the area where you’re playing it can be reasonably successful. The second option is to find promoters and/or venues who have concert series which consistently attract audiences. In this situation the venue or promoter usually pays a fee, so you have a the pleasure of giving a concert without the worry that you’ll walk away empty handed. Unless you’re a big name this sort of performing work is rarely the path to a large income, but it’s tremendously rewarding playing to an appreciative audience. For most recorder professionals this performing work will go hand in hand with other jobs which offer more consistent remuneration.

Those who can, teach

Teaching is by far the most common career path for musicians. I struggled to find a specialist recorder teacher when I needed one as a teenager, so I knew there was scope for me to return to my home patch in Sussex when I graduated to seek work locally, teaching privately and in schools.

It was already clear to me that I wouldn’t be able to teach recorder for the local music service - a situation which has only worsened in many areas over the last three decades, as music services have been pared to the bone by cuts. Instead I set about contacting as many local private schools as I could to ask if they needed a recorder teacher. One came good almost immediately, and many more said they’d keep my details on record in case they needed someone in future. Three months later I got a phone call from the Prebendal School (Chichester’s Cathedral school) whose recorder teacher had been taken seriously ill. They needed someone to teach 29 students immediately. I was delighted to say yes, and that filled out my timetable and finances very nicely just six months after I’d graduated. The original teacher returned part time the following term, after which we shared the work for another year. She then retired and I inherited her remaining students permanently - a post I continued for twenty years.

Over the next twenty years or so I taught the recorder in three or four different schools each week. It was mostly one-to-one teaching, but I also worked in a village state school teaching whole classes. This was a tiny school, so classes rarely exceeded a dozen children, but many recorder teachers will routinely teach classes of up to thirty children. This takes enormous skill and I have huge admiration for teachers who do it well, enabling children to have a great first experience of the recorder.

Instrumental teaching in schools is a very variable thing today. With increasing financial pressures, music has gradually been pushed out of the curriculum in favour of more academic subjects. This is in spite of research proving that learning a musical instrument directly helps children in their other subjects - maths in particular. I’d like to think that as our new Prime Minister is a musician himself (Keir Starmer studied recorder and flute in the junior department of the Guildhall School of Music as a teenager) perhaps his own understanding of music might encourage him to allocate more funds to music teaching. Whether this is even possible in the short term is highly debatable, but I live in hope…

Pupils young and not so young

Over the last thirty years I’ve taught the recorder to pupils from the age of 8 to 80, covering all standards, from complete beginners to those considering becoming fellow professionals one day. These days all my pupils are adults - many of them people who learnt the recorder as a child and have returned to it in adulthood.

Teaching adults demands a different approach to educating children. Children happily try new things without fear of failing - after all one of the key ways we learn is by trying, failing and trying again. Adults come to learning an instrument with the baggage of life experience. We’re usually experts in our own field of work, and to fail at something makes us feel like, well let’s be honest, a failure! Because of this adult learners are often more cautious and less willing to try new things for fear of getting it wrong. If you’ve read some of my other blogs here on learning you’ll know my advice is to have a go and not worry about failure. No human is perfect and, yes, sometimes we all make a hash of things.

Working with groups of adults

Of course recorder education doesn’t come in just one size and the world of amateur music making is a wonderfully varied ecosystem. When I was at school I was the sole serious recorder student so my only opportunity to play in an ensemble then was to join an adult group in Worthing. I was at least three decades younger than any other member of the group, but I loved making music with them and it opened my eyes to the world of adult recorder players.

At 16 I attended the Recorder Summer School for the first time and discovered a thriving community of adult recorder players. I was so excited by the 150 strong massed playing sessions I even sent a postcard to my parents to tell them about it! It was here I first learnt about the Society of Recorder Players and I can draw a direct connection between this experience and the work that occupies much of my working life today. When I graduated I was invited to join the tutoring team at the Recorder Summer School and I’m still there, 31 years later!

One of the most significant elements of my working life today is conducting ensembles and working as musical director for three recorder orchestras. Doing so would have struck me as highly unlikely during my choral conducting classes at Trinity College - I spent most of those feeling utterly terrified. Fortunately, teaching at the summer school put me in front of groups of sympathetic musicians (many of whom still remembered me as a teenage student on the course) who forgave my early technical inadequacies and gave me the time and space to develop my skills.

When I first graduated, this work, conducting and teaching on courses, was largely the province of more mature professionals and for a long while I was significantly younger than most of my fellow tutors. I’m delighted to see this is now changing. Most of the recorder professionals who graduated around the same time as me simply didn’t view working with amateur musicians as a viable career path. This was partly because it was badly paid or done for love rather than income. Over the last twenty years this has gradually changed, and today I’m delighted to see more young professionals getting involved in this rewarding field of music making.

Working with adult amateur musicians is an area of my work which has expanded greatly over the last ten years - largely due to personal circumstances. In 2013 we moved 120 miles to the Hertfordshire/Essex border and, despite my best efforts, I wasn’t able to replace the school teaching I left behind in Sussex. More invitations gradually came in to visit SRP branches, conduct ensembles, teach evening classes and run other workshops. Eventually this part of my working life expanded so much that I came to the conclusion I’d rather be working with adults than teaching children - a decision I’ve never regretted.

Music isn’t the only road…

It’s not uncommon for recently graduated professionals to seek out work completely unrelated to music while they wait for their portfolio to develop. Of course, for some the experience of conservatoire life brings the realisation that they either don’t want the pressures of life as a working musician, or perhaps they see that their playing just isn’t good enough. But for these people, that music training is far from wasted.

This 2013 article in the Guardian describes how music graduates, through their training, acquire skills which are valuable in any number of different careers. Being a musician requires you to be self-reliant and good at working alone, able to use one’s time efficiently, great at working in a team, proficient at communicating with an audience, taking care of one’s own administrative tasks, developing IT skills and much, much more. Ok, we might not be much use at removing a brain tumour or plumbing in a central heating system, but the skills we do have can be applied to a huge range of jobs!

I was lucky enough to pick up sufficient teaching work fairly quickly, so my only non-teaching or performing job for a long while was working the occasional day in our local music shop. When we relocated in 2013 I was left with a large hole in my income, so I took on a job at our local National Trust property - Hatfield Forest.

Standing in the car park (often in a gale or pouring rain) welcoming visitors doesn’t sound scintillating, but it frequently demanded good people skills (especially when faced with irate visitors who couldn’t find a parking space) and I really enjoyed my eight years there as a Visitor Welcome Assistant. I met so many interesting people (not to mention making a fuss of the dogs who were taking their humans for a walk!) and made lots of friends along the way. Working outdoors was so far removed from my musical work, but I wouldn’t turn the clock back and change that career choice. Ultimately I handed my notice in with the National Trust, not because I didn’t want to work there any more, but because my musical life had once again taken a different direction and I was struggling to find time for a day off each week.

Musical entrepreneurship

If there’s a skill that’s required of all recorder professionals, it’s the ability to think creatively and laterally. Yes, teaching and performing are often the staples of our careers, but there are plenty of other creative outlets for our skills if we look hard enough. I’ve come to realise this ever more in recent years and, if you’ve visited my website before, you’ll perhaps have sampled the fruit of my creative efforts.

Build it and they will come?

When I first graduated I was delighted if someone invited me to work for them - perhaps doing one-to-one teaching, or tutoring on a course. The thought of branching out and setting up events for myself didn’t even occur to me. Why would I want to take the financial risk if someone else was willing to deal with the admin and pay me a fee?

The first project that really opened my eyes to the entrepreneurial possibilities was Bravo Bonsor! - a CD recording I masterminded with the support of the SRP in 2012. Brian Bonsor was a big influence on me, encouraging me to work with amateur musicians and inviting me to teach at the Recorder Summer School, so when the SRP asked me to oversee a project to create a CD of his music I was thrilled. Little did I realise it would take over my life for a whole year!

For this project I took on many different tasks. These included choosing the music, selecting a suitable group of musicians to play it, writing the programme notes for the CD insert booklet, shooting the album artwork and finding a venue and an engineer to record and press the CDs. Then we just had to rehearse the music and record it all over the space of two weekends, approve the final edit and the begin selling the CDs! In reality I could have passed some of the tasks on to others, but I was totally committed to the project and relished the way it stretched my administrative and musical skills. I learnt so much from the experience and, over a decade later, it’s still a highlight of my career to date.

The skills I gained through that project have been instrumental in much of the work I’ve taken on over the last few years. In 2016 I set up the Mellow Tones Recorder Orchestra, an eight foot recorder orchestra (tenor recorders and lower) which meets four times a year. I had no idea how many people might join, but today between 40 and 50 enthusiastic musicians attend each rehearsal. This gave me the confidence to dip my toe into administrating recorder courses and workshops of my own, and today I work as administrator and tutor for three residential courses.

Two of these courses are ones where I took over the administration from other people, but the third evolved because a venue which had employed me to tutor courses for many years closed permanently. It seemed a shame for the course to disappear entirely, so I took a leap of faith and set about figuring out what was required to make it happen without outside help.

At music college there’s no module teaching the skills needed to organise events - finding venues, setting budgets, advertising, devising timetables etc. Fortunately, years spent teaching on other courses, observing and learning how they were run, along with a decent slice of common sense, served me well. I’ve discovered I really enjoy the process of putting these administrative jigsaws together, even if there are moments when I feel like tearing my hair out!

Of course, the move from hired tutor to course administrator/director isn’t without its nerve shredding moments. Covid 19 proved a particularly worrying time. At one point in 2020 I was faced with the possibility of having to cancel one course while still being liable for the venue costs alongside refunding the people who’d booked - an eye watering potential loss of around £12,000. Ultimately the Covid regulations came to my rescue, preventing conference centres reopening until after my course was due to run - phew!

That terrifying prospect aside, I’ve always been cautious when planning budgets in case events aren’t fully booked. Yes, the moment when you open bookings for a course always brings a nervous buzz (“What if no one wants to come?”) but I’m lucky enough to have built up a supportive community of musicians who attend them. I’ll never take this for granted and it’s thanks to people like you that I’m able to do this work.

Putting pen to paper

It’s not uncommon for musicians to compose and arrange for their chosen instrument, and I think this is particularly prevalent among recorder professionals. Having composed your piece the next step is to find a publisher…. or perhaps set up your own publishing house instead!

For a long while music was mostly printed by big publishing houses - Schott, Universal, Faber, OUP and the like. These are companies with large overheads and they’re happy to publish works that’ll sell millions of copies. But the cost/benefit balance doesn’t work so well when you’re talking about an edition which might only sell a handful of copies each year. Sadly a lot of recorder music falls into this latter category. In the 1980s small, homespun publishing houses began to spring up - Oriel Library was the first one I became aware of. These editions were often handwritten (beautifully so in the case of Oriel Library) and then copied. Because the company’s overheads were low the music was often modestly priced and they were in a much better position to take a risks publishing pieces which might only sell in small numbers.

With the advent of computer programmes to typeset music (Sibelius being perhaps the best known) several recorder players began creating their own editions - names such as the Clark Collection, Hawthorns Music, Willobie Press and Mayhill Editon. The recorder world is now probably one of the most abundant in terms of small publishing houses and I feel sure our repertoire of both original music and arrangements has benefitted in terms of quantity and variety. When Ruth and Jeremy Burbidge bought Recorder MusicMail in the early 1990s they too created their own publishing house (Peacock Press). As larger publishers have chosen to drop recorder pieces from their catalogues they’ve often been saved from oblivion and subsumed into Peacock Press. Without this flourishing DIY publishing market who knows what gems we might have lost from our repertoire forever?

While I’ve never had any skill for composing, I’ve enjoyed arranging music for recorders since I was a student. A number of my arrangements have been published over the years by several of our DIY recorder publishers and more recently I’ve begun to offer PDF download editions via my own website. This work will never make me rich, but opens up my arrangements for others to use them, as well as being another small contribution to my financial bottom line.

Words as well as music

I may have no compositional talents, but one thing I do particularly love is the written word - as you may have realised from my lengthy blogs!

As part of my preparation for the occasional recorder technique workshops I run, I created a comprehensive handout for my students as a reminder of everything we covered during the day. A few years ago I realised this handout might form the basis for a book so I could share my knowledge more widely. This began life as an ebook which could be downloaded from my website for a small sum, but I soon received requests for a printed version too. Such a volume is never going to be a bestseller, so I took the self publishing route, typesetting the text myself and getting them printed by Blurb and, more recently, Mixam. I take copies with me to recorder events as well as selling them via my website.

Passive sources of income like this are a really useful boost for any musician, and without too much day to day work I receive a small but steady stream of income from my book. The only demands on me now are trips to the post box to dispatch them and occasionally ordering more books from the printer. I’ve sold around 1000 copies over the last decade, in ebook and print format, so I think my book has more than repaid me for the work it took to create it!

Finding one’s feet in IT

Our world has changed enormously in my lifetime. We’ve gone from being an analogue society, with much of our working lives based around paper, to one where it’s almost impossible to avoid at least a degree of interaction with IT. This has opened up many new avenues of possibility, but that same technology can also be a hard task master. Email, for instance, is a wonderful communication tool but the endless flow of inbound messages can be overwhelming at times.

The internet has opened up many new ways to reach the recorder community with our musical offerings - websites, email, social media and other electronic channels such as YouTube. The recording world has been particularly deeply affected. Not so long ago people purchased CDs to listen to the music they loved, but today streaming is the dominant force. This makes it much easier and cost effective for the listener to explore fresh music, but for performers the income derived from recordings has slumped to a pittance - fractions of a penny per track streamed on most platforms. By comparison, the sale of a CD may typically net the performer around 10% of the sale price - still a small sum but a huge amount more than streaming. Ultimately, recording and selling albums of music isn’t a route to huge wealth for most classical musicians, but it nonetheless remains an important way to gain visibility and allows us to leave our own small musical legacy.

Music on video - learning to master the algorithm

Beyond traditional audio formats we have the world of online video streaming - YouTube being the most familiar. Many musicians have taken this route to build a stronger connection with their audience and in the recorder world Sarah Jeffery is probably the best known personality. Her Team Recorder YouTube channel is now eight years old, with over 200,000 followers - an amazing achievement for what many would deem to be a niche, minority instrument. Don’t let Sarah’s relaxed and informal demeanour fool you though - achieving and maintaining such a following while not compromising one’s principles takes a huge amount of work!

Running a successful YouTube channel can create a useful amount of income but with it comes a fine balancing act. YouTube’s financial rewards are greatest when you produce content that draws lots of views for the advertisers. That’s fine if you can create the right sort of content on a regular basis, but taking a break or changing the type of material you share can impact your income. Another YouTuber I follow, sing-songwriter Mary Spender, has talked about how the type of videos she enjoys making most aren’t necessarily the ones that generate the greatest income. Continually churning out exactly the same thing may be financially rewarding, but this has to be balanced against retaining your own enthusiasm for the project and not burning out while trying to meet your audience’s demands for a never ending flow of new material.

I see this exact effect on much a smaller basis with my own electronic offerings. I find it fascinating to track which of my videos and blogs attract lots of clicks and downloads. I now know that smaller scale Baroque consorts are usually most popular, while the larger pieces or repertoire outside the recorder’s natural territory get less traction. Yes, I could keep churning out more and more of the same, but I know some of my audience enjoy those more unusual items and I want help them too. It’s also important that I retain my own level of interest if I’m to continue doing my job as well as you expect.

Problem solving and lateral thinking

'When you are asked if you can do a job, tell 'em, 'Certainly I can!' Then get busy and find out how to do it.' – Theodore Roosevelt

From a personal perspective, I never planned on creating my own digital resources but a certain virus pandemic led me to this route. In the course of a couple of weeks in March 2020 my entire working life was cancelled and I suddenly had lots of free time, but what to do with it?

Looking back, I never considered that IT might be a part of my working life when I was studying. During my college years the only computers I’d ever used were prehistoric ones at school where you loaded programmes via a cassette tape, and the marginally less ancient BBC machines we had in the Trinity College computer suite. My experience of them was unremittingly awful, and by the time I graduated I had absolutely zero interest in anything IT related. When my partner bought his first PC in the mid-1990s I tentatively began to explore the world of computers. I’ve never taken any sort of course in computing, but I have a curious mind and a willingness to try new things, so I’ve picked up skills piecemeal as I’ve needed them.

Over the years I learnt enough about word processing and music typesetting to keep up with my work, and later I began to create simple websites for my projects. I still have zero coding skills, but thankfully there are tools which allow me to drag and drop text and photos into ready made templates to create clean, easy to use webpages.

After a few weeks of pandemic restrictions I’d explored every inch of our village and the countryside surrounding it with my camera and, like most recorder players, was missing my musical activities. I’d seen a few playalong resources online, but felt I could offer something different if I could find a way of doing it. I enjoy exploring new technology, so I did some research to find the right solution. This proved to be the Acapella app on my iPhone and, after lots of experimentation, I found a way to create my multitrack videos, including a view of me conducting to help those who needed it.

But where to share my offerings? I certainly didn’t want to step on Sarah’s toes on YouTube. My solution was to create a page on my website and I used Facebook to encourage people to visit….

Around this time I’d started an ongoing conversation with David DuChemin, a Canadian photographer whose work and teaching I love. I mentioned my new musical project and he suggested that using social media to publicise it was a flawed plan - only a tiny proportion of your followers ever see what you’re sharing because of the algorithms in use. What I needed was an email newsletter so I could contact my audience directly. As you’ll have realised by now I like a challenge - I thrive on solving problems - so this was just another project to run with. I had no idea how best to create a mailing list so I jumped onto the internet and found out! David was incredibly generous with his advice too and the result is the Score Lines emails I send out every two weeks, which continue to this day - yet another element of my portfolio career.

Of course, arranging music and creating videos kept me busy and brought the feel-good factor because I was helping others, but it wasn’t necessarily going to help my newly Covid-impoverished financial situation. I was left with a conundrum - should I give them away free, charge per download or find another route entirely? I was conscious that many people were in a similar financial situation to me, so I finally opted for a donation system. Those who wanted to use my consort music and videos could do so free of charge, but for those who saw value in them and could afford to do so, they had the option to make a donation toward them.

Back in 2008 writer and editor Kevin Kelly said the following in a blog post:

“To be a successful creator you don’t need millions. You don’t need millions of dollars or millions of customers, millions of clients or millions of fans. To make a living as a craftsperson, photographer, musician, designer, author, animator, app maker, entrepreneur, or inventor you need only thousands of true fans.”

His logic was that if each of your 1000 true fans spent $100 on your concerts/music/art each year you’d earn a comfortable living. Even that level of income is a mere pipe dream for most grass roots music professionals, but I can see the sense in his words. With the donation system I chose for my consort videos I’ve seen this in action firsthand. They are downloaded by hundreds of people each month, but the income I receive from the few who really see value in them and choose to donate brings in sufficient income to allow me to keep creating more of them. Did I make the right choice on this back in 2020? Without a time machine I’ll never know, but I stand by that decision. Either way, those first few videos changed my working life forever and for that I’m grateful - a positive outcome from something as destructive as a pandemic.

Always moving forward…

Life should never be a static thing and the most recent addition to my working portfolio has been this Score Lines blog. As the Covid virus began to recede I assumed use of my consort music and videos would probably wane because recorder players could once again get together with friends to play in person. Having built up a small but loyal audience (heading towards 1900 at the time of writing), I wanted to continue that connection, offering something they would hopefully find useful in the long term. I’ve always loved sculpting the written word, so sharing my knowledge in text format was a logical way to go. Every two weeks I enjoy a this wordsmithing and I hope the result is something you find enjoyable and educational too. Coming up with a continued and varied selection of topics certainly challenges my curious mind and I think I’ve probably learned as much as any of my readers along the way!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So there you have a glimpse into the world of this particular professional recorder player. Such is the nature of the world that each and every musician you encounter will likely have a different combination of jobs contributing to their career. Some are more musically or financially rewarding than others, but together they make up our working lives. There’s never a dull moment as a professional musician. One’s income can be unpredictable and it’s rarely the career to follow if you wish to be rich, but the counterpoint to that is that it’s tremendously varied and immensely rewarding. Let’s face it, given the choice between the myriad of tasks I do and a job spent in an office 9-5 every day there’s simply no competition!

The perfect excuse - real life mistakes

Are you the perfect musician? No? Well, that makes two of us who aren’t!

I’ve written on the Score Lines blog before about our need for perfection. We all know, deep down, that perfection may be a laudable aim, but in reality we rarely achieve it. I see this in my own working life, both in my playing and the mistakes I hear from other musicians. We all make excuses and apologies for our errors and there are certain phrases I hear time and again - from my own mouth and those of others. Teaching my evening class a few months back I heard familiar exclamations: “Oops, I missed the key signature”, “I forgot my reading glasses” and many more. It occurred to me that pulling these musicians’ excuses together might be an interesting and entertaining project, so I called out to my Score Lines community for your help.

Boy, did you come up with the goods! Over the last couple of months my email inbox has been peppered with wonderful emails from recorder players around the globe, confessing their mistakes and the ways they try to excuse them. Many a time I’ve found myself nodding in recognition and chuckling out loud. It’s time to bring your words to the wider recorder world so we can all be reassured these mistakes are completely normal. A huge thank you to everyone who got in touch to pass on their excuses - be that via email or in person. All your confessions will perpetually remain anonymous - it’s only my own deficiencies I’m openly revealing below!

Looking through your messages, our musical excuses tend to fall into various categories, so I’ve grouped them accordingly here. I’m going to talk about my own failings, bringing in lots of your comments along the way. Yes, professional musicians make mistakes too. You may not always notice them, and that’s because we’ve learnt through painful experience how to cover them up well! You’ll hear about some of my embarrassing moments and I hope perhaps my confessions may be reassuring.

Let’s dive in and explore the treasure trove of musical excuses we’ve gathered together between us…

Notational niceties

We all know we should look at the start of our music before we begin playing - the clef, key signature and time signature are useful pieces of information aren’t they? Can you say, hand on heart, that you always do this? No, me neither! If I had a pound for every time I had to make a swift, panic stricken glance back at the beginning of a line to check the key signature when I’m already several lines into the music, I’d be quite wealthy. I did this once while playing from a Salvation Army Christmas Carol book on Christmas Day. These tiny publications are printed on A5 paper so they can be mounted on a lyre while playing outdoors. To save further space, the key signature appears just once - at the very beginning of the piece. If you get as far as line two or beyond and realise you’ve forgotten to check the key, you have to shift your eyes even further to correct your omission!

Of course time signatures can be problematic too, especially if you’re playing a piece of music where there are frequent changes. While playing in the orchestra for John Hawkes’ Concerto for spinet and recorder orchestra I didn’t dare take my eyes off the music as the metre changed every couple of bars. Doing so risked me planting them back in the wrong place to count a of 7/8 bar when perhaps it should have been 3/4. There might be only a single quaver’s difference between the two, but that’s enough to make or break a performance. I made exactly this error in rehearsal, but in concert kept my eyes firmly glued to the music!

“Sorry everyone. I’ll play the piece in 4/4 instead of 3/4 this time.”

Have you ever noticed the most difficult bars in any piece of music always coincide with a line break or page break? I swear music publishers collude to make this happen, just to keep us musicians on our toes. I can think of one example in a Bach Trio Sonata where two consecutive lines have almost identical music - a sure fire recipe for missing a line or playing one twice. I normally only write on music in pencil, but on this occasion a highlighter pen helped me distinguish between the two lines and avoid disaster.

Generally speaking, music notation has evolved to be as clear as possible, so we can read the dots quickly and efficiently. If there’s one detail which could do with a rethink it’s surely the symbols for minim and semibreve rests. A single symbol is an entirely different length, depending on whether it sits on the third line of the stave or hangs down from the fourth. That’s a recipe for chaos if you’re not concentrating and I’ve seen many musicians fall prey to this.

“Oops. I thought that was a whole note…this edition doesn’t make it easy to distinguish the semibreves from the breves” (Said while squinting and leaning closer to the score.)

While we’re on the misreading of notation, we’ve all failed to see dots beside or above notes - and the difference between those two things can be enormous.

“Wait, was there a dot there?!”

A bad workman blames his tools. Yes, it’s easy to blame the quality of notation or printing in an edition, but I can think of two distinct occasions where this has almost derailed a session I was directing. At one course I ran a class studying the Telemann Concerto in F for four treble recorders. 99% of those playing had one edition, but we quickly discovered a whole array of errors in the music. This was bad enough, but imagine my bewilderment when I realised that in newer re-prints the editor had removed some of the mistakes, but added in different ones! The resulting music making was peppered with mistakes, but to this day I have no way of knowing which were the result of user error and which were typographical glitches…

“I forgot to come in because I had a GP in the bar before.”

Early on in my career I nearly reached panic stations with a piece of Palestrina I’d set for a course. I had a copy bought several years earlier, while my students mostly had copies purchased shortly before the course began. We started playing and I struggled to understand why people were playing the wrong lines. Eventually the penny dropped and I realised the publisher, in their wisdom, had swapped two of the voices in the latest reprint of this double choir work (quite sensibly, as it happens). This made the layout more logical, but they failed to make any mention of it in the foreword and I’d assumed my older edition was the correct one. These days I like to think I’d have cottoned on to the problem sooner, but the experience put a large dent in my confidence and I’ve never conducted the same piece again since!

User error

One of the classic exclamations I hear all the time from recorder players, is a realisation that they’re playing in the wrong fingerings - for instance, C fingering when it should be F. In nearly forty years of recorder teaching I can honestly say this is a universal error. Only once have I taught a pupil who never confused C and F fingering and I think we can assume that particular student was an exception to the rule. I can go one better though…

At the Northern Recorder Course, a decade or more ago, I was offered the chance to play a sub-great bass recorder, alongside two other excellent musicians. At the time I didn’t regularly play C fingering from bass clef so it took a fair degree of concentration. The music went quite high in places and imagine my confusion when I found my notes at odds with those of my colleagues. After a little cogitation I realised not only was I playing in F fingering for these high notes, I was also reading the music as treble clef - no wonder it sounded awful!

“Oops, wrong recorder!”

What notes am I playing?

With most recorders, you play exactly what you see. But for some of the more obscure variants a degree of mental gymnastics is required. There may be some who read G alto or voice flute music by relearning the way familiar finger patterns relate to the notes, but most of us don’t play these instruments often enough to justify the lengthy learning process. Instead we learn cunning tricks to get around these transposing instruments. In the case of the voice flute, I pretend the music is really in bass clef and add three flats to the key signature in my mind. That gets me to the right pitches, but also means I rarely have a clue as to the note name for a given fingering. Faced with the voice flute it’s not unusual to hear me mutter to myself, “What note am I playing?”

Terrorising trills & alternative fingerings

Another classic ‘excuse’ occurs in baroque music, with an exclamation of “I forgot the trill fingering”. I rarely get fazed by trills these days, but there are still occasional moments when I suffer a moment of brain-fade and plump for a completely wrong alternative fingering when aiming for a quieter dynamic. Thankfully this tends to happen in rehearsal (I’ve practised thoroughly to ensure it doesn’t happen in performance), but it’s still frustrating!

Accidentals or on-purposes?

I’ve always wondered about the name we gave to occasional sharps and flats beyond the remit of the key signature. We call them accidentals, and I can’t help feeling that’s a misnomer - surely they should be ‘intentionals’ or ‘on purposes’? Whatever they’re called, they’re behind a huge number of our musical excuses. After all, who can honestly say they’ve never forgotten an accidental that appears again later in the bar? I try to look ahead as I read music for the first time, so as to avoid such mishaps, but I’m not perfect and have often uttered apologies for missing one out. Of course, your best friend here is your pencil, so you can write them in and never forget again, but if you’ve been reading the Score Lines blog for a while you’ll already know I’m a big fan of pencils!

To repeat, or not to repeat - that is the question…

Here’s another classic - that moment when you go sailing on into the next section of a piece of music, only to realise that everyone has repeated the previous one. Yes, I’ll hold my hand up to this one - it’s so easily done.

One of my favourite light recorder pieces is Philip Evry’s charming arrangement of Gershwin’s Summertime. He crams so many different characters and musical styles into an arrangement where all the parts fit on a single page and to achieve this he includes a Da Capo and then a jump to the Coda at the end. As a conductor you may have spotted me frantically flipping pages back and forth to find my way, and I’ve long since lost count of the number of players I’ve seen forget one or both of these geographical changes!

“I repeated, but nobody else did...”

Slow, slow, quick-quick slow

As twenty first century musicians we’re used to most of our music being written in crotchet beats as it’s this sort of notation we first learnt at school. As we start exploring earlier genres of music we begin to encounter the concept of counting in minim or (horror!) semibreve beats. This presents the opportunity for an endless array of musical excuses, usually because we’re counting in one type of beat when everyone is doing something different. Added to that, music written in minim and semibreve beats looks very white and, to our modern eyes, very slow. I’ve heard many recorder players excuse their slowness because of the type of beat, as well as a few gasps of horror when they’ve realised how quick crotchets and quavers can be if you’re feeling a minim pulse!

Musician 1: “Are you counting in minims or crotchets?”

Musician 2: “Crotchets”

Musician 1: “Well, I’m counting in minims!”

Thinking can be overrated

As we learnt recently in my blog about practising, the body has an uncanny skill for learning repetitive tasks without the need for us to consciously think about it - often (erroneously) referred to as ‘muscle memory’. This is all very well, but there are times when I make the mistake of thinking about an action which is usually instinctive. At that point, if it all goes horribly wrong, you’ll almost certainly hear that age old excuse - “I shouldn’t have thought about what I was doing!”

Distractions galore

One of my favourite (accidental) tricks is to keep counting rests for too long, forgetting to come back in at the right time. The reasons for this are many and varied, but there are two that have tripped me up several times. The first is when I use the rests to listen intently to another section of the ensemble. As I luxuriate in the beauty of their playing, time drifts on and instead of stopping after eight bars, I find myself counting “Nine-two-three-four, etc” until the point when I realise I’ve missed the boat!

“I can do it on my own, but not when others join in.”

“I was listening to how lovely the tenors/basses sounded, and lost count.”

The second likely distraction comes when I’m rehearsing in a particularly beautiful or unusual concert venue. Here my inner architectural photographer kicks in and I either find myself marvelling at the way a modern building is constructed, or else I’m musing on the beautiful play of light in an ancient church. Either way, there’s still that “Uh-oh” moment of realisation and a frantic rush to catch up!

For other musicians there may of course be different distractions. This one, which came from a member of one of my recorder orchestras, made me smile…

“I was so busy looking at you (the conductor) that I lost my place!”

Human limitations

Aside from our musical limitations, we all have simple physical limitations, which often increase as we get older. It’s only in the last decade or so that I’ve begun to wear reading glasses over my contact lenses for close up work and you can guarantee they’re never to hand when I most need them. My trombone playing partner has recently acquired some special specs for reading music or computer work and I’ve lost count of the numbers of times I’ve heard him same the exact words sent in by one of my Score Lines subscribers…

“Wrong glasses!”

Evidently it’s not just recorder players who make excuses for their musical shortcomings - I’m sure brass players have many special excuses all of their own!

If there’s one thing that’s become a permanent irritation as I’ve aged it’s the shrinking bar numbers in my music. Yes, I know they haven’t really shrunk, but it often feels that way. Yes, I could put my reading glasses on and they’d be beautifully crisp, but I don’t need them for playing or conducting music (I can see the notes well enough) so instead I go through my scores pencilling them in larger. It’s a clunky and time consuming solution, but it works.

In search of the perfect thumbnail

While we have no say over the deterioration in our sight (or hearing, come to that) there’s one recorder-critical element of our bodies we do have control over, and that’s our left thumbnail. Yet, still we attend rehearsals only to realise cutting this single nail was the one thing we forgot to do before leaving home.

I’ve seen many a recorder with a once round thumb hole, now worn away to something ovoid in shape, and this can make high notes a complete magical mystery tour. My personal solution is to roll my thumb instead of pinching with my nail, but I know that technique doesn’t suit everyone. At least I can do this without worrying about the length of my nail, saving me from that perennial excuse - “My thumbnail’s too long.”

“I must get my thumbhole re-bushed”

Technology that trips us up

While human nature is responsible for many of our excuse making, technology can be a trigger too. I’m guilty of occasionally forgetting my pencil (or omitting to sharpen in) but I’ve encountered ensembles where one pencil is apparently shared by an entire section of players!

Sometimes our instruments are the brunt of our excuses. Perhaps you have a leaking pad on a larger recorder, causing low notes to be unreliable. Another favourite of mine is discovering at a crucial moment that my key isn’t quite in the right place for my little finger. I’m pleased to report this only ever happens in rehearsal - by the concert I’ve always got my act together and actually checked it’s positioned perfectly!

“My bottom C (tenor) isn’t working!”

The ultimate instrument related excuse is actually having the wrong recorder to hand. I have to confess I did this once at a friend’s wedding. I was playing some informal music with friends as the congregation arrived, an hour or so before the ceremony. One of our chosen pieces was the Chaconne from Purcell’s Dioclesian, which begins with a repeating bass line, after which the treble parts come in one after another. Imagine my embarrassment when I started playing my treble line, only to discover I was a semitone flat - I’d inadvertently picked up my A415 recorder, while the others were playing at A440. Much hilarity ensued and we thanked our lucky stars that it was still early, so only a handful of the congregation had been there to hear my utter incompetence!

A more modern cause of excuse making is the e-reader, which increasing numbers of musicians use instead of carrying round a heavy piles of books. I’ve yet to make this transition, but from your emails I can see these gadgets can provide a rich vein of excuses…

“The lighting on my e-reader hid that note…”

“Er… sorry, my page flip advanced the score two pages instead of one.”

And finally

I couldn’t resist sharing a handful more of your quotes, which either made me chuckle or gave me a flash of recognition…

From a recent orchestral rehearsal I conducted:

I was distracted by a spider.”

From an inadvertent soloist:

“Oops, sorry for that solo where we were meant to have rests.”

This one sounds life threatening, but I’m sure it’s a thought many of us have had when we weren’t concentrating properly…

“I forgot to breathe.”

So what can we learn from our shared compendium of musician’s excuses? Most importantly, none of us is perfect. We all make mistakes - some of them subtle errors that no one will likely notice but yourself; some of them great big howlers which leave us grimacing with embarrassment. Rarely will these mistakes be life threatening and I’ve even met audience members who love concert mishaps because it makes them realise we’re all only human - even the astonishing virtuosos we see in famous concert halls. The important thing is to learn from our mistakes and have some fun along the way.

I’ll leave you with two parting gifts. One was a request from Dr Winter, my harmony professor at Trinity College of Music. If we hadn’t completed the homework he’d set, we were instructed to at least have a creative excuse ready for him. For instance, “A swarm of bumblebees stole my harmony homework while I was riding the number 10 bus along Oxford Street” is much more entertaining than “I forgot” and shows some imagination, even if it has no bearing on reality. Next time you make a spectacular blooper, why not think up a really fantastical excuse, à la Dr Winter?!

Finally, here’s a priceless video from an informal concert in Amsterdam where the virtuoso pianist Maria João Pires finds herself faced with performing a Mozart Concerto… but not the one she’d been expecting. This is the sort of thing performing musicians’ nightmares are made of, but miraculously she recovers her composure and goes on to play with so much aplomb you’d barely know there was a problem. Next time you miss an F sharp, remember, it could be so much worse!

Do you have some priceless musicians’ excuses I haven’t included here? If so, do leave them in the comments below so we can carry on mining this rich vein of musical entertainment!

The pencil is mightier than the sword

Why a simple pencil could help you become a better musician.

Admittedly the author Edward Bulwer-Lytton may not have had music in mind when he coined the phrase, “The pen is mightier than the sword” in a play about Cardinal Richelieu in 1839, but I hope he wouldn’t mind me purloining it for educational purposes! 

Are you a musician who always keeps a pencil on their music stand? Or are you the sort who thinks, “I’ll remember that!” when the act of going to find a sharp pencil feels like too much hassle? I’m definitely the former. In fact I always have a pencil with me (there’s even one tucked away in my camera bag) on the basis that I never know when I’ll need one, and a pen’s marks have too much permanence. I’ve long been a great believer in using a pencil when I’m practising or rehearsing, because I know only too well how fallible the human memory is. 

Let’s take a quick look at the nature of how our memories work first, as it’s relevant to the way we learn music.

Neurologists differentiate between short term and long term memory, but what does that mean in practice? Short term memory is the transient storage of information - for around thirty seconds; perhaps up to a minute. It’s generally thought we can hold up to about seven items of information in our short term memory and beyond that new information quickly displaces the older items. 

If we wish to retain information beyond the limits of our short term memory we need to use other strategies to reinforce those memories. Saying the information aloud or mentally repeating it to yourself will often work. When I’m playing or conducting I might notice a mistake I want to come back to. I know I’ll probably have forgotten the detail by the time we reach the end of the movement, so I have to find a way to retain the location in my mind. Speaking aloud mid-flow isn’t an option, so I’ll quickly search for the bar number and this helps me at least remember where the passage was when we reach the end of the piece! 

Of course, if we only had short term memory we’d be in trouble. Luckily we have the ability to lay down long term memories - the human equivalent of saving data to a computer hard drive. It’s this mechanism which allows us to remember information and events over long periods. Some of the information we store is vital to our lives (where we live, or our partner’s birthday, for instance) but it also allows us to store all sorts of other detritus. I’ll often hear a song on the radio and I’ll be able to picture where I was when I heard it last - sometimes years ago. That’s of very little practical use, but it’s a knack I seem to have, for better or worse! 

Because our short term memory is so brief, that means we’ll sometimes need help remembering musical details - and that’s where your pencil comes in. When practising we repeat phrases to help our brain and fingers transfer this activity to long term memory, but we need to ensure we practise these phrases correctly and lay down accurate memories rather than practising mistakes into our performance. I’ll often use my pencil for exactly this purpose. I work on the basis that if I’ve made a mistake more than once I need to write something in to remind myself and prevent it happening a third time. 

There’s no shame in using your pencil

I played in the Phoenix Recorder Orchestra for ten years, during which time Steve Marshall was the ensemble’s music librarian. He would see all the parts handed back after a concert and was fascinated to compare how much or little different players had written in their music. Steve would often comment that my music usually had many more pencil markings than anyone else’s. As the single professional recorder player in the orchestra, he mused that if I, as someone who could probably sight read most of the music largely correctly, needed to write things in everyone else definitely did! Ultimately, there’s absolutely no shame in using your pencil. Writing reminders in your music is not an admission of failure, but it does show you’re serious about not making the same mistakes every time! 

The joys and pitfalls of other people’s markings 

When you’re handed a piece of music which already contains markings from other musicians, do you rub your hands in glee or are you overcome with a feeling of dread? Undoubtedly, notes from other musicians can be helpful - they give you a head start and warnings about likely pitfalls. Of course, that’s assuming they’re correct. When faced with music which has already been marked up, approach these annotations with an open mind. I often discover parts in my own library which have been incorrectly marked and that can be destructive. If you find an incorrect marking don’t just leave it there - grab a rubber and either remove or correct it - that’ll help you and the players who come after you! 

The other charm of pre-marked parts can be the non-musical information they occasionally contain. I’ve seen orchestral music with phone numbers, doodles and even whole sentences of prose written on them. I’ve never yet rung any of the phone numbers, but I often wonder what might happen if I did! 

Pick the right tool

Hopefully I’m on the way to convincing you why you should always have a pencil (never a pen!) to hand, be it in rehearsals, lessons or just practising at home. But what sort of pencil should you use?

There are many options but the most important things is to choose one with a soft lead. A 2H pencil is no use to any musician and, in my opinion, should be banned from all musical instrument cases! A hard pencil will likely leave indentations in the paper and the writing will be difficult to erase. A soft pencil (2B is a good choice) will allow you to write quickly and lightly, as well as giving you the option to come back and change your mind later. 

If you’re someone who never remembers to sharpen their pencils, a propelling pencil can be handy. This was my choice for many years, paired with thickish 2B leads -  usually 0.7mm. I’d keep a tube of spare leads in my pencil case and never faced the frustration of a blunt pencil - just click the end and you’ve got a fresh supply of lead. 

More recently I’ve returned to traditional pencils and my favourites are currently Blackwings. They’re not especially cheap, but they have lovely soft lead, sharpen beautifully and their erasers actually remove markings effectively. One of my bugbears with many pencils is the way the rubber on the end just smears the graphite around, leaving an unsightly and permanent smudge.

As I’ve just implied, the other vital tool in your armoury is a good eraser - after all every musician is entitled to change their mind. If your favourite pencil has a rubber which doesn’t actually do its job, make a point of finding an eraser which works effectively - you won’t regret it. The rubbers on Blackwing pencils can be extended as they wear down, and you can even buy replacement ones which slot into the ferrule on the end if you use up the eraser before the pencil becomes too short to write with - a feature I’d never come across before.

What should you write in your music?

This is one of those questions with an infinite number of answers, but here are some of the things I mark in my own music. My conducting scores contain lots of additional scribblings, but let’s focus on playing today. There are the obvious things, such as breath marks, accidentals, dynamics, alternative fingerings and ornaments. But there are many other things you can mark in too.

An 18th century custos at the end of each line in a Sammartini Sonata. Click to see enlarged.

I’ll sometimes use my pencil to mark in a custos at the end of the line - that’s a little squiggle which shows the pitch of the first note on the next line. These often appear in old publications and can be handy if the music doesn’t go where you’re expecting it to. In a similar vein, I’ll sometimes highlight a moment where a musical sequence changes with a circle. If you’ve had a regular pattern of notes for a bar or two, a subtle change can be easy to miss. 

Pencil markings can also be handy as reminders about the progress you’ve made in your practising. I’ll often write a small box around note groups which need further attention. This reminds me the next time I practise, but also gives me a heads up to concentrate harder at that point in rehearsals and concerts. Once I’ve nailed the passage reliably I’ll rub the box out and remove the distraction. If there’s a longer passage (may be two or three lines) which need closer attention I‘ll sometimes write a line in the margin at the side instead, so I don’t end up smothering my music in pencil!

Here I chose to add a line in the left margin to remind me this passage needed practice to tidy up my fingering

If I’m gradually working something up to a faster speed using my metronome, I’ll often note the maximum tempo I’ve achieved at the end of a practice session. Then, when I return to it I’ll know where I’d got to. Often I’ll need to backtrack a notch or two, but it’s a handy way to track my progress.

Another time I’ll use my pencil is when I’m trying to decide on alternative fingerings or ornamentation. There’s one piece of Vivaldi we play with The Parnassian Ensemble with a passage where there are many places I could use an alternative fingering, but the benefit isn’t always immediately obvious. Having too much choice can be paralysing, and as we learnt it initially I found my indecision about where to employ an alternative tripped me up. My solution was to make a decision and write it in my music - simple! Yes, I then changed my mind about a couple of notes, but it was easy to amend those markings, and the result was a much more fluent line.

Create your own language, but be clear!

Over time you’ll probably create your own language of symbols for the things you write in your music most often. There are of course universally understood symbols such as sharps, flats and naturals which all musicians use - or so I thought… Many years ago I took in the orchestra music after the students’ concert at the Recorder Summer School. To my astonishment one of the treble players had carefully written the word ‘natural’ in longhand over every place where an F sharp wasn’t needed. Maybe that’s what he or she needed for the message to sink in, but there’s definitely a more concise way of notating a natural note!

The most important thing is for your symbols to mean something to you and to be clear. Don’t write something terribly cryptic in your music, only to realise you have no idea what it meant when you come back to the same piece the following week! In my own music, I’ll write the word ‘BIG’ over a tick if I need to take a deep breath - it’s clear and unsubtle enough to make me do what it says. Passages where I want to take some extra time will be decorated with a wiggly line, and if I need to be more aware of another player or a conductor I’ll draw a small pair of glasses. Nothing ground breaking there, but I know what they all mean and that’s the key reason for writing on the music in the first place.

A glimpse of my annotational world…

While researching this blog I had a good old rummage through my music library in search of examples I could share with you. In the examples below you get a sneak peak at what goes on in my own music, but please understand some of it isn’t pretty!

This example shows my unsubtle ‘big breath’ marking, along with an indication of the length I wish to play the appoggiatura. With a dotted note like this, the appoggiatura could be performed as a quaver or a crotchet, so this pencil note tells me I’ve decided to play it as a quaver. I can of course change my mind and amend the markings later if I wish to. Incidentally, I always mark breaths with a tick. Some musicians use commas, but I personally find those too easy to ignore, especially without my reading glasses!

In this snippet I’ve added a simple curved line. A passage like this is at risk of being played non-legato because of the flats and the leap up to a high D - the line reminds me I really must play it smoothly. Some musicians will instinctively play a slur when faced with a curved line like this, but I know what I intend as it’s a marking I often use. If I wanted a real slur I would place the line more precisely rather than using a quick sweep of the pencil.

Below we have my way of marking in alternative fingerings. Some players use ‘II’ instead, but ‘alt’ works just fine for me.

The letters over the music here are from when I loaned my music to a pupil, but I’ve been known to use this indication myself too. The T is simply a reminder to tongue the note - something easily forgotten amid a flurry of trills and demisemiquavers.

Here we have a couple of markings to indicate rubato - being flexible with the time and rhythm. The wiggly line tells me to stretch the notes out a little - in this case a small ritenuto leading up to the pause. The word ‘time’ over the breath mark, however, is a reminder not to rush on after the pause. How much time I take before continuing may depend on the acoustic in which I’m performing. In a dry room, with little echo, I might move on fairly swiftly, while a resonant church acoustic may require a big, dramatic silence for the impact of the pause to sink in.

These markings date back to my student days and were written in by my teacher, Philip Thorby, but I’ve continued to use these symbols as they work for me. The straight lines (sometimes horizontal, sometimes diagonal, like an acute accent) indicate notes which need weight. The U-shaped symbols are similar to those used in poetry when analysing the flow of the text, and tell me to keep them lighter and stress-free. These marks may not be obvious to other musicians, but after 35 years of writing them in my music I know exactly what I intend.

Sometimes I see people writing small essays in their music and I wonder how on earth they’ll read it all in the heat of the moment. My approach is to find a single word which encompasses the character or mood I’m aiming for, so I can take it in with the swiftest of glances - as I’ve done in this example.

How much is too much?

Judging exactly how much to write in your music is a bit of a balancing act. Leave things out for fear of cluttering the page and you may omit critical information. But if you cover the page in annotations it can be difficult to see the wood for the trees!

The example below is one of my more prolific annotations. There are the usual articulation marks and dynamics, but also some character related words, such as ‘more butch’(!), ‘very calm and still’ and ‘naive’. On the Grave you’ll notice I’ve made some decisions about how I wish to ornament the music, along with an indication below the stave as to which chords are being played in the continuo part. These harmonic markings are a combination of pitches and figured bass which works for me as I’m used to playing from figured bass, but may not help non-keyboard players!

This is about as extreme as my own pencil markings ever get - any more than this and I know I’ll begin to ignore some of the symbols because my brain can’t process it all quickly enough. Not all musicians are the same though, and in this example of a Bach Violin Sonata, annotated by Yehudi Menhuin, there’s barely a scrap of paper left untouched!

Another example by an internationally acclaimed performer which surprised me was the edition of Bach’s Goldberg Variations which pianist Glenn Gould used for his 1981 recording of the work. The music was discovered and auctioned off by Bonhams in 2018 (you can read more about it here) and it gives a fascinating glimpse into his thought processes. You can click on the images below (and any of the others in this post) to see them in more detail. Personally, writing on music in pen like this makes me shudder, but Gould was an eccentric character and this approach evidently worked for him.

Are you indecisive?

If you’re still working out how much annotation is right for you there are other ways you can experiment.

The obvious one is to make a few photocopies of the piece you’re learning. You can do this legally for study purposes, providing you own the original. With these you can try different markings and see what works best for you, before transferring your final annotations into the published edition.

Maybe you’re someone who responds well to colour coded markings? I’m not a fan of writing on music with coloured pencils or pen as the marks can’t be erased or changed later. One solution is to insert your music (or a copy of it) into a clear plastic sleeve. You can then write on the sleeve with coloured dry erase markers in the knowledge that you can rub off anything which doesn’t help.

There are even options available for musicians who would prefer to store their music on an electronic device rather than carrying around weighty paper tomes. I’m still relatively new to this approach, but I do use the forScore app on my iPad sometimes. The app allows you to store vast quantities of music on your device and you can annotate it with a stylus, saving different versions if you wish to. I use this mostly for proof reading scores I’ve typeset while I’m on the road, but I know several musicians who use an electronic tablet to rehearse and perform from.

Eight quick annotation tips

  1. Don’t be afraid to change your mind. Music making should be a fluid affair - your interpretation can and should evolve over the years. Do write helpful markings in your music, but don’t be afraid to erase and update them as your taste changes.

  2. If you have lessons with a teacher, don’t rely on them to write things in for you. They may well do so, but if you think of something which will help you play better, grab the pencil and do it yourself!

  3. Be ready to adapt your decisions. Playing in a different acoustic or working on an ensemble piece with new people may mean you need to change your markings - be flexible and willing to change if need be.

  4. If you take music grade exams you don’t need to rub all your markings out before the exam. The examiner almost certainly won’t even look at your music and if your annotations help you to play better why make life harder by erasing them?

  5. If you mark a passage as a reminder that it needs more practice, don’t be afraid to rub out the annotations when you’ve overcome your stumbling blocks. You may find them helpful still, but on the other hand you may find them an offputting reminder of your earlier failings!

  6. Don’t be precious about writing in your music. Doing so isn’t an admission of failure, but will help you avoid mistakes in future. Music is a tool rather than a priceless work of art.

  7. Be a thief! Analyse the markings you see in other people’s music. If you spot a symbol which makes perfect sense to you and might be useful, don’t be afraid to ‘borrow’ it!

  8. If you’ve made a mistake more than once, strongly consider writing something in your music. This is a rule I follow myself. Missing an accidental when sight reading is unfortunate, but human. Forgetting it the second time round means I might well miss it again in future so I know I should pencil it in before I play the music a third time. This way simple mistakes don’t turn into bad habits, which are much harder to eradicate.

Musical annotations as a snapshot in musical history

While researching this subject I came across a short video from the British Library about the importance of annotations in historic music editions. Now I’m not suggesting your copy of Telemann’s recorder sonatas will necessarily be of critical importance to musicologists in a century’s time, but clearly there are things we can learn from old scores and the trail of pencil breadcrumbs their owners have left for us!

Have I convinced you yet?

I often tell the groups I conduct that the clink of a pencil returning to the desk of a music stand is one of my favourite sounds. This sounds crazy, but as a teacher I know that if a student has written something in their music they’re more likely correct their errors next time round and that’s got to be a good thing!

If you’re someone who always has to borrow a pencil from a neighbour in rehearsals, perhaps my words may be enough to inspire you to pop one in your instrument case, so you’re prepared next time you need one. I’d love to know your thoughts on this. Are you an enthusiastic scribe, or does your music tend to remain as untouched as a fresh fall of snow? Please do drop a comment below!

Some of my favourite things….

The recorder is relatively unusual in the music world in that we don’t tend to play just one instrument. After all, you wouldn’t expect a violinist to also play the cello and double bass. Yes, we usually begin on either a descant or treble (depending on your age and the span of your hands), but most players will gradually begin to explore other sizes, if only out of curiosity. How far your explorations go may depend on physical or financial limitations, but I would always encourage any recorder player to expand their horizons if they can.

In today’s post I’m going to talk about some of my favourite members of the recorder family - in particular the instruments I own and perform on. I’ve also chosen a piece played on each instrument so you can hear what they sound like.

When non-musicians learn that I’m a recorder player there are several questions I’m frequently asked, including which size I play and which is my favourite. Of course, I quickly enlighten them about the huge variety of recorders, from the tiny garklein to big basses, but choosing a single favourite is tricky. If you pushed me hard for an answer it would probably be my tenor, so let’s start there!

The viola of the recorder family

Now don’t misunderstand me - I’m not about to tell any viola jokes! I have some very good friends who play the Cinderella of the string family, and its warm, mellow sound should be heard on its own more often. The tenor recorder shares these characteristics and it’s this gorgeous tone which drew me to my own instrument.

For decades I plodded along with a Yamaha plastic tenor recorder - a fantastic instrument which plays in tune, with a lovely tone and a modest price tag compared to its wooden cousins. I knew if I were to buy a wooden tenor I’d want one which was even better than the Yamaha - and that’s tricky unless you’re willing to spend lots of money. For the amount I needed to spend I simply couldn’t justify the cost relative to the amount it would be played, so I dismissed the idea for a long while.

Many years ago I identified my dream instrument – Stephan Blezinger’s Bressan tenor. I promised myself I would immediately buy one if I ever won the lottery, but in the meantime I kept saving the pennies. By 2016 I’d almost saved enough, but the UK’s Brexit referendum conspired against me, sending currency exchange rates haywire which in turn increased the price of my much longer for tenor by another £400!

Ultimately, a conversation with my Dad convinced me to take the plunge regardless of the cost. I recall him saying something along the lines of, “You’re a long time dead - spend the money now and enjoy the instrument!” I’m so pleased I did, as my gorgeous tenor definitely has the most beautiful tone of all my recorders. Sometimes I’ll use it to demonstrate a point during a rehearsal or workshop and and I’ll see people looking up with an expression on their face which says, “Ooh, that sounds rather lovely!“ I do of course realise this is down to the instrument as much as the player!

Do I get to play very often? Well, thanks to Covid I’ve played it much more than I ever dreamt I would through my consort videos. The tenor is never going to be an instrument with a large solo repertoire, but it brings me so much joy that it was worth every penny, even if perhaps my accountant wouldn’t agree!

One of my favourite solo tenor pieces is Christopher Ball’s Pagan Piper. In 1913 Claude Debussy wrote a piece for solo flute called Syrinx, which depicts the story of the god Pan pursuing a nymph called Syrinx, whom he loves. This love is unrequited and she turns herself into a water reed so she can hide in the marshes. The story has a tragic ending as Pan cuts these reeds to make his musical pipes, thus killing his loved one. Syrinx can also be played on the tenor recorder (I’ve performed it myself) but here we have Christopher Ball’s reinterpretation of the story, composed specifically for the recorder. He subsequently also wrote a companion piece called Pan Overheard. There are definite echoes of Debussy’s impressionistic style and you can feel the influence of the water as the music effortlessly ebbs and flows.

The place where most of us started – or is it?

I imagine the majority of recorder players began their musical lives with the descant. For children, this isn’t a musical choice so much as a pragmatic one – a simple fact that small fingers find the descant an easier stretch than the treble. I’m fond of my ebony descant recorder (the one you’ll see me playing in many of my videos) but my favourite is my Von Huene Ganassi descant recorder, which I’ve had since my second year at music college. It’s made from a single piece of maple wood, is unbelievably light, yet makes the fruitiest tone I’ve ever heard from a recorder of its size.

The title page of Ganassi’s Opera intitulata Fontegara

This design is based upon an instrument kept at the Kunsthistorische Museum of Vienna and has a full two octave plus range - something which isn’t possible on all Renaissance recorders. The wide bore, with a flared bell, means the lowest notes are incredibly rich and full bodied.

I most often use my Ganassi descant for playing the music of Jacob Van Eyck. Of course Der Fluyten Lusthof was composed in the mid 17th century (firmly into the Baroque period) so this probably isn’t a historically correct choice, but I think it suits the music very well nevertheless!

Most recorder players will be familiar with at least some of Jacob Van Eyck’s music, even if you haven’t played all 150 pieces from Der Fluyten Lusthof. Van Eyck was a blind musician employed by the city of Utrecht to care for the carillon in the Dom Tower. He was paid an extra 20 guilders a year to entertain the passersby in the churchyard with his recorder and this was where he performed the sets of divisions (or variations) which were later gathered togther to form Der Fluyten Lusthof - ‘The Flute’s Pleasure Garden’. This particular piece is unusual in that it’s not a set of variations, but a single movement. I like to imagine Van Eyck standing alone in the church, playing this music, having fun as he explores the way the sound echoes off the stone walls.

Sometimes a semitone can make all the difference

Last year I wrote a blog about the standardisation of pitch and over the centuries, which you can find here. The concept of an internationally recognised Baroque pitch is a convenient one adopted over the last century or so, with A=415Hz being the most common today

My thirty year old Prescott A415 treble recorder

I was lucky enough to acquire my first A415 recorder when I was just a teenager, and I used it through most of my college studies. Eventually I succumbed to the lure of an instrument made by Tom Prescott, based on a Bressan from Edgar Hunt’s collection of recorders. It plays better than my first A415 recorder, has a beautiful warm tone and absolutely gorgeous low notes. Thirty years later this recorder is still going strong and I still love playing it.

It’s not until you’ve played a Baroque pitch recorder that you really appreciate the difference that semitone makes. Playing just a semitone beneath modern concert pitch brings such a warmth and mellowness to the tone - far more than you would expect. If you ever have a chance to try playing at A415 grab it with both hands!

Daniel Purcell is an underrated composer today, overshadowed by his brother (or perhaps cousin) Henry. He had a successful career in music though, working as organist at Magdalen College, Oxford and writing incidental music for more than forty plays in London. This movement comes from one of his chamber pieces - a trio sonata for two recorders and basso continuo - which is a perennial favourite when we’re programming concerts with The Parnassian Ensemble.

Plumbing the depths

On the face of it, playing the largest members of the recorder family might not seem that appealing. The music played by these larger instruments is often simpler, and much less whizzy than that played by the high instruments. However, if you’ve ever played a bass clef instrument in any type of ensemble or orchestra, you’ll know there’s a huge satisfaction in feeling you’re providing the foundations to the music.

Big bass recorders may not have the sheer weight of sound provided by low brass instruments, or even a cello. But even one great or contrabass recorder can add so much depth to any ensemble. In 2008 I took the somewhat odd decision to arrange a piece of Sibelius (Valse Triste) to conduct in my massed playing session at the Recorder Summer School. We already had a sizeable forest of greats and contrabasses, but when Steve Marshall doubled the first note of the contra part on his brand new subcontra, an octave lower, I swear I felt the floor vibrate beneath my feet, and a huge grin spread across my face!

I have to confess I’m torn when it comes to choosing a favourite instrument here. Both the great and contrabass recorders I play in my consort videos are on long-term loan from friends, and for that I am immensely grateful. I love the sensation of playing the contrabass in a recorder orchestra, and the Paetzold instrument I use has wonderfully resonant low notes. However, I do also have a very large soft spot for the great bass, which offers the opportunity to both reinforce the bassline and help fill out the harmonies. I think we’ll call that one an honourable draw!

The piece I’ve chosen to share the mellow tones of the bigger basses is not traditional recorder repertoire - a choral piece by the French romantic composer Gabriel Fauré. In this arrangement of Cantique de Jean Racine by Brian Bonsor the recorders sound wonderfully mellow, with the lowest voice taken by the great bass. Brian was an enthusiastic composer and arranger of music for recorders with piano, so a piece for voices and piano was a natural choice for him to arrange. I remember the year he brought it along to the Recorder Summer School (in his impeccably neat handwritten manuscript) for 150 recorders to play it with Brian directing from the piano - simply heavenly. This performance is one I conducted for the CD Bravo Bonsor!, with Brian’s good friend James Letham at the piano.

The magic of the voice flute

The largest recorder here is my Cranmore Voice Flute

My final favourite instrument today is the voice flute - a member of the recorder family, despite its name. The voice flute may be less familiar to many recorder players, but it has a unique quality which I love. Fundamentally it’s a tenor recorder pitched in D – that means the bottom note is a D rather than a C. That may seem a little quirky until you understand its musical purpose.

During the Baroque period, it wasn’t uncommon for recorder players to steal flute music for their own purposes, transposing the notes a minor third higher to fit the treble. This is all very well, but you can’t then play the same music with other instruments because of the change of pitch. Another option is to use a voice flute which shares the same range as a flute of the period. This makes it possible to play flute music at the original pitch but on a recorder.

My own voice flute is one made by Tim Cranmore about 20 years ago. The finger stretch can be a little challenging, but absolutely worth it for the gorgeousness of its tone. More recently, when playing with the Parnassian Ensemble, we experimented with using my voice flute alongside the Baroque flute in some 18th century French repertoire, and the result was just glorious!

My final piece of music does exactly what the voice flute was intended for - a beautiful borrowed Fantasia for flute and comes from my own CD, Helen and Friends. All twelve of Telemann’s Fantasias are glorious, but I have a particular fondness for this one, especially when played at the original pitch. I shared a recording of this work by Frans Bruggen in my recorder themed take on Desert Island Discs if you’d like to compare and contrast between the sound of voice flute and treble recorder!

So there you have my favourite recorders. I’m afraid I really couldn’t narrow it down to just one, as a real recorder player doesn’t specialise on just one. That’s the magic of our chosen instrument – if you fancy something whizzy and sparkly a descant is perfect. But if you’re in a mellow mood and want to explore the deeper end of things, a contrabass can be so soulful.

~ ~ ~

Do you have a favourite size of recorder? If so, what is it about this particular instrument that draws you in so much? Please do share your thoughts in the comments below - I’d love to hear your preferences!

Behind the scenes with the Score Lines videos

One of the questions I’m asked most about the consort videos I’ve been making for the last two years is, “How do you make them?”, closely followed by, “It must take you hours!”

There was a time during the first Covid lockdown that professional musicians everywhere seemed to be creating multitrack videos, often as a way to remind people we were still out there, even if we couldn’t play to a live audience any more. I didn’t jump on the bandwagon immediately as I was enjoying the opportunity to have some genuine down time at last. I soon became aware how much the people with whom I normally work (amateur musicians like yourself) were missing being able to play in ensembles. I too was missing my musical interactions with others and it struck me that maybe there was scope for me to create some resources to help others.

Recording in action

First steps

While I’ll happily admit I’m a bit of a geek, I don’t have any real experience of video - stills photography is much more my cup of tea. I didn’t want to spend hours editing and grading video content from a proper camera so I did some research about simple ways to make a multitrack video. I quickly hit upon an app called Acapella which can be downloaded to your smartphone. I found some helpful videos on YouTube by flautist Gina Luciani explaining how it works, so I downloaded the trial version and had a play. Incidentally, if you fancy trying this yourself, I believe the iOS version (intended for iPhones) is more fully featured than the Android version. Of course, there may be alternatives out there which work better on Android too.

Shortly before the pandemic I’d bought myself a pair of good quality wireless earbuds, to listen to music on the move, so I figured I’d use them to record my videos. Imagine my disappointment when I tried Acapella and none of the tracks quite knitted together - I was ready to throw the whole kit through the window! Consulting friends who are more technically minded than I me, I discovered there is a slight delay in the way sound plays through a Bluetooth wireless device - sufficient to cause my problems. Instead I went back to my old wired earphones and things worked much better.

One of my first projects was a recording of Holborne’s The Fairie Round - a classic of the Renaissance consort repertoire, with lots of fun cross rhythms. This worked moderately well and I shared the result (which you can see below) with friends on social media. This made me think perhaps there might be some mileage in exploring further…

Next step - figuring out what might be helpful to others

By this stage (May 2020) there were other musicians already creating play along videos for recorder players. Looking at these more closely, they all comprised just the music, with little or no indication of the speed or help to get started. I know from long experience that many players find the gestures of a conductor helpful so I pondered if it might be possible to include this in any resources I produced.

I decided to start with something simple - a trio of Bach Chorales. I’ll explain the process I now use to record in a moment, but for these I began by playing the music and then added a conducting track. In between each chorale I offered a few words of advice to camera about tempo and how you might tackle them. I then popped them on some of the recorder groups on Facebook, along with the music, and asked if anyone might find them useful. The response was very positive - much to my relief. The finished product was pretty rough and ready, but I could see there might be a demand for such offerings if I could come up with some more.

My next project was a Chaconne from The Gordion Knot Untied by Purcell - a piece I’ve conducted with many groups over the years. For this I began the pattern I’ve maintained ever since, with a recording of the music, plus a separate ‘Hints and Tips’ video. I figured the chat between movements would quickly become irritating for anyone who played along with any piece regularly, so it made sense to separate them. Whether everyone watches both videos is something I can’t track, but I know many people find my thoughts helpful and I do my best to offer some useful advice with each consort.

Gradual additions to the technology

When I began recording my videos I started with the Acapella app on my phone, mounted on the tripod I use for my photography, along with the pair of basic wired earphones which came with my iPhone. Since then I’ve made a few additions to my kit, with a Rode VideoMicro microphone (plus an adapter which allows me to connect the mic and a pair of earphones to my phone). This addition offers much better quality sound. It can also be adjusted to cope with a greater dynamic and tonal range. The recorder may not be an especially loud instrument, but its pure tone (especially the higher members of the family) means it's easy to overload the microphone. I now know to have the sound level adjusted to about one third of the maximum to avoid any painful high notes.

A close up of my phone setup, with microphone, adapter and cables. You don’t need anything other than a basic pair of wired earphones to get started if you fancy trying this yourself!

Another addition was a Rotolight NEO 2 video light which I bought second hand. I record my videos in from of our dining room window (much to the amusement of our postman as he passes the window), which provides good illumination from one side, while the left side of my face faces the darker end of the room. Using the video light provides fill light to lift the shadows and means I can record on dull winter days without it looking too gloomy.

My Rotolight NEO on a simple light stand to add illumincation

Figuring out the process

Learning how to get the best from the Acapella app has been a process of trial and error. Gina Luciani’s videos got me started, but from there I just had to jump in and play to get the results I desired. It’s taken lots of experimentation to find out what works best for me, the acoustic of the place I record and the sound of the recorder. Here’s a brief explanation of my process in case you fancy having a go yourself…

Setting up the Acapella app.

Once you’ve chosen your piece you need to select a layout and Acapella offers an impressive range of options. I general use a square layout for the multitrack videos, while for my Hints and Tips videos I go for a portrait format frame. As you can see here there are many options, but for my purposes I always pick a large frame for the conducting track (so you can see my gestures better) and smaller windows for the instrumental parts.

The next step is to pick the length of video. The trial version of Acapella limits you to 30 seconds (long enough to get a taste of whether you might wish to pursue this further) but the paid version (around £42 for access to all the bells and whistles for a year but you can pay monthly if you want to give it a try before committing) can accommodate videos of up to ten minutes - plenty long enough for my purposes. You can set a specific length of time (if you know exactly how long your piece of music is) but I tend to choose ten minutes and then stop the recording when I’ve finished playing.

Next you need to set up the metronome. No matter how rhythmic we think we are, it’s almost impossible to adhere to a perfectly consistent beat unaided. The ability to set a metronome pulse (which plays through my earphones as I record) is invaluable, although there are times when I curse it. More about that later…

The app offers you a choice of time signatures and metronome speeds from 60 to 180. On the rare occasions I need something slower (say 50) I’ll just set a speed of 100 and use it as a subdivided beat. When I’m recording the hints and tips videos I simply turn off the ‘play tempo’ option as I don’t need a pulse to distract me when I’m talking to the camera!

The final set up screen relates to the microphone. This is relevant whether you’re using the microphone built into your earphones or an external mic like mine. Even with a relatively soft instrument like the recorder, setting the microphone level to maximum will result in all sorts of distortion - as you may have heard in some of my early efforts. As you can see from this screenshot, I set mine at no more than one third, although I might increase this a little if I’m recording a piece solely on low recorders. To determine the right level, I just play a range of pitches into the microphone and watch the green on screen meter to check they don’t exceed what the microphone can cope with.

The settings lower down the screen relate to the monitor. This is the sound that plays through your earphones - both the live sound that you’re recording and the tracks you’ve already recorded. This is important so you can hear the tuning between the various voices.

Now it’s time to record!

With all the set up done, the fun bit begins. I tend to start with the bass line and work upwards, but it’s worth trying different approaches - you may find it easier to begin with the descant and work downwards. I’ll talk a little more about the challenges and how I deal with them later.

Acapella gives a countdown on screen to tell you when the microphone becomes live. Then it’s simply a case of playing in time with the metronome beat that’s audible through the earphones. If you find metronomes challenging, my top tip here is never to tap your foot at the same time - you’ll always follow your foot as it’s part of you! When you’ve finished, the app asks if you want to have another go, or if you’re happy. Pressing continue offers you a chance to listen to what you’ve just recorded. If you like what you hear, selecting the green tick triggers the app to render the track you’ve laid down, saving it and the allowing you to record the next one. From there it’s a case of rinse and repeat until you’ve recorded all the voices.

Tweaking the sound settings

The final step is to adjust the sound of the various tracks before you save your finished video. There’s a huge array of options, but I keep it pretty simple. My dining room has a relatively hard acoustic, so I add some reverb to soften the edges and a little hint of echo. A carpeted room would absorb the sound even more so might need a little more assistance to add a little bloom to the end result. The engineer who recorded my CD described this as adding ‘fairy dust’ - that magic quality which turns the dry acoustic of one’s living room into something more flattering! I’ve experimented with using even more reverb but in my experience that just feels too extravagant.

Export and share with your audience

Finally, it’s time to export the completed video and share it with the world! Once you’ve named the video you save it to your Acapella account (I tend to save mine as private files rather than public) and then you have an option to save it in other ways too. I export a copy to my iPhone photos, but you can also share it by email, WhatsApp or on social media from here. One of the options is to select Full HD output (the best quality Acapella offers) or 720P. While it would be wonderful to go for the quality of HD, I generally opt for 720P as the file sizes are much smaller for my subscribers to download them later.

To play or conduct first?

So far I’ve talked about the technical process of recording my videos, but I’ve faced practical decisions along the way too. The first of these is whether to record the conducting or playing tracks first. With a metronome to keep me in time one could argue that the playing could come first. However, doing this presents problems if there’s a tempo change in the music. Because of this I tend to lay down the conducting track first. I spend a few seconds showing my intended speed before giving a bar for nothing and working my way through the piece, conducting at the speed of the metronome best in my ear. If there’s a rallentando at the end I then have to ignore the click of the metronome and indicate the degree of slow down I’m after. This takes a good degree of willpower, but I’ve become quite good at listening selectively when I need to!

Of course one of the most challenging aspects of beginning with the conducting track is the fact that I’m doing so in complete silence. Normally I would respond to the players I’m working with, but here I have to know the score well and give the gestures I would expect to offer to a group of live musicians. From time to time our postman will walk past the window as I’m doing this and I’m sure he must think I’m doing some obscure form of tai chi!

A matter of intonation

The other big challenge when recording multitrack videos is that of intonation. Playing with other musicians in real time is always a game of give and take. You listen to each other and make micro adjustments to the pitch of notes, to make the tuning sweet and true. With multitrack recording this isn’t possible. Once the first track is laid down it’s an immovable object which doesn’t respond to later inputs. This is one of the reasons I begin with the bass line as I can then layer up the other parts on top to fit with it.

So how does one make sure the harmonies are true? This is where it helps to know a little about the way chords work. You may have heard conductors and teachers talking about adjusting the individual notes in chords to obtain pure intonation. This usually entails making the 5th (the G in a C major chord, for instance) quite bright, while the 3rd will need to be altered depending on whether you’re playing a major or minor chord.

A major third (E in our C major chord) will sound sweetest when played a touch flatter, while a minor third (E flat in a chord of C minor) will want to be fractionally sharper. Next time you play with friends try experimenting with this by playing a major chord and varying the pitch of the third - a little higher, a little lower. A really bright major third gives the chord a sour, grating quality. In contrast, lowering the third a little (you can adjust your breath pressure or shade a finger over one of the holes) will make the end result much sweeter and the third almost seems to melt into the chord.

This is the very process I go through as I record each video. For this reason I always record from the score if I can, as it enables me to identify the position of each note within the harmony and adjust its pitch accordingly. This takes a fair degree of mental gymnastics, but experience of conducting from scores and playing basso continuo from figured bass has taught me many of the patterns to expect. Of course, months of making these videos has also helped me learn the foibles of my recorders intimately. I now know where to ‘place’ certain notes using breath pressure or minor adjustments to fingerings to hit the mark. There are inevitably places where I don’t get things right for every single note but I’ve never claimed to achieve recorder consort perfection!

Getting it right first time

When we listen to professionally made recordings we naturally assume the performances we’re hearing are absolutely perfect. The reality is that most recordings (except perhaps ones made in live concerts) require some editing to remove small glitches and errors. In a post last December I talked about the way we expect perfection of ourselves – an expectation which is simply unachievable.

Professional musicians aim for perfection but we’re as human as you and that’s why we have recording engineers who can record snippets to patch into the finished performance to create the illusion of perfection. Sadly I don’t have a tame recording engineer to hand, or the skills to do this myself, and the Acapella app doesn’t offer this option in any case. This means I have to get as close to perfection as I can and accept that every video I produce will inevitably contain some imperfections.

As I record each track I am continually analysing any errors I make, deciding whether they’re absolutely unforgiveable (in which case I stop and begin again) or whether they’re small enough to be overlooked. When I was at music college my recorder teacher would admonish me for being ‘too neat and tidy’. He was looking for more spontaneity and freedom in my performances. I like to think I’ve loosened up over the years, but that tendency towards tidiness has proved to be a boon when recording videos! That said, there are inevitably times when I make stupid errors and have to record a track multiple times. If you imagine you’re the only person who slips into the wrong fingerings or makes daft errors don’t give yourself too hard a time – I do it too. I recall one contrabass part which I recorded five or six times because my brain insisted on sending me into great bass fingering!

I know from experience of recording CDs that if something doesn’t come good in the first couple of takes it will often get worse before it gets better. Think of those old TV programmes showing outtakes of famous actors fluffing their lines. They’re funny because generally they make ever more mistakes with each further attempt, so take 17 is usually much worse than take 2! Musicians are no different. Sometimes you just have to walk away, go and have a cuppa, and try again later. The same goes for my Hints and Tips videos where I sometimes find myself incapable of stringing together a coherent sentence. Fortunately, I don’t save the outtakes, so you’ll never get to enjoy my ineptitude!

Now you can have a go!

So there you have a glimpse behind the scenes of my consort videos. If you fancy having a go yourself I would encourage you to go ahead and try. You don’t need expensive equipment – a smartphone and the wired earphones that were supplied with it are enough to get you started. Yes, it can be frustrating when you make daft mistakes, but that’s all part of the learning process. Even if you never share the results with anyone else, I can guarantee you’ll achieve a greater understanding of your musical strengths and weaknesses and it’s fun too. I know some of you have already tried this and I was delighted to see some of my own videos being used as a starting point for further collaboration by my subscribers. I’d love to hear how you get on if you choose to jump in and have a go – do leave a comment below or drop me an email to tell me about your experiences or with any quesitons.