Musings

Knowing me, knowing you….

in

January year is a time when we look back at the old year to take stock, as well as looking ahead to the new year stretching out ahead of us. My musical activities over the last year came about because of the Covid-19 pandemic. While this wretched virus has done its best to wreak havoc, for me it’s had one huge upside - meeting you! Of course, I already knew some of you personally before this all started, but it’s been a huge pleasure to get to know new names and faces, through the gift of your emails, cards and letters. Of course, I do most of the talking in our ‘conversations’, writing to you every 14 days. But I really look forward to finding your side of the conversation waiting for me in my email inbox. It’s been a joy to meet some of you in person and I’ve made so many new friends - thank you.

To start the new year I thought we’d continue the spirit of getting to know each other. Much of what you’ve learnt about me so far has been about my current musical life, so I figured I could share some more of my backstory, musical and otherwise. Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a full autobiography, but merely a few (hopefully) interesting and sometimes quirky glimpses into my life. I’d love to learn more about you too, so please do read to the end and get in touch.

Where it all started…

I grew up in West Sussex, on the south coast of England and, aside from my college years, I remained there until we moved north to Essex in 2013. It’s ironic really – my parents moved to Sussex in the 1960s from Essex, and I’ve now followed my roots back again! It’s been a big adventure moving away from my home territory, and without it I’d probably still be teaching in schools and wouldn’t have met you!

One of my favourite places in my home county of Sussex - the village of Bosham

My start on the recorder

Like many children of the 1970s I started playing the recorder with the rest of my class at primary school. I began at the age of seven, led by my teacher, Mrs Cureton, who I naturally assumed was an expert on the instrument. It was only when we met again many years later that she confessed she’d only been a couple of pages ahead of the class! When it came to shifting from descant to treble recorder, there weren’t enough treble recorders to go around, so I was entrusted with a sopranino instead. Now that was either a very foolhardy decision, or perhaps someone had realised I was the one least likely to make a screechy sound on this shrill instrument of torture!

My final year at primary school brought me the opportunity to play another instrument. I really wanted to play the flute, but the teacher was oversubscribed so I plumped for the clarinet instead. Moving to secondary school I continued to dabble with the recorder, playing in the school ensemble, but the clarinet had become my main instrument. It wasn’t until the 4th form when my music teacher, Mrs Lloyd, asked if I fancied taking a grade on the recorder as she was entering some of the other girls for exams. I thought, “Why not!” and started working on the pieces. This was the moment I saw the light and realised that not only was the recorder a ‘proper instrument’, I actually preferred it to the clarinet. From that moment I was completely hooked, and the rest, as they say, is history…

I never intended to be a professional musician

Through my school years I enjoyed music and loved the gang of friends I’d made through music making. But I never had any intention of being a professional musician. Naturally, school careers advisors warned against trying to make a living through music, so it simply never occurred to me that it was even a possibility. During the 1980s the WISE campaign (Women in Science and Engineering) was launched so I was encouraged to consider careers which followed that route. For a time I had ideas about becoming a physiotherapist or radiotherapist, but music continued to play a big part in my life. By the time I moved on to the local sixth form college I had decided to become a music librarian, hoping to work in this field with one of the big orchestras. Fortunately, my parents could see how much I enjoyed the practical element of music making, and they encouraged me to go to music college rather than following a purely academic music education at university.

My first wooden recorder came via an unexpected raffle win

Sitting on my motorbike in my parents’ garden

At the tender age of thirteen I helped my Mum man one of the stands at an event organised by the local police to raise awareness of safety when riding bikes. The day included a raffle, so my Mum bought a ticket and put my name on it. You can imagine the conversation that evening when we got a phone call from the police asking to speak to me… It turned out I’d won first prize – a motorbike! I repaid Mum the fifty pence for the ticket and claimed my prize, which I couldn’t yet legally ride! With no use for the bike, we sold it and a couple of years later that cash paid for my first wooden recorder – a rosewood Moeck Rottenburgh treble. The recorder is well past its best these days, but it holds such happy memories I’ve never had the heart to part company with it.

Magic musical moments don’t always come where you expect them…

The most joyous experiences in music making are often the ones you don’t see coming, which leave you soaring on a cloud. Playing in an exciting concert can keep me awake for hours, on an adrenaline high. But sometimes those highs come when you’re least expecting them.

About a decade ago I conducted a playing day with the Suffolk branch of the Society of Recorder Players. We finished the day with Steve Marshall’s Sinfonietta No.2 – a piece for three equal choirs of recorders. It finishes slowly and quietly, and players often lose control, rushing the moment. On this occasion though the massed players (about 50 people) played an absolutely blinder, performing the final run through with enormous poise and musicality. As we finished you could have heard a pin drop as the perfection of the moment sank in. It was one of those once in a lifetime experiences I know I’ll never replicate. As I drove home afterwards I recall grinning like a loon and it left me on a high for days!

I once gave a concert to 350 people and an eagle owl

Strange, but true! Anyone who lived in southern England in 1987 will no doubt have vivid memories of the great storm, which felled millions of trees and did enormous damage to homes and businesses. A wildlife centre near Chichester was damaged by the high winds and during the night an Eagle Owl escaped its enclosure. It subsequently spent many months living in the environs of Chichester Cathedral, feeding off vermin in the cathedral close.

One evening in February 1989, as the west doors opened after evensong, the owl flew into the Cathedral and refused to be captured by the vergers. By chance, the following day, I was due to give a recital there, so my audience of 350 was augmented by one more, of the feathered kind. Fortunately, Oswald (he was christened so as he’d flown in on the eve of St Oswald’s day) slept through the whole thing, perched in one of the arches above the lady chapel. One can only imagine the chaos that would have ensued if he’d chosen to exhibit his six foot wing span by flying down the nave mid-concert!

A few days later, he’d become hungry enough to be tempted down by a tasty morsel and was finally returned to his aviary at the sanctuary. Oswald’ adventure was subsequently immortalised in a children’s book by the actor and director Patrick Garland. I’ve since given several more concerts in Chichester Cathedral – all of them to even larger audiences, but sadly none of them had feathers!

A more recent concert in Chichester Cathedral. A packed audience, but none with feathers or talons!

The adventures of a magazine cover girl

I’ve had the honour of appearing on the cover of The Recorder Magazine not once, but twice. The first time came in 1993, when the magazine was relaunched by Peacock Press, just after I’d left college. The photographer Robert Carpenter Turner was tasked with the job of finding a photogenic recorder player to appear on the inaugural cover and somehow he found me!

Thirteen years later one of our crazier Parnassian Ensemble publicity photos took pride of place on the cover, to celebrate the release of our CD. The shot selected featured the four of us lying on the floor, with our feet up on the harpsichord and, because I was closest to the camera, my legs take centrestage! Needless to say, this isn’t a photo we use in our publicity much, but it was huge fun to create, as I think you can tell from our expressions!  

I’m a photo addict

If you’ve been a subscriber to Score Lines for a while you’ll already know I’m a keen photographer from the photos I share with you each week. However, you may not know the true extent of my photographic addiction…

One of my most recent photos, taken in Peterborough Cathedral

Back in 2007 I started a blog as somewhere to share my photos. By the end of 2008 I was sharing at least one new photo every day and decided I’d keep doing that for a year. My training as a musician told me if I practised regularly I would improve. Why shouldn’t that also be the case with photography? Sure enough, after a year I was making better photos and was thoroughly hooked. I decided I’d miss my daily dose of photography if I stopped so I kept going…. for ten years!

In 2018 I decided the need to find a new photo every day was limiting me, so I took the decision to free myself of that requirement and just take photos when I wanted to. I still use my camera most days, even now, but I’m able to be more experimental, trying different styles, such as the pinhole photography I’ve sometimes shared with you in Score Lines. If I’ve learnt one thing from my photography addiction though, it’s the fact that regular practice really does make a difference, whatever skill it is you’re trying to acquire!

With a little help from my friends…

Music making is almost always a matter of teamwork and nowhere is that truer than when you’re making a recording. I’ve been involved in a few recording projects over the years, but there are two I’m especially proud of. In 2009 Steve Marshall persuaded me I really should record a CD and the result was Helen and Friends. Featuring a wide variety of music, from solo unaccompanied repertoire to consort pieces and a performance of Steve’s Concerto No.2, which he composed specially for me. Lots of my friends appear on the CD, including the Phoenix Recorder Orchestra. Here’s one of my favourite tracks from the CD for you to listen to straight away. There’s another track over in my Members’ Area for Score Lines subscribers to download and keep.

If you’re not already a member, why not subscribe to Score Lines here and you’ll receive immediate free access to my exclusive subscriber videos, sheet music and much more.

Encouraged by the experience of recording my own CD, when the Society of Recorder Players asked me to produce a CD of music in memory of Brian Bonsor I leapt at the chance. In collaboration with Brian’s widow, Mary, I chose a mix of his music then set about recruiting a handpicked ensemble of players who I knew could learn and record the music without needing vast amounts of rehearsal time. I’ll be forever grateful to the friends who agreed to take part in the Bravo Bonsor! project, for giving their time and talents so willingly. Musical teamwork at its best.

The need for speed

Over the months I’ve shared photos from a huge variety of places, but some of my favourite locations to shoot are places which are home to fast cars. I grew up watching motor racing with my parents, as well as attending events at the motor circuit at Goodwood. There’s nothing quite like the smell of the mineral oil used in old cars and the roar of an engine to get the heart beating that little bit faster!

Fortunately, Kevin is also a petrolhead so we love spending summer days attending car shows and race meetings with his beloved 1965 Mini. I adore old cars in particular and I have even been known occasionally to pass up the opportunity to play my recorder in favour of a weekend watching the action at the Goodwood Racing Revival!

Wheel to wheel action on track at Goodwood

Of course, speed doesn’t have to happen at ground level. Over the years Kevin’s love of old aircraft has also rubbed off on me. I relish the challenge of photographing them in flight, even if I can’t always remember their names. This May, as a belated celebration of a significant birthday we both had in 2021 we’ll be taking a ride in a North American Aviation Harvard, a WWII training aircraft, in the skies over Bedfordshire. Naturally, I’ll share a photo from the day with you after the event!

The very aircraft Kevin and in which Kevin and I will be taking to the skies - named ‘Wacky Wabbit’!

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So now you know a little more about me – some of it musical, some of it not. Now it’s your turn… Why not get in touch to tell me something about yourself – it could be how you came to recorder playing, or maybe something completely unrelated to music.

While you’re there, do let me know what you’d like me to write about here on the Score Lines blog in 2022. I’ve got lots of ideas, but I’m always open to suggestions. At the moment I have some longer term themes in mind which I’ll cover over several posts, including technique tips, practice methods, repertoire and some interviews.

But what would you like to read about? You may have ideas I haven’t even considered yet? This blog is for you so the more information I have about you and the things you’d like to learn the better I can tailor it to your needs. All you need to do is leave a comment below, click reply to any issue of Score Lines or ping me a message via my contact page. I’m already looking forward to seeing my inbox contains next time I check…. 

Do you speak the same language as your conductor?

in

The guidance of a conductor can be immensely helpful, but how often do you really think about what the person standing in front of you is trying to convey through their gestures? I work with many ensembles and orchestras of differing standards and know only too well how my movements can make or break a performance. Of course, if the musicians I’m directing don’t understand my gestures I might as well be standing there waving semaphore flags!

In this week’s blog I share with you some of the secrets of the conducting world to help you get the best from the next conductor you work with.

Image created by Chenspec

Do all conductors do the same thing?

Up to a point, yes. However, it’s important to understand that not all groups of musicians have the same needs. An ensemble of inexperienced players will probably most value a clear beat to help them keep in time. But a professional orchestra is entirely capable to playing a vast array of repertoire without needing someone to keep them in line. For them, a conductor is the person who shapes the music to their own artistic vision. A regular beat is largely unnecessary, so instead they use different gestures to indicate their musical wishes. For instance take this performance from Mozart’s 40th Symphony by Sir Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic. He barely gives the beat, instead showing the direction and shape of the music in his gestures and facial expressions.

In my working life I adapt to suit the musicians I’m conducting at any moment in time. I’m very happy to be a musical coat hanger, on which inexperienced musicians hang their beats. Equally, it’s a joy to be freed of the need to beat time and to be able to offer gestures which show my musical intent.

When I first started conducting it was a relief if I could keep a regular beat, starting and stopping people successfully. Changes of tempo were scary because I had to know in advance how I would communicate them clearly. I often made mistakes. To anyone among my readers who saw some of my early, error strewn, efforts, I can only offer my apologies! Over time I gained confidence and was able to add other gestures to my repertoire, sharing more information. I now understand that if the musicians I’m directing don’t do my bidding it’s almost certainly because of a flaw in my communication skills, rather than in their playing. It’s a sobering thought and one that means I’m perpetually on a mission to improve.


How did I learn to conduct?

If you’ve ever felt even the slightest inclination to try conducting yourself you may be interested to hear the route I’ve taken to this point. I never expected to find myself here, and I like to think I’m proof that you don’t need to be a Simon Rattle to be a useful conductor. The path I’ve followed is open to anyone - if you fancy having a go you can start with baby steps and learn as you go. Amateur recorder groups often find themselves in need of a conductor and they’re mostly very understanding towards those who are brave enough to get up and have a go.

My earliest experience of conducting was through the ear tests which were part of my music grade exams at school. The requirements have changed a lot over the last three decades, but in my time one of the tests required the candidate to conduct along with a piece of music played by the examiner. This revealed whether you could determine the time signature of the music and certainly wasn’t designed to reveal future directors of the Berlin Philharmonic! Here I learnt how to beat 2, 3 and 4 time and it helped me better understand what the conductor of our school band was doing too.

During my music college years I had choral conducting lessons with a lovely chap called Stephen Jackson, who was director of the BBC Symphony Chorus for many years. I learnt a lot in theory but found the prospect of conducting my peers utterly terrifying. Stephen once told me I looked ‘scared witless’ as I attempted to direct part of Brahms’ German Requiem! In my last year as a student I was trusted to conduct an arrangement of my own with the recorder ensemble from the college’s junior department. This was a less scary prospect and with some encouraging advice from the ensemble’s tutor I began to enjoy the experience.

From there I gradually began working with groups on courses and conducting is now a major part of my working life. If you’d told me this would happen back in those choral conducting classes I’d have roared with laughter!

Learning is all about watching and stealing!

Aside from those terrifying conducting classes at college, I freely admit most of my conducting education has come from watching other conductors in action. At concerts I’m perpetually observing the gestures they use, noting which ones have the desired effect and which don’t. My conducting technique has shamelessly been stolen from conductors of recorder groups, orchestras, brass bands and choirs!

Even watching bad conductors can be educational. I find myself noting things that don’t work, or places where the musicians are playing well in spite of the conductor. A few years ago I recall watching a brass band competing in a contest in Yeovil. They gave a creditable performance, in spite of their director who conducted the entire piece at a forte dynamic. The band ignored this, playing quietly when required despite his misleading gestures.

Learn the language of conducting

Now you know a little more about my route into the world of conducting, let’s take a look at some of the things I do to help the musicians I coach. Remember, while there are some universal gestures, others are unique to individuals. The information I share with you here is my take on conducting. Next time you’re in a rehearsal take some time to observe what your conductor does. You may pick up some useful tips which are helpful for your playing and any conducting aspirations you may have!

To use a baton or go freehand

This is a very individual one. Orchestral conductors tend to use batons, while choral directors more often employ more flexible hand gestures. I tried a baton in my earlier years but always felt I had more flexibility and control without. The important thing is clarity and it’s entirely possible to be unclear with either method!

Right or left handed

Occasionally you’ll encounter a conductor who uses their left hand to impart the beat rather than the right. In fact, many years ago I conducted left handed for a while because of tendinitis in my right shoulder and I’m not sure anyone even noticed! Does it matter? Not at all. Most people aren’t distracted by a left handed beat, but do remember that the beating patterns will be a mirror image of those made by a right handed conductor.

Deciphering the patterns

One topic on which conductors tend to agree is beating patterns. In the following video I explain the most common patterns. I also cover some tips about the quality of the beats I give.

If you struggle to spend time watching the niceties of the various patterns while playing, there are two crucial landmarks to look out for - upbeats and downbeats. The first beat of any bar will go downwards, while the final beat (whether there are 2, 4 or 7 of them) will always go upwards. If you ensure you’re always on the first beat of your bar as the conductor’s hand descends you’ll immediately stand a better chance of being on the the right beat elsewhere in the bar!

Follow my leader

As Sir Thomas Beecham once facetiously said, “There are two golden rules for an orchestra: start together and finish together. The public doesn't give a damn what goes on in between.” OK, this is a gross oversimplification, but the way we start and finish music does matter.

As I show in the next clip, there are different ways to begin a piece of music. With less experienced groups I may conduct a whole bar to set them up with the tempo, while for more advanced musicians a single upbeat might be sufficient. As you’ll see, the quality of these introductory beats is very important to ensure a clean start.

Once I’ve got an ensemble going, another important part of my job is to ensure the various parts come in at the right time. No matter how good you are at counting bars rest, it’s reassuring to see a gesture from the conductor to confirm you’re coming back in at the right time. This won’t always be an extravagant gesture - sometimes even a moment of eye contact is enough. The important thing is for me to inspire confidence in my players, so I always try my hardest to be there in their hour of greatest need. That said, as a player, don’t always rely on your conductor to bring you in - your key entry may coincide with a moment when your conductor is fighting a fire elsewhere, managing another part which has gone off the rails!

Sometimes less is more

Over the years I’ve come to appreciate how powerful a conductor’s gestures can be. Perhaps an accent will be absent because I didn’t show it in my beat. Or maybe I’ll give an extraneous gesture which results in notes played where they shouldn’t be.

The example I always give to groups when explaining this idea is the following clip from a Christmas episode of Mr Bean. Rowan Atkinson may not be a professional conductor, but the responses of the brass quartet to Mr Bean’s movements are so well observed - and so funny too!

The following is an example from a piece I conducted just last week. The accompanying voices play chords, but irregularly on just one or two beats per bar. Initially I gave every beat equally and this resulted in notes being played in the rests. When I changed my approach, making more meaningful gestures (sometimes reinforced by the left hand) on just the beats where chords are written the result was more successful.

Below you’ll see the section I’m playing above, taken from Steve Marshall’s Variations on A Chantar. You can see the irregular accompaniment, with chords occurring in a different place in each bar.

Variations on A Chantar by Steve Marshall

Conveying meaning in music

As well as showing the beat in my conducting, I’ll try to convey other information about the music, such as dynamics, articulation and phrasing, through my gestures, as I show in the following clip.

Preparation is key

If you read my blog post four weeks ago you’ll already know I’m a big fan of annotating music with a pencil. That’s especially true when I’m conducting, particularly if I’m to help others play to the best of their abilities. Score preparation is a personal thing, but for those of you who may find yourself one day conducting an ensemble it may be helpful to have a glimpse into my methods.

There are no hard and fast rules for marking up scores and my markings will depend entirely on the type of music and its level of complexity. But here are some of the things I frequently mark into my own music:

  • To start with I’ll circle things which need my immediate attention, such as speed changes and I’ll figure out how I’m going to handle pauses. Sometimes (as in the example below) I may note a particular rhythm or melody which will help remind me of the tempo I’m aiming for.

  • I’ll often write large numbers in above the score to flag up where the time signature changes. A conductor who’s beating the wrong number of beats per bar is as much use as a chocolate teapot!

  • Labelling entries with instrument names so I can give helpful leads. If several parts come in simultaneously I’ll often group them with a square bracket.

  • I’ll look out for accidentals I think players might miss. I’ve become good at predicting these over the years - after a while you gain a sixth sense about which ones will be forgotten. Of course, marking these in my score doesn’t make the musicians more likely to play them, but it does remind me to listen out for them!

  • Writing in larger bar numbers. This is an age related thing - larger numbers mean I can refer to sections quickly in rehearsal without perpetually whipping my glasses on and off!

  • Notes about articulation, dynamics, phrasing, interesting harmonies and more. Often there creative decisions I need to make, to put my own stamp on the way the music is played, introducing light and shade.

  • In a fugal piece I will often mark each entry of the theme so I can see its journey through the score.

Below you’ll see a page from Steve Marshall’s The Dream-Country, which I’m currently rehearsing with one of my orchestras. You’ll see a lot of the items mentioned above and I’ll almost certainly add more notes as we build up our interpretation of the music for performance.

Building trust between conductor and musicians

When I stand in front of an ensemble, especially in concert, I’m very aware of my responsibility to assuage any nerves, helping the musicians play to the best of their abilities. At a basic level this means I need to be utterly consistent, maintaining the beat clearly and giving leads where the players have come to expect them. Naturally, I am only human and I do make mistakes occasionally, but I try to keep them to a minimum.

For me a big part of building trust is being in eye contact as much as possible. As a player, feeling the conductor actively involved in the performance and seeing the whites of their eyes is comforting - you feel you’re in this together and the support is mutual. When people are nervous, a little eye contact and a smile go a long way!

Of course eye contact works both ways. It’s a great myth that conductors are powerful - we have as much power as you give us! I can express my musical ideas clearly through my gestures, but if the players don’t watch, my efforts will be worthless. When the interaction becomes genuinely equal the results can be truly awe inspiring.

Some years ago I conducted a recorder orchestra piece in a concert at the end of a week’s course. We’d rehearsed thoroughly so I felt confident we’d give a good performance. Things started well and we successfully negotiated the tricky corners - a combination of concentration and interaction to get everyone through their exposed and awkwardly timed entries. Then we came to the big solo moment for one of the players, which had been rock solid all week. Imagine my terror as the soloist came in half a bar early! I had a split second decision to make - bring the orchestra back in at their allotted time and hope the soloist would realise, or to just jump two beats and hope the entire orchestra would realise we’d lost half a bar. I plumped for the latter option and to my immense relief they came with me - one of those occasions when they watched like hawks and understood my gestures correctly. From there we sailed through to the end and enjoyed a huge adrenaline rush of relief as the audience applauded! The orchestra could have assumed I’d make a mistake and stuck to their guns, but the trust we’d built paid off and we lived to tell the tale.

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So there are some of my thoughts on the weird and wonderful world of conducting - hopefully you’ll have found at least one helpful nugget of information within. When you consider the concept, it’s a strange job. We stand in front of a group of musicians, waft our arms around, apparently in control of proceedings, then take all the applause when the performance is over. I hope my words help you understand it’s not all about the glory. I never take for granted the trust musicians place in me and any rehearsal or performance is the ultimate example of teamwork. Without you I wouldn’t have a job and it’s an honour to forge that sense of trust every time I conduct.

If you’ve ever had so much as a passing thought about trying this yourself please don’t hesitate to try, even if it’s just a case of gathering four friends to play some simple tunes while you beat time. Seeing the music from both sides of the fence can be simultaneously terrifying and immensely rewarding and even if you never try it a second time you’ll learn a lot. If you have experience of conducting why not share some of your tips in the comments below, or you could tell us about your finest and/or scariest moments in rehearsal or performance. Or if you prefer to remain safely ensconced in the orchestra, why not share some of the tips you’ve picked up from conductors you’ve worked with - there’s always something new to learn.

In search of perfection

in

Would you say you’re a perfectionist? It’s one of those terms we use as both a desired quality and a flaw. But is it something we should desire in music making?

Think about your favourite piece of recorded music, whether it’s a CD or streamed music. Is it perfect, or are you aware of flaws? I wouldn’t mind betting it’s as close to perfect as you could wish. Now consider how that recording was made. If it was created in the last fifty years, the chances the artist made a first take then re-recorded short sections which could be spliced in to cover any errors. Such practices are completely normal these days, allowing us to enjoy a ‘perfect’ performance every time we listen. But is this always a good thing?

The pianist Austrian Artur Schnabel (1882-1951) is best known today for his interpretations of Beethoven and Schubert. Indeed, the noted music critic Harold Schonberg described him as, “The man who invented Beethoven”. Maybe that’s a touch hyperbolic, but his interpretations of Beethoven were justly admired, and he was the first person to record a complete cycle of his piano sonatas. As a teenager, when I loved to tussle with the odd Beethoven piano sonata myself, I had an LP recording of Schnabel playing Sonata No.17 and I loved the spontaneity of his performance. Was it the perfect recording? Absolutely not but that mattered not a jot to me!

Schnabel recorded his Beethoven cycle between 1932 and 1935 – a time when performers were limited to four minutes of recording time (the length of a 78rpm disc) and no possibility of editing. Imagine the pressure he must have felt to play every note as perfectly as possible. Schnabel famously hated the recording process, but thank goodness he persevered. If you listen to his interpretations today they contain some flaws, but his vitality and musicality still shines through. While researching this blog post I listened again to Schnabel’s performance of Beethoven’s Sonata No.17 (a piece I learnt myself), comparing it with recordings by more recent pianists of note. Interestingly, I still enjoy the Schnabel recording, warts and all and I love the skittish nature of the opening movement. Have a listen for yourself if you’d like to.

So what does this have to do with our recorder playing I hear you ask? I would argue that the recorded music we listen to has a big influence on our attitude to our own playing, whether you’re a professional or an amateur. My audience here on the Score Lines blog encompasses a wide range of musicians - those who are just starting out, players who’ve been at it a while and can get around a piece of music with a good degree of fluency and musicality and some who perform with confidence and polish. Wherever you fall on that sliding scale, I’m willing to bet you’ve berated yourself for mistakes many times. Am I right? Of course I am!

It’s human nature to compare yourself to others, in music and all areas of life. When we listen to what we consider a ‘perfect’ performance we will often compare our own playing unfavourably – “Why don’t I sound like that?” or “What’s the point in me trying if I can’t even get all the notes right?” Is this a healthy reaction? In some ways, yes it is, if it drives us to practise more and improve our playing. But if it just makes you feel downbeat and disheartened I would argue not.

Let me tell you a story, which shows the influence a performance can have on others.

When I first taught at the Recorder Summer School the course would include a professional concert, towards the end of the week. One year we had to move it to the start of the week to accommodate the diary of our performers and it provoked an interesting reaction among our students. Many of them loved the change. They told us that when the concert was at the end of the week, they compared their own playing unfavourably with what they heard and it made them realise how little they’d improved during the course. In contrast, a concert at the start of the week inspired them to work harder to improve their playing. We now have the concert at the start of the course every year – all because of a chance diary clash years ago!

Should we be perfectionists?

There are some careers where anything less than perfection can be disastrous – a surgeon for instance – the difference between perfect and imperfect can be a matter of life and death. Are surgeons perfectionists? Almost certainly. Do all surgeons achieve perfection in their work every day of their lives? Almost certainly not!

Will anyone die if we play a wrong note or mistune that F sharp? Definitely not. But should we aim for perfection? Yes and no. As humans we’re incapable of utter perfection in anything – it’s a simple fact of life that we make mistakes. What’s more important is whether those mistakes spoil the end result and whether we learn from them.

I spent many years teaching the recorder in schools and was always amazed at the courage of the children I taught. They’d fearlessly jump up in front of a large audience and play the music they’d been diligently practising. Mistakes happened but by and large they just got on with it and didn’t fret about them. Children know from recent experience that they’ll make mistakes, but such errors will rarely cause them any long term pain or distress. Think how many times you fell off your bicycle in childhood, picking up grazes and bruises. That wasn’t going to stop you grabbing your bike and jumping back on it. You never fretted about what might happen if you met a pothole or your chain fell off. Childhood is the time when we try new things without fretting about what we cannot control.

As we grow up we begin to worry more. By the time we reach adulthood we’re doing jobs where people count on us to get things right and it seems a much bigger deal if we make a mistake. This often carries over into our lives away from work, affecting the things we do for fun.

Through my work with adult recorder players I encounter lots of people who are at the top of their game in whatever they do for a living. They know their job well and are in control, knowing they have the skills to cope with any glitches that may occur. They also clearly understand the risks of being less than perfect, whether that’s driving a bus, teaching a class of children or removing someone’s appendix.

Now put the same person into a rehearsal or concert and you’d think they’d have the same coping strategies, wouldn’t you? Maybe not. Remember that many amateur musicians come to music in later life, or perhaps return to it several decades after first learning in school. Experience of life makes their adult brains much more aware of the wrong notes and somehow those mistakes seem a bigger deal when you’re 42 than when you’re 9!

Is a musical mistake really a life and death threat? Far from it, but by adulthood we’re used to succeeding and the fear of looking foolish is larger in our minds. This fear puts many off even trying to perform and can deter some from even going along to play in an ensemble until they feel they’re ‘good enough’ and I think this is a real shame.

Yes, you should strive for perfection in your musical activities, but always remember that you’ll never achieve perfection. Try as hard as you can at whatever you do, but don’t let mistakes get blown out of proportion in your mind.

I’ve often heard a quote along the lines of ‘Amateur practise until they get something right, while professionals practise until they can’t get it wrong.’ I’ve tried and failed to find the original source for this quote, but it still contains a lot of truth. As a working professional, I certainly feel the pressure to get things perfect, but I know from experience that an audience won’t enjoy a concert less if it contains the occasional flaw.

I recently watched a televised concert from the London Palladium by the singer Adele in which she performed songs from her new album. She got a short way into one of them and stopped, apologising to the audience, saying how nervous she was. Did they hate her for this? Far from it, they loved this honesty and gave her a huge round of applause! Seeing Adele’s nerves get the better of her just made them love her even more and that in turn gave her the confidence to turn in a fabulous performance when she restarted.

 

Combatting the fear of imperfection

Put your credit card away!

Photographers suffer from all the same worries as musicians – we compare our photos to those of others and fret that we’re not good enough. A common mistake is to think a better camera or a new lens will turn you a better photographer and many people become afflicted with GAS (gear acquisition syndrome) in the search for the camera which will make their photos look like those of Ansel Adams. Does it work? Very rarely – and I speak from experience!

I sometimes see the same affliction in recorder players. They think if they just upgrade their pearwood treble to a rosewood one or buy an instrument made by a big name recorder maker that’ll make all the difference and they’ll magically sound like Frans Bruggen. I’ve heard beautiful performances played on cheap plastic instruments and awful ones coming from handmade recorders costing thousands of pounds. The truth is if you want to get closer to perfection with your playing you’re better off spending that cash on some lessons from a good recorder teacher, or simply practise in a more considered way to upgrade your mental and physical skills.

A recorder is a tool - buying a more expensive one won’t necessarily make you a more perfect player!

Make a mess and have fun!

When I was at music college my teacher used to criticise me for being ‘too neat and tidy’. It struck me as an odd accusation at the time, but looking back I can see my obsession for perfection almost certainly made my performances less exciting and rather clinical. Now I worry less about the possibility of small imperfections, placing a greater focus on taking risks to create a more exciting performance.

When you’re practising don’t be afraid to make a mess of things. First steps on any new piece of music will often be untidy and littered with mistakes but it’s all part of the learning experience. We learn from mistakes – after all, it’s the experience of falling over in the snow that teaches us to tread carefully when it’s icy if we wish to avoid injury. Wrong notes won’t inflict physical pain on anyone, but do try to remember where your mistakes were you can correct them and do it better next time.

Use your practice time to correct mistakes and seek perfection, but don’t forget to take risks. Throw in an ambitious piece of ornamentation and don’t fret that it might go horribly wrong. Some of what you try will succeed and you’ll learn how far you can take things in performance. Try playing something really fast to find your limits. If you stumble you’ll learn something and your pet cat, asleep nearby, won’t care how many times you throw caution to the wind to try something new! Some of your experiments will fail but others will be successes you can celebrate.

While running Zoom workshops on recorder technique during the Covid-19 lockdowns I realised there were some benefits to this way of working. One of my workshop’s exercises requires my students to blow a note really loudly and quietly, making a frankly awful noise, to ascertain the acceptable limits of their tone. In face-to-face workshops this tends to be somewhat tentative as people are worried about making a fool of themselves. On Zoom, with microphones muted, players were able to give it everything they had without worrying what anyone else thought and many told me they found that freeing.

Don’t wait until you’re ‘good enough’

If you’re fairly new to music making and are still at the stage of playing on your own at home, be brave and find a group to play with. Don’t wait until you’re ‘good enough’ - you’re just trying to insulate yourself from failure. If you find a group who are at a similar level to yourself you’ll be able to commiserate and celebrate your failures and successes together. If you find you’re weaker than your fellow musicians, they’ll help you lift your game, carrying you along on their wave of confidence. Recorder players invariably are welcoming and keen to see you succeed – they’ve all been there themselves, stumbling along as they took their own first steps. It doesn’t matter if you don’t play every note at first – you’ll learn coping strategies and in a few weeks you’ll wonder why you were ever scared about going along.

My partner, Kevin, started a brass band for young players on a Saturday morning. As soon as a child could play five notes on their instrument they were welcome in the band – there was no need to wait until they’d passed any music exams. At times the sound was dreadful, but the kids quickly improved, developing their musical and technical skills. Most importantly they had enormous fun! They didn’t care that their first rendition of Jingle Bells in the Christmas concert sounded a bit dodgy – the applause from the audience spurred them on to improve, even if they weren’t always perfect. Years later I watched some of those earliest band members perform to a packed audience at Birmingham Symphony Hall and their sense of enthusiasm and achievement was infectious. They didn’t wait until they were ‘good enough’  - they just jumped in and had a go!

Be a true amateur

The definition of an amateur is someone who does something for the love of it. Can you say, hand on heart, that you play every note with real love? Or do you get hung up on getting the notes right, sometimes losing sight of the real joy of music making – playing with passion and enjoyment?

“To play a wrong note is insignificant; to play without passion is inexcusable.”

Ludwig van Beethoven

Yes, do try to get the notes right, but don’t forget to consider the story you are trying to convey through your music. What mood are you trying to conjure up? Are you playing that slow melody with true feeling, or are you just content with getting the notes on all the right beats? Share your love of the music in your playing and anyone who hears you will feel it, regardless of the occasional wrong note.

Be a realist

I think musicians often feel they should be stretching themselves all the time. The classic example of this is the student who passes a grade exam and moves straight on to the next one. Most adult players have no desire to take exams, but I sometimes still see the same mentality, as they throw themselves into ever more challenging repertoire without taking time to consolidate.

We all love a challenge, but perpetually being at the bleeding edge of your technique can be demoralising. You’re always at your limit, endlessly trying to get around the notes with no spare mental capacity to think about the bigger picture. Sometimes, give yourself a break – pick an easier piece where you can comfortably manage the technical challenges. This frees you up to explore the different ways you could phrase the music, experiment with different tempi or try some more creative ornamentation.

How to deal with imperfections in performance

It’s very easy in performance to become totally focused on our imperfections – we assume the audience will hear every glitch and think less of us. In reality, many of them will slip by unnoticed. Even when an audience does hear a mistake you can be sure it won’t wreck the concert for them.

I’ve made what felt like apocalyptic errors in concerts over the years, but perhaps the most extreme was an unaccompanied piece by Anton Heberle. Midway through I had a memory lapse in a passage of arpeggio patterns. Unsure of where to restart, I explored one arpeggio, trying to give it an intentionally improvisatory air, hopeful it might lead me back to safety. No, that wasn’t the one. I tried another – still not right. Then inspiration struck – it was B flat major I was searching for! I was finally back on the right path and the music flowed easily from there to the double barline. At the end the audience applauded enthusiastically, I took my bow and retreated to the wings with a huge sigh of relief. Chatting to my Dad afterwards, we discussed the Heberle, a piece he’d heard me play many times before, and he admitted he hadn’t even noticed my faux pas. Because I’d made my explorations in a confident and musical way, he assumed it was an intentional part of the music and was utterly convinced it had been right.

The moral of the story? Always play with conviction and confidence and the audience will believe in you. Take risks and share your passion with the audience and they’ll love you even if you are imperfect.

“Practise like it means everything in world to you. Perform like you don’t give a damn.”

Jascha Heifetz, violinist.

Most importantly, if you do make a mistake, don’t let it put you off what comes next. It’s far too easy to play a wrong note and then spend several bars mentally kicking yourself for making a stupid error. During those ensuing bars you’re even more likely to make further mistakes, purely because you’re busy berating yourself rather than concentrating on the music.

Before a concert with the youth orchestra I played with as a teenager, our conductor gave us a pep talk, telling us, ”I absolve you of your mistakes.” It seemed an odd thing to say at the time but, looking back, I realise he was telling us to immediately put our errors behind us. You are human – you will be imperfect – that much is a given. Remember though, you cannot turn back time to un-make mistakes so to let them distract you, resulting in more errors is unforgiveable. After the performance is over, look back and analyse what you did wrong. Use the experience to improve your playing in the future, but don’t give it a second thought in the heat of the moment.

Performing to a packed audience in Chichester Cathedral with the Parnassian Ensemble


Embrace your humanity

There is an aesthetic embraced by the Japanese called Wabi-sabi – the concept of beauty through imperfection. These imperfections can be flaws introduced in production of an item, or simply marks accrued through years of wear and tear. As a photographer I appreciate the appeal of this aesthetic through the way I react to the buildings I photograph. I often visit old churches and find so much joy in photographing details around these ancient buildings which have over time developed a patina. These imperfections tell us others have been there before us and we can imagine the stories they could tell us.

An enchanting pew end from a Suffolk church. The marks left by centuries of being caressed by churchgoers just make me love this carving even more.

In music we all bring our own wabi-sabi aesthetic to the music we play. We are all unique individuals, bringing our own life experiences and personal strengths and weakness to our musical interpretation. At no point in our lives can we ever consider ourselves to be complete and perfect – the finished article. Over time we bring new life experiences to bear on the way we play music, and our interpretations should be part of an everchanging process. I look back to performances I gave in my younger days and know I would do them very differently now. These changes in interpretation and technique are part of my own musical wabi-sabi. No performance will every be utterly perfect, but I am perpetually on a road towards a mythical perfection I hope I might one day achieve.

I enjoyed a fascinating conversation recently with someone who’d been to the finals of the National Brass Band Championships which ties in with the wabi-sabi concept. In brass band contests all the bands play the same test piece to an adjudicator who is hidden behind a screen, so they can judge without bias. There is a big emphasis at these competitions on playing the music perfectly – avoiding errors as much as is humanly possible.

In this particular contest, there were two performances which stood out to the person I was chatting with. One followed the composer’s score to the letter, getting as close to technical perfection as possible – it turned out to be winning performance. But the second was much more dynamic, taking risks, stretching the musical possibilities and, yes, including occasional wrong notes. What really interested me though was when the person I was chatting to said if they were paying money to attend a concert, it was this second performance they’d rather see. The imperfections didn’t matter one jot – the passion and musicality were worth infinitely more.

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So is perfectionism a good trait for musicians? I would argue one should always strive to play perfectly, practising thoughtfully and efficiently to eliminate our mistakes. However, when it comes to playing with others and in concert, you should be less focused on perfection and aim instead to communicate your love of the music to others. If that means you’re a little less than perfect, you’re just showing your humanity and it doesn’t make you any less of a musician.

What’s your attitude to perfection? Do you beaver away until you have every note polished until it shines, or are you a more spontaneous risk taker? I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject, whether you just play for fun with friends or you’re a seasoned performer. Please do leave a comment below.

The importance of awareness

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Think of yourself as a musician for a moment – would you say you’re a meerkat or a lion?

What do you mean, you’re neither?!

OK, this might not be a musical classification you’ve come across before, but let me explain what I mean…

Take a moment to compare these two animal species. If you imagine a meerkat I’m willing to bet you’ll picture them perched on a branch or rock, standing tall, alertly looking out for anything that might be a danger to the family group, ready to sound an alarm call at a moment’s notice.

In contrast, a lion sits at the top of the food chain. They have few natural predators so they spend a lot of their lives relaxing, snoozing on the savanna, as the world around them goes on. Yes, they’ll leap into action when necessary, to hunt down their next meal, but in general they have no need to be alert at all times.

Now think again about the time you spend playing and listening to music. Are you a meerkat; always alert, ready for anything the music could throw at you? Or are you a lion – chilled out and not paying too much attention to what’s going on?

Of course, there’s space for both approaches in music, and neither attitude suits every musician or situation. But I’d like to encourage you to find your inner meerkat more often and notice how that helps your own music making.

Let’s take a look at three areas where I think this is particularly important…

Awareness of oneself

Self awareness in music making is something I’ve focused on much more over the last year or two, largely as a result of teaching my students on Zoom during the pandemic. In a face to face lesson you can show pupils the errors of their ways more easily, often by playing a few bars with them. When playing together it’s much easier to hear when you’re rushing, or if you’re ignoring the composer’s articulation markings. Over Zoom, playing together in real time is all but impossible so as a teacher you have to rely on a student using their own self awareness to recognise the errors as you explain them. Let’s take a look at some of the areas where we all might need to increase our self awareness…

It’s not uncommon if you choose to study music seriously at music college or university to be taken back to basics during your first year. With the best will in the world, we all inadvertently develop bad habits over time. If you’re seeking to become a professional musician it pays to have a really good foundation to one’s technique and sometimes the best way to acquire this is to spend time going back to the fundamentals. For instance, when I began taking lessons with my recorder teacher at Trinity College of Music we spent a whole term working on my tone production and articulation. That meant three months mostly spent on breathing exercises, long notes, slow scales and exercises by Hans Ulrich Staeps. Maybe not the most inspiring mix, but it gave me a solid base on which to build the rest of my technique and musicianship, for which I’m really grateful.

Now I realise most of my readers won’t want to become professionals, but musicians of any level can benefit from being more aware of their playing technique. For instance, do you sit well when you play? Or do you slouch nonchalantly in your seat? Something as simple as posture can have a huge impact on your tone and general wellbeing. Many years ago, I spent time working on posture with the students in my summer school class. At the end of the week one of them came and told me that she always got backache when playing the recorder for long periods. Using the techniques I’d shared, her backache had gone away and she felt rejuvenated. Knowing my words had made such an impact on her musical and physical wellbeing made me so happy!

Now think of the other physical aspects of technique you might not pay enough attention to. Do you breath in a relaxed, open way? Are you using your diaphragm and core muscles to support your air column to produce a beautiful, rounded tone? Are your throat and face muscles free of tension, or are they tense, leading to a constricted sound?

What about your fingers? Are you a master of economy, minimising their movement, or do you flap them around with abandon? If you’re not sure, try playing in front of a mirror and look at your technique as an outsider would. This can be a very revealing experience!

OK, so I’ve got you thinking about your external technique – now turn your attention to the goings on inside your body.

Grab a recorder right now to play this simple melody and really listen.

Are you blowing right through the phrase, or do you puff in short bursts, creating a choppy line? Does your tonguing cut the melody up into small chunks. Or are you able to articulate really gently, so your tongue strokes interrupt the flow of breath as little as possible, creating a beautiful, connected melodic line? If you find it hard to answer these questions, try recording yourself. You’ll notice different things listening to your playing as a detached third party, rather than hearing the sound filtered through your own head. If you have a smartphone, try using the voice recording app for this and you can keep these short clips to compare your progress.

Just with that one aspect of awareness I’ve given you lots to think about. I would warn against trying to improve all aspects of your playing at once. If you try to develop your posture, breathing, tone production, fingering and tonguing all at once you’ll drive yourself to distraction! Instead, pick one aspect of your playing to focus on and then move on when you feel you’ve made progress.

Awareness of other musicians

I imagine you probably play with other musicians, perhaps regularly, maybe occasionally.

When making music with others, how aware are you of them? Do you listen carefully to the way they are playing and how you blend in? Or maybe you go into what I call ‘bingo mode’ – eyes down, totally focused on your own actions?

When we first begin making music with other people it’s easy to be overwhelmed. Depending on the difficulty of the music, you may be completely focused on just getting the notes and rhythms right, with no spare mental capacity to listen to others. That’s entirely understandable, but it’s important to develop a wider awareness while playing as soon as you can.

Initially, try to listen in a general way without getting distracted by the finer details. Ask yourself if what you’re playing fits with everything else that’s going on. In a lot of music, especially renaissance and baroque repertoire, you’ll be able to tell easily if you’re completely out of sync with others. I once encountered a student on a course who was a nimble player, but lacked awareness of others as she played. While she could get around the notes, if she got out of sync with others she steadfastly remained at odds with the rest of the ensemble until her error was pointed out. While she could play pretty much anything I threw at her, she was quite a destructive influence in an ensemble.

To avoid being a destructive ensemble player there are some steps you can take to improve your awareness. At its simplest, ask yourself if your pitch and rhythm matches that of people who are sharing the same part as you. Beyond that, listen to your intonation. Are your notes blending with others at the same pitch? Maybe you need to use a more positive airflow to avoid being flat, or perhaps you’re blowing too enthusiastically and are a little sharp. If you’re not sure which way to adjust, try one and then the other and see which is better.

Now you’re more comfortable adjusting your pitch and breath to blend with others, how is your articulation? Are your slurs hurrying a little? Fingers often take on a life of their own without the tongue to keep them in check. Where you have staccato and accent markings, listen to whether everyone in the ensemble is interpreting these in the same way. Of course, it may be that you are right and others are wrong, but everyone needs to be willing to compromise for the greater good sometimes! Maybe you’re rehearsing a fugue and other voices play the main theme before you do? In that case, observe the way they shape the melody line and try to emulate that, so the musical style is consistent.

As you gain technical fluency and experience you’ll find you’re better able to listen in detail to the musicians around you, analysing whether you are united in your musical approach. There will be times, especially when sight reading a new, challenging piece, when your external awareness slips, but aim to regain that awareness as soon as possible.

Awareness of the music you listen to

Through chatting to students and fellow professionals I’ve come to realise we all listen in different ways. Non-musicians will often listen to music just for sheer pleasure, letting it wash over them while not focusing on details. Teenagers frequently have an intimate knowledge of the lyrics in their favourite pop songs, but may not give a second thought to the type of harmony the composer has used.

In contrast I find myself perpetually analysing music I listen to. Sometimes it’ll be the harmony which catches my ear - on other occasions I’ll be distracted by the rhythms. You may consider this to be an affliction which takes away the simple pleasure of enjoying to music, but I’m just as capable of listening mindlessly and letting the sound wash over me!

As an example, if you’ve ever seen the film Dunkirk, did you notice the way composer Hans Zimmer sneaked Edward Elgar’s Nimrod into the soundtrack from time to time? It jumped out at me immediately but I wonder how many of my fellow cinemagoers simply enjoyed the lush orchestral score at face value? The following clip is a good example of this:

Of course, listening to music can be a wonderful tool to help improve your own playing. On a course several years ago I discussed baroque style with my students, noting the way the composer’s manuscript is just a starting point. We listened to a recording of the Scarlatti we were studying and I encouraged everyone to focus on the articulation, noting where the performers made the notes detached and where they were played smoothly. The looks of wonderment on my students’ faces made me realise that listening in this way was not habitual for them – they were used to listening much more passively.

Contemporary composers are generally quite prescriptive in their notation, spelling out exactly how they would like you to play the music. For instance, this extract by Steve Marshall, from his Sleazy Blues, clearly indicates which notes should be staccato or accented. Of course, you can still apply your own personal interpretation to the music, but Steve’s notation helps you understand where to begin.

Now compare this extract from Handel’s Sonata in F for two recorders and continuo – you can download the complete score by clicking here if you’d like to see the whole piece. Handel gives little information beyond the notes – no performance indications aside from the tempo and a couple of trills. Indeed, the original manuscript would have included even less – just a bassline with a little figured bass for the harpsichordist to work from. With early music, it’s up to the performer to make creative decisions about phrasing, articulation, dynamics, ornamentation and more.

So how do we make appropriate choices? A lot of the techniques professional performers use today have been gleaned from treatises of the period – such as On Playing the Flute, which I mentioned in my last blog post.

Of course, you can learn a lot by listening to by the performances of others. For example, take a moment to listen to the following recording of the Handel by The Parnassian Ensemble (including yours truly). Focus on the way we chose to shape the music, making some notes legato, while others are staccato. As you begin to listening more critically, you may notice the way we create dynamic contrasts and the effect the density of the harpsichord chords has in terms of highlighting important moments in the music.

I plan to talk more about the decisions you need to consider when thinking about articulation in a future blog post. But for now just listening critically will help you come up with creative ideas.

Next time you listen to any music, take a moment to listen with greater awareness. Ask yourself what you notice about the music. Is it in a major or minor key? How does the music make you feel – is it sonorous and calming, or energetic and uplifting. Listening in greater detail, note what creative choices the performers have made about the articulation they use or the dynamic shapes they make.

Naturally, there are times when you just need to let the music wash over you, but try and get into the habit of listening in a more critical way on a regular basis. You can then begin to experiment with some of these techniques in the music you play. You’ll soon find it helps bring your performances to life.

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So have you decided if you’re a meerkat or a lion yet? I freely admit I’m more of a meerkat, but that’s largely as a result of my musical training. For example, I recently discovered the TV series Travel Man and became obsessed with analysing the time signature of the closing credits (16/8 if you know the series and are intrigued). I’m willing to bet most fans of the show simply enjoy the rousing tune!

I’d love to hear what conclusions you come to about your own awareness, both physically and musically. Have you had any of those eureka moments, with flashes of recognition or inspiration? Maybe you realised an errant finger was slowing you down in a fast passage, or perhaps listening to others in an ensemble helped you to become a better musician. Or maybe, like me, you smiled at the unexpected recognition something interesting hidden away in a piece of music. Please do comment below and share your thoughts.

Welcome to the Score Lines blog!

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It’s been a huge pleasure and privilege to see recorder players worldwide using my consort videos during the Covid-19 pandemic. I’ve made so many new friends and have been blown away by the warmth and generosity of the recorder community. As we gradually emerge into something closer resembling normality I will continue creating new videos, but I also want to broaden the resources I offer as the virtual consorts are needed less. As part of this process I have created this blog to share other material - that may be new editions of music, advice on technique, repertoire recommendations and general musical musings. It will take a while for this new project to get going so I’m going to start off with the words of another recorder player.

Walter Bergmann

Walter Bergmann (1902-1988) was a German musician who worked in his home country as a lawyer. In 1930s Germany his efforts defending Jewish clients were frowned upon by the authorities and in 1939 he escaped to England with a suitcase of books, music and his flute, followed soon after by his wife Greta. His law qualifications weren’t valid here, so instead he decided to pursue a career in music. Through a job working for the publisher Schott, he met many influential musicians, including the composer Michael Tippett and the countertenor singer Alfred Deller. He worked with both men and was instrumental in the revival of early music.

Bergmann started teaching a recorder class at Morley College in London and his interest in amateur recorder playing led to the post-war reformation of the Society of Recorder Players in 1946 and the foundation of the Recorder Summer School in 1948 - both of which still thrive to this day. His activities in the recorder world introduced him to generations of players and those who met him speak of his musicianship and dry sense of humour.

When directing amateur groups he came up with many witticisms and in 1957 a collection of them was published in the Recorder News (predecessor to the Recorder Magazine). Many years ago I was gifted a large pile of these magazines by Edgar Hunt and derived great amusement from his sayings. Many are clearly ironic observations of activities he witnessed while working with amateur recorder players, but a good number have a lot of musical sense in them. Most recorder players will have come across a few of Walter Bergmann’s Golden Rules for Ensemble Playing but I dare say some will be unfamiliar. Naturally, I find myself quoting them to groups I work with and over the years I have come up with new ones of my own - no doubt content for another blog post one day soon! For my inaugural post though, I couldn’t resist sharing the list from that 1957 publication with you, for your amusement and education.

1.      Play the same piece

2.      Stop at every repeat sign and enter into a lengthy palaver whether to repeat or not.

3.      The most essential part in an ensemble is the other one.

4.      If you play the wrong note give one of your partners a dirty look.

5.      Keep your fingering chart handy; you can always catch up with the others.

6.      Tune carefully before playing, then you can safely play out of tune the whole evening.

7.      Take your time turning over: see No.5 above.

8.      An ornament should be an embellishment and not an embarrassment.

9.      Your conductor has been paid for. You waste your money if you don’t look at him.

10.  Aim for the highest n.p.s. (notes per second).

11.  A right note at the wrong time is a wrong note. The opposite is of course also true.

12.  Spare the breath and spoil the tune.

13.  If all the others are wrong and you alone are right, follow the wrong.

14.  All forte and piano marks, slurs, dots above, below and behind a note etc. are not to be observed. They are only decoration for the eye made by frustrated engravers.

15.  If a passage is difficult, slow down; if it is easy, speed up. In the long run it all evens out.

16.  If you have lost your place in the music irretrievably stop everyone and say, “I think that you need to tune again”.

17.  Blessed are they who have no perfect pitch, for theirs is the kingdom of music.

18.  Have the answer ready: “I always play in tune because I play a Bressan (Coolsma, Aulos, Dolmetsch, von Huene, Koch, Koenig, Schott, etc.) recorder”.

19.  When, thanks to you, the ensemble has had to stop, explain lengthily why you made the mistake. Everyone will be most interested.

20.  Do not follow the conductor (be together with him).

21.  Like the trill on the upper note, vibrato always (?) starts on the upper frequency.

22.  Use historical evidence as some people read the Bible. They pick out what suits them and omit what does not conform with their preconceived ideas.

23.  An authentic interpretation is achieved when not a note of the original remains.

24.  Be careful in selecting an edition. In a good edition a forte stands at the beginning of a fast movement and a piano at the beginning of a slow one. Breath marks stand over rests, but are omitted where they could be helpful. Prefaces are essential. They make the performance of the piece complete unnecessary and sometimes even undesirable.

25.  Shakespeare’s advice to recorder players:

·       A rest is silence (Hamlet).

·       My foot my tutor (Prospero).

·       My kingdom for a semiquaver (Richard III)

26.  Thou shalt not play the little bit left over at the end

I’m sure we can all associate with some of these ‘golden rules’, no doubt recalling some of our own bad habits. As a teacher I find his advice on ornaments and use of breath (numbers 8 and 12) to be very true, but as a conductor I often wish more people would remember number 20 when they’re playing behind my beat!

I’d love to know which ones resonate most with you. Are there any you find yourself quoting from time to time? Maybe you have your own ‘golden rules’, or perhaps you’ve encountered gems from conductors you’ve worked with? Please feel free to share your thoughts in the comments section below.

Looking for the latest in my Recorder Consort Music Downloads? Click here and you’ll find this week’s offerings - a version of the tune Browning by Elway Bevin (c.1554-1638) and three new Bach Chorales, along with all my earlier offerings!