Learning from books

I've had a bit of down time, bassoon-wise. I have no pressing performance situations planned, and only a vague set of goals outtlined. So I've been doing some reading, and getting back to practicing only in the past couple of days after a week off.

There's a couple of library books I've been reading. One is Arthur Weisberg's Art of Wind Playing, written in the 70's. After some preliminaries, noting that wind instruments lack the sophistication and expressiveness of string instruments or the human voice, he starts talking about reeds. The book is supposed to be general, for all wind instruments, but funny thing, all his examples are bassoon-related. So he shows the reed tip opening on bassoon, noting that you need a smaller opening when playing quietly, in order to maintain the pitch constant at soft and loud volume levels. Well, yeah, I knew that, and I think I do it, at least some of the time. Then he points out that this means that the embouchure needs to adjust the reed tip opening during crescendos and diminuendos. I hadn't really thought about that, but it follows naturally from the connection between volume and pitch. I guess I can do that too. Finally he points out that the attack and release of an individual note is nothing more than a rapid crescendo or diminuendo, and you have to do the same level of tip opening adjustment during the attack or release as you would for any crescendo or diminuendo over that volume range, or else you lose control of the pitch of the note during the attack or release. Now that I did not know. I'd never thought about the attack or release of a note having a pitch. When I play slow scales in front of a tuner, I've always been happy if the needle is in the right position during the solid middle of the note. Tuners aren't fast enough to tell you what's happening during the attack or release. I guess I was used to the idea of inflection, where the end of a breath released note should have a bit of a lift, like a smile, but that seemed mostly a trick to avoid a complete collapse of tone and pitch at the end of a note. Weisberg wants every part of the note to be in tune. Weisberg goes on to discuss various types of attack and release,  staccato, accented, sfortzando, fortepiano etc., with the admonition to practice each kind in all registers and dynamics maintaining intonation during every moment of the note. For me, with my consciousness newly raised, it seems like plenty to try and get a clean attack and release, with a blocklike profile for the note. (Ie a square wave of volume, and a flat line of pitch.) Presumably once you can do this you can then allow intonation to shift for effect if you want it to. I think the standard bassoon staccato, that stereotyped bassoon-as-clown role, has pitch inflection which turn each note into a chuckle.

The other book I've been reading was written much earlier. It's a recorder manual by an Italian named Ganassi, and published in 1535. IMSLP has a facsimile of the original printing, but I've been reading a translated version with modern-looking music typesetting, much easier to work with. It's still very strange. I guess the earliest music I'd had exposure to was Baroque, and Renaissance was quite different. The first thing I noticed is the total absence of slurs. Every note was to be tongued. However, Ganassi notes that there are many different ways to tongue, and goes through a variety of choices for double-tonguing (teke-teke, tere-tere, lere-lere), each of which has a different effect, and which you can use for expression. Ganassi, like Weisberg, holds the human voice up as the model instrument, to which the performer should aspire. So some things don't change. I found my son's $10 plastic school recorder, and figured out how to play a scale, using lere-lere. What do you know, it came out sounding something like the minstrels in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. So that was interesting. Ganassi also had lots of comments about intonation. All of Weisberg's remarks hold true, except that there's no reed tip opening to adjust. Finding a way to get acceptable pitch anywhere in the note, and especially during the attacks and releases, is non-trivial. The positive side of the story is that recorder very much encourages you to get creative with fingerings: adding extra cross-fingers, opening half-holes, adjusting their size, moving fingers close to the hole without touching -- anything to get close.

Most of the body of the book, though, is concerned with improvisation, or "playing divisions" on fragments of a melody. That's why I got the book in the first place: a friend recommended it as a resource to help figure out how to elaborate the theme in the Böddecker sonata. So it's not even a book of Renaissance music, but rather a book of examples or exercises, organized by interval, kind of like an Aebersold for 15th century improvisers. Very interesting. I'm not sure it'll be useful to bassoon, but it's fun regardless. Also, the recorder is smaller than the bassoon, which allowed me to bring one along on a work trip recently. I was able to play quietly in my hotel during off-time, hopefully not disturbing anyone. Fun!

Turk's head

This is the first Turk's head I've ever wrapped, done at my lesson a couple weeks ago. I've been playing for 29 years. As it turns out, making that ball of string isn't as hard as I'd thought all this time.

Last Mozart show

The last performance of the Mozart has come and gone. We were playing in a school gymnasium in a small town a couple hours away. We had a good turnout, it was a benefit organized by a few local teachers, with dessert served at intermission, and an auction afterward. We were set up fairly close to the audience, so there was maybe two feet between my bassoon and the people in the front row. Right in front of me was a burly biker type, he scowled and crossed his arms during my entire performance.  It was the attack of the bassoon soloist, I'm not sure I would have been happy either, with a bassoon in my personal space. Nevertheless, I was satisfied with how things went.

Here's the reed I used. In the end, I used the same reed for all three shows. It was starting to get a little old, but I felt like the pitch was a little more stable with this reed than the other one I was considering, even if that one was a little brighter.

And here's the recording. I left my iPod out propped against a video camera case from someone who was recording. Unfortunately, they came by and tidied up, resulting in my recording having been taken from *inside* the foam camera case. Not the best mic location, but you can still hear what happened.

I'm not yet sure which performance was best. I'll have to listen carefully at some point, and see if I can't put together a canonical, souvenir version. Something I can show to my parents, or listen to later.

Overall, it was a great experience to have had. I learned a lot while doing it, and had a lot of fun.

  Mozart Bassoon Concerto 2011-06-12 by TFox17

Robotic bassoon

This is a very strange thing, a bassoon with all the tone holes operated by solenoids, so it can be played by a computer. And yes, the wheels are powered too, so it can move and dance around on stage. Rather than have a robotic mouth, they replace the reed with a speaker. Unfortunately I can't find any recordings or videos, to hear how it sounds.

On goals

As one project (the Mozart concerto) draws to a close, I thought it was worth a couple of minutes of reflection, to try and clarify, for myself, why I'm doing this, and what my goals are.

For the Mozart, my goal was simple and clear. I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity. I never expected to get the chance to play in front of an orchestra, and when that chance arrived, I feared that it might never come again if I let it slip by. Was I ready, when I was asked? Was it an appropriate piece for me to accept performing at that point? No on both, absolutely not. It turns out that it's a pretty difficult piece, for me anyway, even if I did first see it decades ago in junior high. I think if I'd appreciated how hard it was, and how hard I'd have to work to get even to where I am now, I'm not certain I would have been able to do it. Still, the work is done, and I prepared as best I could, given everything. Two shows have happened and gone fine. I've now played in front of an orchestra. (And I'll do it again, once more before I'm done.) But beyond the performance itself, to take advantage of the opportunity doesn't just mean to stand on stage embarrassing myself for a few minutes. Rather, I think it includes taking advantage of the incentive and the opportunity to spend the time, effort and resources doing the preparation for the performance. An opportunity to work, if you will. And I think I did that too. It's been about a year of work, and I think I've been successful in improving over where I was at. Maybe this is a low, "personal best" sort of standard -- I'm not any audience member would have felt an impact of the music other than, you know, being happy for us that we seemed to be having fun up there. Still, giving it your best is, by definition, the best you can do, and I think I can feel satisfied.

So what next? Why am I doing this, and what am I trying to accomplish? (It's much easier to accomplish things if you're clear on what it is that you're trying to accomplish.) Well, I'm an amateur. I'll never be a professional, or even a serious student. I'm here to have fun. So what does that entail? Well, here are a few thoughts. Hopefully I can make some progress on them in, say, the next year.

I'd like to learn how to make reeds that are more fun to play on. The reeds I have been making do make sound, and sometimes, for a good note on a good day, I've even been able to force them to produce a nice sound, with reasonable tone and intonation. It's always been a struggle, though, difficult, and physically tiring. I think some of that is reed, and can be solved. This isn't just about getting the pitch up, but also improving responsiveness, so I can play rhythmically, without fretting if the note is going to speak. For an example of the kind of "fun" playing I'd like to be able to try to do, listen to Ray Pizzi's performance of his own Ode to a Toad. He describes it as a "whimsical swamp blues", and fills it with swoops and other jazzy ornaments, but I'd be happy to just be able to do that rhythm and feel.

I'd like to learn enough basics of double-reed acoustics that I can understand the physical basis for how reeds work, and how pitch and sound arises. A lot of this is known, if you read the right papers or books, but it's not known by me. Note that this is not something that a professional or serious student would necessarily have the time or the background for, and it's certainly not required in order to be able to make reeds well. But I like understanding things, because understanding is fun.

Improving my ear, and knowledge of harmony and other parts of music theory. Again, because understanding is fun, even if it's not specifically directed to improving some failing.

Getting generally better at playing, of course, but in the context of developing musically. There's no real point, I now think, in, say, practicing scales fast for their own sake. I think I'm starting to appreciate that skills need to be developed in context in order to be useful.

And I'd like to continue to find new opportunities to play with other people. Because that's really what it's all about, isn't it? Making music with other people. And having fun.

Second Mozart performance

Different hall, different night, different flubs. Overall better than last week, I think. I felt like I was able hear and stay in time with the orchestra a bit better, maybe I was rushing a little less. And I feel like my intonation was improved. I'm happy with it. One more to go, in about two weeks.

  Mozart Bassoon Concerto 2011-05-31 by TFox17