Luxembourg Once Again!

This past weekend I was fortunate enough to perform with a festival orchestra in Lintgen, Luxembourg. The ensemble was made up of players from a number of countries, with a large contingent of Canadians (or players with Canadian connections).

Usually when I perform in a concert which is quite a distance from Switzerland, the orchestra is made up of players who I haven't met before. While there may be one or two familiar faces, for the most part I'm the odd one out in an ensemble made up of performers who have been playing together in various formations for years. It's a sort of impersonal experience: you do your work, play the concert, have the beer, and maybe make a few connections along the way. This weekend was different.

The ensemble, styled Les Goûts-Réunis, have been performing in the festival rencontres musicales de la vallée de l'Alluette since 2014 and were described to me by one of its regular members as an ensemble which exists 'to have a good time with friends and play a concert'. While I had met a few of the musicians before (three of us studied together in Basel and I had played in Montreal-based groups with three others) I was surprised how quickly I fell in with the whole ensemble. There were numerous 'dots to connect' with a number of players: common friends; the Montreal scene; the Schola; even the timpanist, a native of Calgary, asked me right out if I went to Canterbury High School!

Working with them was a real change of pace. The breaks weren't just a time to decompress, they were alight with conversation. We were also lucky that on three occasions the whole ensemble had a meal together which, along with a gathering the night before the concert made for a really memorable project. As an added bonus, we played at a high level! Both socially and musically, the continuo section came together very quickly, which made for a real stress-free experience. Almost everyone I had played with in other formations before, but not all in the same section. 

The continuo section.

What made the program special for me was that half of it I had first performed in my veryfirst tours with EUBO. Coincidentally, those first EUBO programs had been rehearsed in Luxembourg. There was a real feeling of being 'at home' mixed in with nostalgia for another time. This was especially the case when rehearsing "The King Shall Rejoice" from Handel's Coronation Anthems.

Coming home on the train, I really felt that this was no ordinary project. I do hope that I can be a part of it in the future!

[Emotionally] Leading and Audience

Months ago, in a MoMo class at the Schola Cantorum Basiliensis, I saw a performance of a harpsichordist who was presenting a work in progress. The piece was a very flashy ciaccona by some unheard-of 17th century composer/performer and it was played very well for us that afternoon. Most of us were impressed not only by the performance, but by the fact that there had been such a development in that player's technical abilities in such a short time. The performance, like any, did have a few moments of insecurity but they did not detract from our reception of the work overall.

The most interesting part of the lesson was the discussion that followed it. A listener in the room asked the performer how he understood the piece emotionally. After a detailed description of what he felt and following another run-through of the work, the audience's comments became almost exclusively focused on whether they themselves interpreted the performance along the same emotional lines. In effect, following the description of what the performer saw, the audience adjusted their interpretation of the work by making judgements on whether they did or did not feel what was described to them before the work was performed again.

Let's look at an interesting parallel. Wikipedia writes, "in common law systems that rely on testimony by witnesses, a leading question or suggestive interrogation is a question that suggests the particular answer or contains the information the examiner is looking to have confirmed.[1]" The use of leading questions are often restricted, as they tend to allow the examiner to influence the evidence presented. Frequently, leading questions lead to binary answers. For example, question: "You were at the restaurant last night, weren't you?" The answer is either 'yes' or 'no'. 

While I absolutely encourage performers to make the exercise of analysing a work on an emotional level, I wonder whether we should share our findings with our audiences for fear that we 'cheapen' their experience. Think about it: in the moments before a performance you want to do your best to focus the attention of the listener as well as prepare them for the emotional experience you wish them to have. If you were to give away what they should feel, would they not spend the performance comparing their experience with their expectations?

(Title)

For the last 6 months or so I've had an unfinished composition sitting on my desk next to my laptop. The piece is a multi-movement fantasia (of sorts) for solo baroque bassoon. The piece is written in a shorthand which, like a number of my own compositions for solo bassoon, allows me the freedom to explore my musical ideas from one performance to another. The composition hasn't been finished because the inspiration for it comes from a rather dark memory which I've been reluctant to dig up. The reason I write about it today, however, has to do with the title.

While I am no expert in the realm of new music, I can imagine that the variety in stylings which their titles take today are only increasing. Most instrumental works in centuries past were not given a name. We know them by the ways we categorize them; their form, key and, if they were published, by their order of in the collection (e.g. Suite in G major, Op. 3 no. 1). Of course, exceptions to the rule existed - take the instrumental repertoire of the French baroque, for example. Free today are we, however, to break from this tradition.

So I took it upon myself to title the work and its movements hinting to the particular memories they were inspired by. While I'm not bothered by the thought of performing a work born out of a personal experience to a public audience, for some reason I'm fighting the urge to explicitly identify what brought about the work. Funny to me is that, though I am plausibly fearful of ridding myself of a comfortable space between me an my audience, I think my apprehension here stems from the fear that I am effectively creating a work of 'low' art.

Think about it, I'm writing a piece about a woman. Elements of it do have some real sophistication which I spent time working out: it incorporates a notational shorthand which I developed after studying early western musical manuscripts, for example.

It's a puzzling fear to have. I suppose it boils down to an adherence to The Poietic Fallacy. A theory of Richard Taruskin, which points to the hegemony within western classical music of valuing the particularities of a work's construction over its reception or ability to move an audience. While a dedication of a work would fit within the canon, betraying that the compositional process was driven by an emotional response somehow seems to me to be too revealing. Even discussing the topic has been hard: a draft of this post has been sitting in my outbox for two months now.

For the moment I don't know if this circle can be squared.

Our Very Own returns to Ottawa this week

For the first time since 2015, Our Very Own will perform in the Ottawa area. Performing a project of German works, Marie Bouchard and I will perform a recital with special guest soprano Marianne Moore.

I hope to see you there!

The concerts are as follows:

Friday, February 16, 2018

12:00PM

Carleton University

Patrick Cardy Studio (Loeb A900)

Free Admission
*a shortened program

Friday, February 16, 2018
7:30PM
St. Paul’s United Church
25 Gore St W, Perth, ON
Tickets $20 at the door

Saturday, February 17, 2018
7:00PM
Southminster United Church
15 Aylmer Ave, Ottawa, ON
Entrance by Donation
($30 recommended)

Funding Received

During the Spring of 2018 I will take on a project to study the reeds of Wilhelm Knochenhauer and Carl Mechler with James R. McKay. McKay is the author of The Bassoon Reed Manual: Lou Skinner’s Theories and Techniques and has a collection of original Knochenhauer and Mechler reeds.

Thanks to support from The Canada Council for The Arts, I will be able to spend a number of days working closely with McKay in Canada during the months of May and June. The overall goal of the project is to measure and experiment in order to develop a process to create replicas usable for bassoons of the late 19th century. With any luck, there will be a process or two which may inspire a new design for baroque and classical instruments. 

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country. 
Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 153 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays.

Tackling a Dangerous Premise

Recently, I was asked the question below in a discussion about early music performance. I've decided to write up my (polished) answer. 

"What do you think about attracting audiences in this century of digital music downloads?"

First, I'd like to tackle the premise of your question. It assumes that a recording is effectively a replacement to a live performance. In fact the two media are fundamentally different works. A recording today is, essentially, a patchwork of hundreds (or even thousands!) of segments that are weaved together to present a musical composition performed to technical perfection and, possibly, with a specific artistic vision. 

A live performance, on the other hand, is a communal activity where an artist or artists engage with a work and the audience around them. A performance is a transfer of energy through a specific medium (whether it be a musical work, theatre piece, etc.), connecting people on an intellectual and/or spiritual level. It's a human activity - it's not a social construction. 

I'm sure you've been to a performance in your life where you felt you were on the "outside" - maybe it was a concert of 15th century Burgundian music, or maybe it was contemporary dance - but even so, there was still a moment during the show where you couldn't help but think "wow, I don't know what I'm watching, but it's incredible!"

The danger with tacitly accepting that a recording is a replacement to a live performance is that it will ultimately lead to the latter's disappearance. Already it's getting harder and harder for artists to find paying audiences, and I worry that we are unconsciously trying to replicate a recording in performances to the detriment of the activity. At every level of artistic training, at least in the classical music world, we are not teaching performance. We might encourage it, but we don't emphasise and train the skills which set performance apart from recordings. We don't even have a vocabulary to discuss and analyse the act of performing. 

So, to answer your question, all I can say is that I will continue to advocate live performance as its own medium; to strive to perform as much as I can, to the best of my ability.

A Night that Songs are Written About

Over the last year I've found it hard to find the inspiration to write. I've had plenty of life to live in that time, but the events that have occurred did not reverberate in the musical or literary corners of my mind. That changed this past Saturday night. 

After an exhausting week in The Netherlands with Primary Colours and The New Baroque Orchestra, harpsichordist Andi Westermann and I got back to Basel early Saturday morning. After I awoke, I had to immediately prepare to officiate a friendly Rugby game between Basel and Fribourg later that afternoon. Luckily, I wasn't a complete disaster.

That evening I went on a date with someone whom I had an immediate connection. I think everyone reading this can relate, but these kind of moments for me are few and far between given my career choices. After a beer, she invited me to meet some friends and to continue on to a club. I could come along so long as I understood one thing: she was leaving Switzerland and never coming back. 

It's funny how defining a relationship can dramatically establish how it unfolds. It was clear in this moment that we had to experience the night as best we could. Her friends and I danced the night away. We talked, laughed, and shared those dreams of what could be. We stayed in the moment for as long as it could last. It was one of those nights that songs are written about; one I won't forget.

As the days begin to pass, that echoing in the corner of my head has begun to build up once again. I hope it continues to grow.

The Wrong Inspiration?

For too long, there has been much on my mind. Since the new year I have been in a rather unstable place when it comes to paid work. While the last quarter of 2016 was the busiest it's ever been for me,  I had a huge empty space in my calendar which lasted for months. Though a few opportunities popped up here and there, it was hard to deal with especially when most of my peers remained in school. While daylight was at its rarest, all I could do was wish for things to change.

In a twist of fate, I met a woman who changed my life and gave me, at least temporarily, relief from my fears that all of the troubles that came with moving to Switzerland were worth it. Sadly, circumstances were against us and I was once drawn back again to my professional situation when she left me.

However low I may have been feeling, I didn't let it stop me entirely: I set up my reed making business, I prepared for competitions, I deepend connections with friends. What I really felt I needed was a win: A long-awaited reed making machine needed to arrive; I wanted to compete in a Canadian competition; maybe an audition would come up... Unfortunately, even once the reed machine arrived I didn't feel like much had changed. The Canadian competition didn't select me and it turned out there was a major audition which I had not been made aware of until it was too late. 

As I began to advertise my reed business I got in touch with Thomas Oltheten, a Dutch bassoonist who invited me to show my wares at the annual bassoon society conference in Groningen. While the cost of the whole endeavour was high, I felt I had to do something radical if I was to get out of this months-long rut. Coincidentally, at the conference was a professional bassoon competition which declared that it accepted entrants who performed on historical instruments. Seeing the potential for the chance at winning my expenses back, I accepted. 

Once I had arrived and set up my table at the conference, I had the chance to take a look at the conference program booklet. Flipping through the pages, I found that I was the only baroque bassoonist performing in the professional competition. From past experiences in Ottawa, I had developed the idea that there were simply too many differences, both aesthetically and technically, between the modern and baroque bassoons for some to be able to appreciate the historical instrument. So lowly regarded were my aspirations to be an Early Music Performer that I was once awarded 9th place in a scholarship competition when only three students applied. "The baroque bassoon was broken," reasoned the scholarship committee, "and the modern bassoon fixed what was broken." Naturally, I was very skeptical of my chances. 

Part of the first round included the performance of four miniature pieces written by Dutch composers for the modern bassoon. Each of them had interesting technical challenges, especially for a 300 year old instrument. With weeks of practice, a special reed, some adjustments to my bocal, as well as some made up fingerings, I felt I could take those pieces as far as they could go. I think it surprised everyone in the room when, in the second bar of my performance, I hit a high C#, a major third beyond what we would generally agree was possible today for my instrument (actually, fingering charts show that this was at least theoretically possible by mid century. In Antoine Dard's Op.2 of 1752 you can find high C's and D's in the slower movements). From that point forward I had their attention. 

The Podium at Groningen

I ended up winning the competition and I was relieved to know that I was going to be in the black for the trip. What I found funny about the whole event was that it was the first time in years that I had not gone to perform with the intention to blow people away. I wanted to show my reeds, make some contacts, and get my expenses back, but winning the competition wasn't my primary focus - not at all. Of course, I prepared well - I wasn't going to make a fool of myself - but I only really began to want to win the night before the final round (I was forced to change hotels at the last minute due to a huge party taking place and my new accommodation wasn't cheap).

While it was certainly the wrong inspiration for a competition, it got the job done.

Membra Jesu Nostri

As he stands as one of, if not the most important organists in mid-17th century Germany, it is natural that the keyboard music of Dieterich Buxtehude (1637/9-1707) is still often performed today. While his vocal works haven't received the same kind of attention by modern musicians, over the past twenty years there has been a a rediscovery of many excellent, moving examples within his output.

This weekend Accademia Barocca Lucernensis will perform one of Buxtehude's cantata cycles, Mebra Jesu nostri patientis sanctissima (or, The most holy limbs of our suffering Jesus). The cycle combines liturgical text with a medieval devotional poem, the Oratio rhythmica. It is organised into seven cantatas, following the structure of the poem, each being addressed to different parts of Christ's crucified body: feet (Ad pedes), knees (Ad genua), hands (Ad manus), sides (Ad latus), breast (Ad pectus), heart (Ad cor), and head (Ad faciem).

The work, composed in 1680, has been described as the first Lutheran Oratorio. While six of the seven cantatas require relatively small forces (five voices, two violins, and continuo), the sixth requires the singers to be accompanied by a consort of five viole da gamba and continuo. When listened to in sequence, the change of instrumentation for the cantata Ad cor can have quite an effect. The switch violins to a consort of gambas gives the impression of a change of perspective. While the cantata is relatively short, for a moment the cycle gains an element of introspection. It's a kind of effect which is most compelling if witnessed in person, as there is a visual element to the experience. 

Performances on Saturday, April 29, at 19:30 in the Johanneskirche, Zurich; and on Sunday. April 30, at 17:00 in the Matthaeuskirche, Luzern.

Baroque Bassoon Reeds @ Bassoons.ch

Over the last few months I have been preparing my new reed making website, Bassoons.ch. Much work has been done, and there's plenty more still to go. However, I'm comfortable now to announce that I am open for business selling bassoon reeds for various models of instruments including Modern, Baroque, and Classical. 

As a professional bassoonist, I have been very frustrated with both the quality and the design of cane for historical instruments which is readily available on the market. Some of the most common distributors supply cane with hardly any accuracy in the gouge (sometimes +/- 0.2mm), or a profile thickness which guarantees that there will be hours of more work whittling once the reed is formed (both of these problems often exist in conjunction, in my experience).

After meeting machinist Greg James at BVBD 2015 and seeing his side edge clamping gouging machine, I learned that bringing precision gouging to market was possible. Greg's machine delivers cane consistently with an accuracy of +/- 0.01mm, an incredible figure! While my machine is only weeks away from arriving, I'm rubbing my hands in anticipation of the improvement I will see in my own reeds. 

Furthermore, as I have often felt that time fiddling with reeds takes away from my own practice time I profile my cane much closer to its finished dimensions than what you find on the market today. That means I have to have more profiles to accommodate different historical instruments, and I think everyone would appreciate having an almost finished reed simply after cutting the tip off.

While here in Basel I have been fortunate enough to work with numerous instruments by Peter de Koningh and Pau Orriols, allowing me to make reed models for specific copies (or specific Grenser bassoon/bocal combinations). Soon to come are reeds for Wolf instruments. If you're interested in what shapes and profiles I generally work with, you can take a look here: bassoons.ch/about.

As usual, I'm always up for a challenge, so if you have an instrument which I might not have a model for don't hesitate to get in contact with me either through The Heckeler, or bassoons.ch. 

When it Comes to Bocals, Length Matters!

Since the middle of 2015 I've been working relatively frequently on a Grenser bassoon. This instrument, to the uninitiated, is likely the most common instrument in use today to perform music from about the 1770s to the 1830s. While there are copies out there of other instruments from the same time period, the original Saxon instruments stamped Grenser or Grenser/Wiesner which survive exist in large numbers and consistently display good craftsmanship. Furthermore, there is evidence to suggest that the bassoons from Grenser's workshop were used widely by the early 19th century leaving no doubt that the instrument's popularity today is warranted.

Unfortunately, while many originals exist in fine condition they suffer from the same symptoms which have marred the instrument copying process of older bassoons: only very few survive with an original bocal. In fact, I know of only one Grenser/Wiesner instrument which does: that of my former teacher, Donna Agrell. Donna's instrument came to her not only with two original bocals, but with six original reeds! Although I could write more about it here, she has recently completed her Ph.D thesis which contains a detailed description of the instrument as well as its first owner, so I highly encourage those who are interested in learning more to seek it out.

Something Special

For those of you getting into the Christmas spirit, I present the most important video you'll watch all day.

264 Year Old Advice Rings True Today

With the stress level lower since securing a place within Switzerland for the next few years, I've committed myself to doing more regular reading on the topic of early music. The first first batch of books arriving in my mailbox this week contains J.J. Quantz's classic, On Playing the Flute (a translated version by Edward R. Reilly). While I have read numerous selections from the book before, I thought it would be a good time to go through it from the beginning to get a better overall view of the work. Funnily enough, it begins with an striking introduction: Of the Qualities Required of Those who Would Dedicate Themselves to Music.

Bach Akademie Luzern

Last Friday saw the premiere professional performance of the Bach Akademie Luzern in a production of J.S. Bach's Christmas Oratorio at the Matthäuskirche in Lucerne. The first of three performances, the Orchestra, Choir, and Soloists will continue on to perform this week around Switzerland.

Translating

Early music, the movement, has a diverse community. There are those who are drawn to it as an activity, some who dedicate their lives to research, others to teaching, more still who hope to make their living performing. But what motivates that third group? In Basel, a place which has traditionally been at the forefront of the movement, philosophies of performance are by no means unified, a fault which has many consequences for performers and audiences alike.

The Grand Concerto for 24 Bassoons is Published!

This month, my Concerto Grosso for 24 bassoons was published by TrevCo Music Publishing. The work was premiered last May as part of my final recital at the Schola Cantorum Basiliensis. You can read about the work, as well as watch a selection from the performance by clicking here.

If you are interested in purchasing the music, you can find it on the TrevCo Music Publishing website.

Youth, Part 1

For months I've been brooding over a term which I see appearing more and more. An article in The Strad published a few months ago, while written about an organization with the best of intentions, included the words 'young' or 'youngster' several times. The Jumpstart Jr. program offers a much needed springboard for a select few string instrumentalists. The competition is tough, and the winners are "usually at the start of their career, freshly out of college, but have already established a reputation for excellence in their field," says Kati Debretzeni, OAE leader and artistic advisor to the York Early Music Festival.

Rumorum performs for WDR 3

It's very easy to think of medieval music as a rather limited genre. Not so. In fact, medieval music encompasses nearly a millennia of musical output with an incredible array of styles and particularities, depending on the time and region. More startling still is the knowledge required to unlock countless forms of notation and numerous early European languages to breathe life once more into an ancient manuscript.

A Telemann Fantasia

Earlier this year I spent two evenings recording with my ensemble Primary Colours. While we were mainly working on chamber music, at the end of the second day there were 20 minutes left with our sound engineer.

Leading in to those sessions I had been working on arranging a number of Fantasias from Telemann's Fantasie per il Violino senza Basso. When I realized I had enough time at the end of the project to record one of them, I jumped at the chance. Have a listen to the result.

Reappropriating J.E. Galliard's Music 2, A Simple Clue

John Ernest Galliard's Six Sonatas for Bassoon (1733), a collection which he is mainly remembered for today, are deceptively presented. At face value, the modern bassoonist would see them as simplistic pieces with a number of quirky movements. Because of this, the sonatas have been relegated to the 'beginner' repertoire lists of numerous conservatories and you would almost never find one included in a serious recital program.