(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.

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.

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.

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.

A Concerto for 24 Bassoons?!

Last May I performed my final recital at the Schola Cantorum Basiliensis. The program centered around the music of English theater composers from the first half of the 18th century. My goal for the evening was to posit that works by composers contemporary to G.F. Handel which are today overlooked were worthy of our attention. One particular personality who I focused on was that of John Ernest Galliard, the German immigrant. Galliard was a central figure at the Lincoln's Inn Field's theater for nearly three decades where he wrote the music to numerous productions.

On 11 December 1744 a concert was given for his benefit (likely marking his retirement) at Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Following a performance of Love and Folly, as well as four choruses written for the tragedy Julius Caesar, a “Concerto grosso, 24 Bassoons, accompanied by Caporale on the violoncello” was performed. The concerto is the only work of this instrumentation on record and was more likely produced with the intention of creating a novel entertainment than for artistic reasons. Sadly, this work, as well as any other information about its performance, has been lost.

In response to our predicament, I took it upon myself to compose a new concerto for 24 bassoons. Basing it upon a variety of music by both contemporary composers active in London, as well as those whose music Galliard was familiar with at the time of his benefit, this new concerto is stylistically plausible for the scenario of a performance in mid-century Britain. To be clear: my intention with this work is to present an entirely new creation, not to try and reconstruct the original using Galliard’s surviving works as a basis.

Below you can find a selection of movements from the premier performance at the Schola Cantorum Basiliensis on 27 May 2016. All bassoons present are modern copies (pitched at A=415Hz) of originals made in the 18th century. 

I should note that this was not a professional concert and that I hesitated to put any of this online. With an ensemble only a fraction of the intended size, and given the little rehearsal time we had, I feel that there is a better performance yet to come. There is no doubt in my mind, however, that Galliard's concerto was composed in a festive spirit, and I believe all bassoonists should be aware of that historic moment in 1744. Therefore, in the spirit of good humor, I present to you selections from:

The Grand Concerto

A Concerto Grosso for 24 Bassoons newly fashion’d by Mr. Burn in response to that by Mr. Galliard which was perf’d for his Benefit at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 1744

My Fear for Cadenzas

Recently, I read a post on David A. Wells's blog. In it, Mr. Wells details the process by which he wrote his own cadenza to the Mozart bassoon concerto. It's an interesting piece, one which had more than a few links to good material. In fact, I was surprised to learn that there is a D.M.A. thesis by a bassoonist named Sarah Anne Wildey, titled Historical Performance Practice in Cadenzas to Mozart's Concerto for Bassoon K. 191 (186e).

A Brief Overview of the Bassoon

Two videos have recently been put up by bassoonist Eryn Oft, highlighting the recent masterclass Keith Collins gave for the bassoonists at Jacksonville State University. If you read this blog, you will likely be familiar with the material Keith covers, but I find his explanations to be, both in style and content, a very good introduction for those bassoonists who know relatively little about the instrument's history. In fact, Keith was the first baroque bassoonist I ever met. For two weeks I took masterclasses with him at TBSI in 2009.

Extending the Life of Your Bassoon Reeds

For years I have had issues with my reeds drying out to the point of the wires moving around. If you're a bassoonist, you know what I mean. Though submerging the reed in water gets the wire tension back, I often have to re-tighten. No matter the solution, once the wires come loose the reed's characteristics will never be the same.

For years I tackled this problem with the RICO humidity packs. With my main box of reeds I would use the 73% packs but I found there was not enough airflow to prevent mould. Whenever I tried using the 50% pack I would find the entire box of reeds had gone mouldy within a week. 

Eventually I gave up on the RICO system and began soaking my reeds once every 12 hours, allowing time to dry before putting them back in the box. Unfortunately, there were always lapses in the routine, and sometimes I didn't have time to let the reeds dry enough causing mould to set in, After doing this process with many generations of reeds, I wondered if their overall lifetime was reduced from the constant soaking.

How, I asked myself, was I going to keep my reeds humidified without mold setting in? I gleaned my next move from an advertisement for some 'sterile' reed box system. They recommended to soak a small sponge with the original formula Listerine once a day and put it in the box. Since September I've been maintaining my reeds using this technique and have found a dramatic increase in performance life. Though the reeds still need to be soaked before use, I've not seen a loose wire in months.

It's a technique I highly encourage all bassoonists to try.

One of my reed boxes: you can see the
sponge in yellow. 

Great Maker!

Over the past few months I've come across two great videos focusing on instrument makers. Take a look!

The Post-Camp Decline, Part 2: Machines

The last evening of the camp saw a presentation of a revolutionary gouging system and automated profiling machine by Greg James. The three-stage gouging system gave incredibly precise results: with good cane being gouged at an accuracy of plus or minus 0.01mms. The secret, Greg said, was the way the cane was clamped to the bed. Traditionally, this is done by clamping the cane end to end as it lays in the bed. The drawback of that system is that the cane cannot be gouged evenly unless it naturally conforms to the bed. Greg’s system clamps the cane on either side down along the length of the carriage, forcing it to conform to the bed’s diameter. Of course, the effectiveness of the process depends on how close in diameter the cane is to that of the bed, but the standard bed diameter of 25.4mm produced outstanding results for cane ranging from 23-27mm. That’s a huge window for accuracy without needing to reset the machine.

David A. Wells, You are a God

I've just discovered a very important tool created by David A. Wells. Blank baroque bassoon fingering charts! Not only one, either. Three! Based on Bret Pimentel's Fingering Diagram Builder, Wells has designed a chart for for a four-keyed instrument, another for a French-style instrument (low Eb for the LH thumb), and a third for a German-style instrument (low Eb for the RH little finger). Thank You, Sir!

Click here to check the page out.

Lefreque

While I’ve been in Ottawa I’ve had the chance to try two gold-plated Lefreque sound bridges. Owned by my former teacher, Jo Ann, they connect the bocal to the wing joint and the long joint to the bell. There have been a few bassoonists blogging about the lefreque and so I will leave you to read about the concept of the plates through one of the links above.

Gold-plated Lefreques
on my Eichentopf bassoon

My story has a funny twist to it – I tested them on my Eichentopf instrument by Peter de Koningh. Though I didn’t have the full variety of plates available to me (there are some made from red brass, as well as sterling silver) it was clear that more experimentation could be worthwhile. After 90 minutes of testing on various reeds and in different places, I did notice a change at the extremes of my instrument. The low C and D ‘locked’ in tune at A=415, the low G and F gained a slight depth to the sound, and the high A and B were slightly more stable. With the two plates on I could slur from high A to high B with less difficulty than without them.

The experiment is not over. Though I was impressed, I noticed a much more significant difference on my Heckel, and from Jo Ann’s description of their effect on her bassoon there may be a much better combination for my Eichentopf.

“But wait a second, Andrew, is this historical?” Technically speaking, no. These days, however, I am performing my own compositions for the Eichentopf bassoon often enough to warrant the search for any small improvement to ease playability. My compositions test every dimension of the instrument – from dynamics, to technique, range, and articulation – and any help to better facilitate a performance would appreciated.

So if you have the chance to try the Lefreque plates, no matter what century your instrument is from, I would recommend taking it. You never know what you might discover.

The Post-Camp Decline, Part 1

After eight days and seven nights at the Brooke Valley Bassoon Days, I was pretty much exhausted. With a schedule packed full of activities and presentations for both the budding and professional bassoonist, it was a very stimulating time for me and I was often the last to bed.

The bulk of the camp this year was made up of young bassoonists ranging from about 13-17 years old, but there were a number of older players as well. Two students from the University of Ottawa participated (one was more of an honorary camper as he had his wisdom teeth taken out the day the camp started), along with three amateur players, Sistema NB’s staff bassoonist, Kristin, as well as the newly minted second bassoonist of the Orchestre Métropolitain, Gabrièle.

#MyFirstMasterclass

Among the faculty this year was a real depth of bassoon-related knowledge – students had the chance to take private lessons and participate in masterclasses with Shane Wieler (Marcus/Wieler Bassoon Workshop), Jim Ewen (Skookum Reeds), Richard Hoenich (Brooke Valley Musician’s Retreat), Jo Ann Simpson (Conservatoire de Gatineau), Kathy McLean (Indiana University), and I. On top of the usual coaching opportunities, each faculty member brought a needed component to round out a bassoonist’s experience; Shane spoke on simple bassoon maintenance techniques which would extend the performance life of an instrument; Jim and Jo Ann did excellent work every evening teaching aspiring reed makers, Richard Hoenich conducted the “rackett”, Kathy did a workshop on improvisation, and I spoke about conceiving the action of performance.

The Rackett

From the numerous tips I picked up from Shane and Jim, to listening to the many conversations between my peers on a variety of subjects, there was plenty for me to take away for later thought and practice. Furthermore, I had the rare opportunity to give private lessons regularly to a variety of students (3 a day!), coach small ensembles, as well as give a masterclass.

What was most comforting to me was that, at least when it came to fundamental concepts on bassoon playing, I very much fit in. Over my travels I have met a number of bassoonists and I am sometimes dismayed at how different of an approach they take to playing their instrument. Conversely, at BVBD there were a few occasions where I had the conviction to spurt out an “amen!” It led me to realise that there is a Canadian or Eastern-Canadian school of bassoon playing, and I am a product of it.

The Right Room

Last week I performed my first professional recital in the greater Switzerland. Along with my friends Alexandra and Ziv, I performed a program of a variety of obscure works for bassoon, including a piece of my own. The venue was a 16th century Schloss in Hahnberg, near lake Constance.

The building was incredible in that it was owned by a man who is a professional architect specializing in the restoration of 'ancient' structures. His Schloss, which he restored himself, is now in immaculate condition. The concert room, about the size of a small living-room with a vaulted ceiling, was originally a kitchen until it was renovated in the 17th century.

Most worrisome for an ensemble consisting of archlute, viola da gamba, and bassoon is balance. Though in a rehearsal setting balance isn't necessarily a primary concern (as we weren't rehearsing at the venue), we were conscious that I could easily overpower the group in a loftier acoustic. Furthermore, Alexandra and I were to play Couperin's 13e Concert, from Les Gouts-reunis, a piece which can be problematic when played by a bassoon and gamba.

Our trio at the facade of
Schloss Kleiner Hahnberg

Entering the concert room which was bursting with fifty spectators, I was curious to hear what the group sound would be. When we first arrived we got an idea of what to expect, but the presence of a crowd can have a huge impact on the acoustic. Playing the first notes of the program we were delighted. Not only was the balance excellent, but the proximity of the audience and their investment in the performance made for quite the experience.

Coming home on the train the discussion centered on the concert room. So rare is it these days that we get to perform chamber music in the very kind of room known to the composers and amazing it was that our primary concern that day was vanquished by it.

More Geekyness

To the shock of everyone, Thursday saw an explosion in the money markets. In a matter of minutes after the Swiss central bank removed the policy of keeping the franc to euro ratio at 1.20 to 1, the euro fell and the franc rose to the point that they sit this weekend almost exactly on par. Tough as it will be as a Canadian abroad (the Canadian dollar is sitting at an all time low against the franc), as a reed-maker I benefitted greatly from the volatility of the market on Friday morning.

Enlightenment

Eubo's last six concerts have been quite intensive for its bassoonist. With solos or soli sections in Jean-Féry Rebel's Les Éléments, as well as a number of vigorous passages in our combination suite of dances from Rameau's Zaïs, Platée, and Les Boréades, I've had to work harder than ever before in concert and there is no doubt that any bassoonist would shudder a little to think of how much energy it would take to go the distance. What kept me looking forward to every night wasn't the challenge, however, it was the opportunity to play Rameau's Entrée de Polymnie, from Les Boréades. It is one of, if not The, most beautiful pieces ever written for strings, flute, and obbligato bassoon.

Not Exactly According to Plan

A few weeks ago I made a bold move. By announcing to the world my intentions to practice 2.5 hours a day, everyday, until the end of the year I hoped to make it seem more official. Really it was a mind game, but it worked for the month I wasn't on tour. Now, as I settle in from my travels, I see that my time away is putting me well behind of my practice goal. On top of that I've noticed an interesting divergence in the material I'm practicing.

Dulcian Gold

Thanks to Martin Chiang for this great video.