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!

(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.

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.

A Good Time to be a Cynic

When I am given the opportunity to speak in front of a group of musicians, I usually conduct an exercise or two. One of my most though-provoking involves asking all the participants to write down two rational reasons (or as close to as possible) why they should have a performing career. The only things which they are no allowed to write down are "I can't imagine doing anything else," or "I love to do it." After 5 minutes or so, the participants reveal their reasons. The funny thing is, most of the time hardly anyone can think of something which they themselves believe is legitimate. It seemed that many of the people who I'd gone through this exercise with started on a path and never questioned why performing was important to them. Even years after the experiment, some have told me that they still haven't come up with anything. I've struggled with since I came to Basel four years ago.

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

Just a Few More Days

This coming Saturday marks the return to my regular Basel-based activities: I will referee two rugby games this weekend, and will begin taking lessons again at the Schola Cantorum Basiliensis on Monday. Looking back at my summer activities, it seems I've had quite the experience.

The Next Step

“If all the musicians in Europe performed as you did today, there would be peace on Earth.” – Anonymous listener at NewBO’s premiere, 2/9/15

On September 2nd, my most important project to date came to fruition. As part of the Utrecht Oude Muziek Festival’s Fabulous Fringe series, NewBO (The New Baroque Orchestra) celebrated its premiere performance with a program of English music from the middle of the 18th century. As administrator and co-director of this project, a lot has rested on my shoulders over the past few months and I can’t tell you the feeling I had when we stepped onto that stage in the Hertz room at the TivoliVredenburg.

NewBO was conceived in the bar of the Hôtel des Ardennes in Echternach, Luxembourg, almost two years ago. After hours of discussion, as well as a few more weeks on tour, it was clear that a fire was lit. Following two seasons as EUBO, our desire to play together burned ever stronger. After our final tour to Malta I began preparing the materials for our Utrecht debut.

Proposing a Project?

I have recently begun to offer my services as writer to individuals or ensembles wishing to increase the profile of their English-language promotional materials. If you know of someone in need of copy editing, a completely new bio, or wanting to bring their application materials to the next level, please feel free to direct them to the blog. They can contact me through the link on the menu bar at the top of the page. 

Recommended samples: 

http://www.theheckeler.ca/2014/12/enlightenment.html

http://www.theheckeler.ca/p/about-author.html

http://www.theheckeler.ca/2012/06/upon-reflection-sur-la-montagne.html

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.

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.

Great Minds Against Themselves Conspire

Henry Purcell and Nahum Tate’s Dido and Aeneas is a piece with a rich performance history in modern times. Since a revival in 1895 and an edition printed in 1889, the work has drawn the attention of a number of musical celebrities including Ralph Vaughan Williams, Gustav Holst, Benjamin Britten, Christopher Hogwood, William Christie, and Alexander Weimann – who, along with Les Voix Baroques, will be performing it at Chamberfest 2015. A triumph of human tragedy, today countless recordings of Dido are available and it sits as one of, if not the most well-known opera in the English language. But can we claim, as Chamberfest has done in its promotional material, that it is “Henry Purcell’s greatest of all English operas”?

Crossing off my list

Originally published on Wolfgang's Tonic.

Making lists has been crucial to my development as an artist. For eight years I’ve set achievable goals for myself, giving me the drive I’ve needed to reach where I am today. On my most important list, titled as bassoonist, I make three categories: short-, medium-, and long-term. The long term goals are, of course, the most ambitious and it has only been over the last three years or so that I’ve been able to cross off and replace a number of the ‘to-dos’ in that category. On the 27th of July, I’ll be able to mark another task as complete.

An Unfortunate Detail

On my way across the Atlantic on Wednesday I received a communication about an upcoming performance. It was a line that any bassoonist dreads, especially one who is already in transit to the performance: “Sorry for any confusion, but it’s at 392.”

There's a smell about this church

There's a smell about this church. From the South-East corner of the yard of the Abbaye de Saint-Riquier the breeze tastes sweet. The flowers which line the lawn are in full bloom yet there aren't enough of them, to my estimate, which could produce such a presence.

The Gothic abbey is encircled on three sides by a structure which struck me to be of 19th century French design. Beginning adjacent to the ornate facade, the later building surrounds the south and east sides of the abbey in a rectangular fashion. It has a simplicity to it: its long, narrow design with windowed walls are uniform, only lightly accented. The abbey's massive construction with flying buttresses, gargoyles, and other decorations make for a stark contrast.