Interview with Jerome Roth (courtesy of Mr. Weber)

Jerome Roth was a founding member of the New York Woodwind Quintet and later played 2nd oboe to Harold Gomberg in the New York Philharmonic. He passed away in 2005 at the ripe age of 87.

Taken from HERE

Mr. Roth was born in New York City and attended City College of New York, the Henry Street Settlement Music School, and the Juilliard School. In addition to his oboe studies, he also studied composition with Roy Harris, and has made numerous transcriptions of string quartets, and Bach organ works for woodwind quintet.

 

Jerome Roth
Remembrances of an Oboist
By Sam Schechter
Oyster Bay, New York
n his post New York Philharmonic life, Jerome Roth talked to his student, Sam Schechter about music, the oboe and his professional career. I was brought up in a family where my father ran a hardware store, and my mother played the piano, which was at the rear of the store. I have vivid memories of mom playing her favorite tunes in between waiting on the customers. Dad had a good ear for music, and filled in as Cantor at our local synagogue. Listening to dad’s practicing his passages was probably the origins of a budding musician.

My older sister brought home sheet music of current tunes and taught me to read the treble clef. For a short time then I was a one handed pianist. Eventually I added harmony and began to play by ear. After a while my playing improved to the point where I was creating my own arrangements of various selections, all without the benefit of having had piano or any other type of music lessons. As luck would have it, one of my sister’s dates heard me playing my own arrangement of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, and was impressed with my talent. He then arranged for me to have a musical aptitude test at the Henry Street Settlement Music School in Manhattan. The test resulted in my placement in a music class with the American composer, Roy Harris. With his class of ten students he taught us how to write using unrelated triads. I wrote a piece for oboe and piano utilizing this style. In the class was a young man who was taking oboe lessons from Lois Wann, a renowned oboist with whom I eventually studied. Later on when I was with the New York Philharmonic, one of Leonard Bernstein’s favorite pieces was Roy Harris’ Third Symphony, a selection that was often played on four. At this point I had been playing the oboe for approximately two years when World War II (and the draft) interrupted my life.

My first year in the army was spent Stateside, and then I was transferred to Cambridge, England. At this point I happened upon an ad by a local orchestra looking for musicians. Unfortunately, I left my oboe in New York, so when I informed the conductor of the situation he suggested I stop by the following week and he would see what he could “muster up”. The following week, to my surprise, he found an English style thumb plate oboe. Among other selections, we rehearsed Bach’s B Minor Mass for a performance in the impressive King’s College Chapel. At this concert I first heard a marvelous soprano, Kathleen Ferrier. She sang the Agnus Dei and my heart was completely aflutter. Later on I learned that Bruno Walter brought her in to sing with the New York Philharmonic. However, in my mind she was my discovery! She was raised in a coal-mining region of Wales and tragically died of pneumoconiosis (black lung disease).

While I was in the Army I heard about the educational benefits of the G.I. Bill, and decided to attend the Juilliard School of Music. To me this was the logical path to return to music and the oboe. At Juilliard I studied under Lois Wann, then Harold Gomberg joined the faculty, and most of my oboe training was with him. At this point I was playing with the Juilliard Orchestra. At the end of a rehearsal Eldon Gatwood, an oboe student who later became first oboe for the Pittsburgh Symphony, came running up to me saying that he had never heard anyone sound so much like Leon Goossens. While stationed in England I mostly heard the British style of playing, and of course, imitated their sound without even realizing it. When Harold Gomberg became my oboe teacher at Juilliard, we had a typical teacher-student relationship. However, eventually it developed into a close friendship. My style of playing was somewhat different from that to which he was accustomed, since he was trained in the Tabuteau school at the Curtis Institute. Other veterans were enrolling at Juilliard and the school’s orchestras rapidly developed to a point where each one was at a different playing level. The advanced level orchestra at Juilliard had in it the following oboists: Ray Still, who is now retired from the Chicago Symphony, John Mack, of the Cleveland Orchestra, Dave Abosch, who played English horn with us, but first oboe in the Denver Symphony, and myself. Thor Johnson was our conductor. During this post-war period there was an abundance of freelance work.

Perhaps it was because there wasn’t a large pool of aspiring oboists. Nowadays I don’t envy my students who are just starting out because of the fierce competition. However, I received calls from different places, and started to play in the Little Orchestra under Thomas Scherman. We had some wonderful musicians. They included Bernard Garfield, bassoon; Murray Panitz, flute; Tony Gigliotti, clarinet; all of who subsequently played with the Philadelphia Orchestra. This experience with the Little Orchestra began in 1948 and lasted through 1961. Samuel Baron, the flutist, called me and asked if I would like to become a member of the New York Woodwind Quintet, and I accepted. Quintet members, besides Sam, consisted of David Glazer, clarinet, John Barrows, French horn and Bernard Garfield, bassoon. John Barrows was the most flexible horn player I have ever encountered. So much of our playing style was due to him. On one occasion when we were playing a Young Peoples’ concert, a child questioned him why a brass instrument was in a woodwind quintet. His answer was, “The horn is a very sociable instrument, it blends with the strings, woodwinds, brass, etc.”

Between working both jobs I was kept very busy. In addition to my primary playing obligations, there were some ancillary engagements. One that comes to mind was a recording session under Leopold Stokowski. He was famous for his recording techniques. The maestro was always the first to arrive at a recording session. He was usually to be found in the control room talking to the technicians, then he would come out and move the microphones, direct people where to sit, rearranging this or that, and generally fussing about. When I was growing up I somehow came into possession of some old time, heavy weight 78 RPM recordings of the Philadelphia Orchestra playing Scheherazade under Stokowski. That was my first introduction of listening to the famous Tabuteau on oboe, Kincaid on flute, Schoenbach on bassoon, and McLain on clarinet. I was hearing the best and not realizing it. My days in the New York Woodwind Quintet were varied, to say the least. I was traveling all over the world. To begin with we made a tour of South America under the State Department’s aegis. We started down the West coast and came across the mountains. Before the jet age, it was quite exciting to fly in propeller planes with the mountains visible on either side. I remember playing in Bogotá where I almost fell on my face. I had a very difficult time playing in the thin air at that high altitude. We were playing a trio written by a South American composer named, Orego Salas; another by Mozart for oboe, clarinet and bassoon, as well as ending with a Françaix Quintet. In those days we played original pieces, since it was not considered ideal to use arrangements. However, in the New York Philharmonic Woodwind Quintet we were playing arrangements that I had prepared, because by now playing modified original compositions was more acceptable.

In Uruguay we played for their president, and he just sat back puffing on a tremendous cigar saying, “Muy bien, muy bien,” as we played any piece. On one occasion we began talking with various local woodwind musicians backstage after our concert. I overheard the bassoon player explaining double-tonguing. In an attempt to be understood he was speaking Yiddish with a Spanish accent. The Quintet was booking concerts for future dates on the spot. Managers did not come on tour so we had to do the bookings ourselves. The Quintet wanted to go on, but I was due back in New York for rehearsal with The Little Orchestra. This tour was in 1956. During the time I was playing with the woodwind quintet we had only one personnel change. That was the bassoonist, Bernard Garfield, who moved to the Philadelphia Orchestra, and was superbly replaced by Arthur Weisberg. We played premieres of composers such as Samuel Barber, Alvin Etler, Alec Wilder. Our playing reached a height of excellence that it became the standard for other woodwind quintets. We used to spend summers in Milwaukee, and were holding master classes in an enormous old mansion called Marietta House. We would give concerts and rehearse in its cavernous lobby. It was a marvelous existence. We had what you might call a composer-in-residence, Alec Wilder, who become our “court composer”. He wrote the quintets, heard us rehearse them, analyzed our comments and would rewrite accordingly. While we were there, he wrote as many as six woodwind quintets plus assorted other smaller compositions. We really enjoyed working with him. For that whole summer I was constantly on the phone juggling jobs between the Little Orchestra, the woodwind quintet and assorted freelance work. I was happy to give up these obligations when I joined the Philharmonic. In 1958 we made a tour to the Brussels World’s Fair, and from there we went to a place called Cassis, which is on the south coast of France. In Cassis, we played background music (composed by Alec Wilder) for a performance of Twelfth Night. The performance took place outdoors in a marvelous stone amphitheater owned by a patron, Jerome Hill. It was a thrilling experience. Arthur Weisberg and I began talking to one of the actors who spoke only French; the topic was the possibility of getting cane. This fellow took us in his car to a shop in Marseilles to inquire about the location of cane fields, which were in the Var region of southern France. We had a hair raising, wild car ride with the mountains on the left side and a cliff (with no guard rail) looking out on the ocean. At break-neck speed he kept honking his horn and shouting, “Merde, merde.” This was an example of”road rage” before the phrase was coined. Arthur and I had a white-knuckle ride while we were holding on for dear life in the backseat. We were just amazed at some of the chances he took to pass other cars. The danger and risk were worth it, because I obtained excellent cane that I had used for many years. During our stay in Milwaukee we had an arrangement with the Fine Arts String Quartet in which they were recording our entire repertoire. On days off we went to Winnetka to record in an old, acoustically extraordinary church. Boston Skyline has remastered all of these records.

I had been playing in The Little Orchestra with Bruno Labate, who was a very short man. After a performance someone would often say, “Why didn’t you stand up when the orchestra took a bow?” With a broad smile he would say, “I was standing.” Labate was a player who had no traditional schooling, yet played expressively and from the heart; very much like a Pavarotti. He didn’t have the finesse of Tabuteau. He never made a reed; played on an “ancient” oboe (lacking modern enhancements), yet he produced a solid, fat sound. I was playing second oboe and English horn, but eventually moved up to first oboe when Labate left the Orchestra. One day I received a call from Ronald Roseman and he said, “How would you like to change jobs with me?” The woodwind quintet was the kind of work he would have loved to do since it involved a great deal of travel.

Ronald Roseman was a young man and traveling appealed to him. He was playing second oboe with Harold Gomberg at the New York Philharmonic, on a week-to-week basis. As a result of this call I auditioned for the Philharmonic and Ronald Roseman and I swapped jobs. (As this article is being written I have found out that Ronald Roseman passed away. The music world suffers a great loss of a wonderful musician, fine composer and a decent human being). I remember saying that I was primarily a first oboist, but playing second oboe with Harold Gomberg was an opportunity that I couldn’t refuse. This was February 1961 and I was playing on a weekly basis. At my first rehearsal under Leonard Bernstein, I went up to him and introduced myself. I said something to the effect that I hoped he would be pleased with my playing. He answered, “We’ll see”, which didn’t make me feel too secure; however, I realized I was under probation. Fortunately, I was offered a contract for the fall season.

After leaving the New York Woodwind Quintet, I was not about to give up ensemble playing, so I organized the quintet included Paige Brook on flute, Peter Simenaeur on clarinet, Harold Goltzer on bassoon and, later on, Leonard Hindell, who is still with the New York Philharmonic, John Carabella and later on Bill Kuyper, on French horn. We gave quintet concerts in the area when our busy schedules permitted. In the spring of 1961 the Philharmonic went on its first tour to Japan. Subsequently, we had four more visits to Japan while I was with the Orchestra. This tour gave me an impression of the traditional Japanese culture, typified by the women wearing restrictive dress and footwear. I met a Japanese oboist from the renowned NHK Orchestra and recall walking with him and his wife outside the concert hall. As we were engaged in conversation, I noticed that she was walking six feet behind us. In 1970 we had another tour to Japan, and I met a woman with whom I still correspond. On this trip I took my son along and we visited the Expo in Osaka. The Philharmonic members had English-speaking guides at the Expo. The individual assigned to me was charming, so I invited both my guide and her non-English-speaking sister to a rehearsal that we had the following morning. Her sister’s eyes lit up when I mentioned Mahler, or for that matter any other composer. It turned out that she was a pianist and composer who wrote a piece for me. When the sisters showed up for the rehearsal, the local (officious) security guards were ejecting my invited guests because observers were not permitted at the rehearsal. I interceded on their behalf and they thoroughly enjoyed the session. When I joined the New York Philharmonic our performances were at the acoustically superior Carnegie Hall. However, we had to play in a louder fashion to get over the huge body of strings that were in front of us. Harold Gomberg and I would often say, “Wait until we get to the new hall, that will fix things,” And we sure got fixed! Today that hall is called Avery Fisher Hall, but when it firstopened it was known as Philharmonic Hall.

My earliest experiences with Harold Gomberg in the Philharmonic were extremely positive and can be described as cooperative. We had a special rapport and marvelous relationship. His style of playing required him to put in such enormous physical effort, that from time to time he would ask me to play his parts during tuttis, or at other times when he felt the need to rest or conserve energy. Since I had studied with him, my sound blended with his, and he trusted me to spell him during solo passages. Harold Gomberg’s extraordinary tone on the oboe had earned him the reputation as the master of tonal color. His range and richness of sound seemed to match an individual composer’s genre. If he were playing Mozart, he contributed a luminescence and intimacy that would ideally blend with a chamber orchestra. For Mahler, he produced a full, dark, broad sound, which articulated the composer’s emotional spectrum. He was truly a remarkable musician. Upon Gomberg’s retirement from the orchestra in 1977, he left a void that was magnificently filled by Joseph Robinson. When I arrived at the Philharmonic, the orchestra had played about 6,000 concerts. By the time I retired in 1992, that number had climbed to above 11,000. Over my 31-year career we performed over 5,000 concerts. In 1962 there was not a single woman in the orchestra. In 1965, Orin O’Brien (the double bass player) became the first woman to enter the orchestra. Over the years the situation has changed, until I would say, right now at least a third of the orchestra is women.

One of the high points in my career was a special Stravinsky Festival. This was a concert at which Robert Craft, who was a protégé of Stravinsky, conducted the first half of the concert. On the last half of the concert was the Symphony of Psalms, written principally for wind instruments, with the addition of cello and bass. This was to be conducted by Stravinsky himself. When the strings exited, there was a bare stage in front of us. The house lights dimmed, quiet descended upon the hall and a diminutive senior gentleman took the podium to conduct the Symphony of Psalms. I felt as though I were playing for Beethoven himself. This was a most memorable experience to play under the acclaimed living composer, Stravinsky. Another incident of a similar nature was at the 85th anniversary of Carnegie Hall. We were playing a special concert under Leonard Bernstein. The concert began with the Leonore Overture #3. Then the strings departed the stage, leaving a vast unoccupied stage. The next portion of the concert was given over to famous chamber music artists. Among these artists were Yehudi Menuhin, Isaac Stern, Vladimir Horowitz, and Mstislav Rostropovich. The piano was moved on stage directly in front of Gomberg and myself. Now entered Horowitz, Menuhin and Rostropovich who proceeded to perform Tchaikovsky’s Piano Trio in A minor. Their playing was perfection. The performance was absolutely splendid! We were seated so close to these icons, that I could have reached over and played the left hand of the piano. The program continued with assorted other chamber music, ending with Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus; however, the memory that will always be fixed in my mind’s eye is the exhilarating experience of Horowitz, Menuhin and Rostropovich performing. As an addendum, I must mention the extraordinary efforts of luminaries such as Isaac Stern to preserve Carnegie Hall. It was scheduled to be razed after Philharmonic Hall (Avery Fisher Hall) was constructed; however, he successfully fought to preserve and renovate the venerable concert hall.

There was one conductor who holds a memorable place in my mind. His name was Istvan Kertesz. We played Brahms’ First Concerto with Rudolf Serkin as pianist. The concerto begins with a thunderous bass note. It was interesting to see the contrast between his usual shy, mild-mannered personality and his assertive conducting style in this piece, where he brought in the basses with stunning exuberance. In another concert celebrating Artur Rubinstein’s 75th birthday, he presented a sterling performance of both Brahms’ piano concerti. Music can have a humorous side as well, especially under the baton of comedian and movie star, Danny Kaye. He was a fine musician, excellent conductor; however, he couldn’t read a note of music. He would memorize the score and with his sense of timing and rhythm did an outstanding job. On one occasion he stopped the orchestra, pointed to the concertmaster and said, “You, out!” So the concertmaster walked off the stage followed by the maestro. In a few short moments a pistol shot rang out and Mr. Kaye walked back to the podium, tapped the baton on the music stand and proceeded to complete the selection. It was all I could do to maintain my embouchure while controlling my laughter.

During the Philharmonic’s last season at Carnegie Hall we were told there would be one week of tuning and acclimation at our new location, Philharmonic Hall (now known as Avery Fisher Hall) in Lincoln Center. When we arrived for our first tune up, construction was still in progress, and all sorts of materials were strewn about. At the rear of the stage there was a metal surface with holes that I thought was to be plastered. I was mistaken. The engineers placed this holed, thin metal surface as a sounding board to reflect and amplify our music to the audience. It was the worst possible surface in that it dissipated bass tones and changed our beautiful music into a “tinny” and almost primitive sound. The preliminary testing involved hiring various conductors, securing special compositions, which would test the hall’s sound characteristics. One conductor asked for the beginning chords of Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony. The caterwauling that reflected off the screens sounded like a cacophony of garbage cans clanking together. He politely stopped, and said, “Gentlemen, you’ve called me too late.” He then walked out. That conductor was Leopold Stokowski. Since the opening of Avery Fisher Hall in the 60’s, many modifications have been made. Each one has somewhat improved the acoustics. The last round of changes, under the auspices of Maestro Kurt Masur, have been the most successful. A major complaint previous to the latest alterations was the inability of the musicians to hear one another; however, the current improvement has mitigated this problem. One of the most gratifying experiences in my life has been teaching, in as much as it has allowed me to pass on my love of music and the oboe. Many students take lessons to enhance their appreciation of the arts, and of course, some have gone into the profession. I am most proud of the following students’ accomplishments: Jonathan Blumenfeld is now second oboe in the Philadelphia Orchestra, Merrill Greenberg plays English horn for the Israel Philharmonic and Robert Botti became my successor with the New York Philharmonic.

Since my retirement in 1992, I’ve been busy teaching, playing an occasional concert on Long Island, and coaching various ensembles for winds. Additionally, I have used my computer to generate assorted arrangements of compositions that were originally written for string quartet. If anyone would like to get information about my arrangements, or obtain one, call me at 1-516-759-0551.

Interview with John de Lancie (thanks to Mr. Weber)

John de Lancie was assistant principal with the Philadelphia Orchestra for several years, second to Tabuteau before he accepted the principal position in the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. Several years later when Tabuteau retired, he became the Principal of the Philadelphia Orchestra. He later retired and became director of the Curtis Institute of Music (arguably the finest college-level music institute in the world, usually accepted as the best in the States along with Juilliard) where he had graduated from many years previously. I simply love de Lancie’s sound and playing, and look up to it more than any other in the world.

Below is an interview done with de Lancie by one of his latter students probably around 1998 or so. I spent much time taking it from a PDF file to share with others.

An Interview with John de Lancie

Melissa Stevens

Westerville, Ohio

I am deeply saddened by the passing on of John de Lancie, a great oboist and teacher. I am fortunate to have had the opportunity to study with him. His teaching had a permanent impact on my musical life. Mr. de Lancie introduced me to

music in a manner I had not previously experienced. Marcel Tabuteau seemed to have a similar effect on the students he taught.

In search of the rationale and explanations behind what made Marcel Tabuteau one of the most influ-

ential teachers of the twentieth century, I chose to do an oral history on his pedagogical concepts and practices for teaching musical expressiveness. Marcel Tabuteau’s ideas endure mostly through the students he taught. In addition to Mr. de Lancie, eight other musicians were interviewed at length, including: John Minsker, Mason Jones, John Krell, Abba Bogin, Hershel Gordon, John Mack, Felix Kraus, and Louis Rosenblatt.

The musicians of Mr. de Lancie’s generation are responsible for the quality teaching and high performance standards we enjoy today. The contributions of those who have passed on will be sorely missed. It will be up to our generation to carry on the Tabuteau traditions.

Melissa Stevens: What years did you study with Marcel Tabuteau?

John de Lancie: 1936-1940, four years.

MS: What classes did you take with him?

JD: We had oboe lessons, woodwind chamber music, and what we called an orchestra class. It was made up of all the winds, brass and percussion of the orchestra, and a pianist who would play the string parts. We would go through, generally speaking, one piece that would be on the program of the Philadelphia Orchestra that week. If there was something we were playing in the orchestra with Reiner, that Reiner wanted rehearsed, we would work on that as well.

MS: Can you describe a typical private lesson with Tabuteau?

JD: We always started with long tones, scales and broken thirds. Then we had to play our lessons, which generally consisted of four exercises. Two would be new pieces in the original key. The other two would be pieces we played the previous week in the original key, now transposed to a different key.

MS: Did he ever demonstrate by playing?

JD: Oh, yes. He had a little studio in a building in downtown Philadelphia. Our lessons would either be at the Institute or at the studio, quite often at the studio. When we would go to the studio, he would be making reeds. He didn’t play the lessons very much, but he played for us. He wasn’t necessarily playing for us, but he played a lot.

MS: What kind of things would he play?

JD: Well, he was generally fixing reeds, or making reeds.

MS: So he would test the reeds?

JD: Yes, and when he made reeds, he could make a reed almost to the point of being done before he ever played on it, even for the first time.

MS: Did you ever learn anything from that? Did he ever tell you about the reed?

JD: No. During my period, none of us played on any of his reeds. He always played on our reeds. Occasionally he made comments (well, he almost always made comments), but occasionally he would make some kind of comment that would help. I learned, as time went on, that just watching him making reeds was really not very helpful, or at least not for me. I was pretty dumb about making reeds.

MS: Hard to believe…

JD: Well O.K., but I was. I never made a reed in my life before I came to Curtis. My teachers had always given me reeds. Suddenly, I had to make a reed. I’d never thought about it. I had never done anything about it. It was all a great mystery to me and remained so for a long time.

MS: So, he wasn’t very helpful ?

JD: No, not in the reed situation, no.

MS: How long were your lessons in length, usually?

JD: They were generally an hour long. At the Curtis Institute, they would be the specified length. At the studio, if you played everything you had and you finished early, that was the end of the lesson. If you were late you went on until you finished. He was not looking at his watch all the time. At the school he was because kids were waiting, but at the studio there was no regimentation.

MS: How come he occasionally taught at the studio?

JD: He wanted to make reeds. The first year I was at Curtis there were 13 oboe students. Six of us had a two hour lesson together. We each had 20 minutes.

MS: So you all watched each other?

JD: Yes. We all sat there while one student played. Actually it was an extremely educational process, because we learned from other people’s mistakes. We learned a lot of things that may not have come to us if we had private lessons. The second year there was a big fall out. After the first year many left. It began to dribble down so that in my fourth year there were, I

think, four of us.

MS: Did he do that because there were so many oboists, or do you think he consciously thought it was educationally a good thing to do?

JD: No, it was kind of ridiculous. We had 13 oboists and there were not many more violins in the Curtis in those days; therefore, 6 students were together for 2 hours. The other students had 40 minute lessons. He was probably just told he had so many hours to get us all in and that’s the way it worked. As I said, a number of them left after the first year and from then on it was private lessons.

MS: What etudes did you go through? Barret, Ferling?

JD: Barret, Ferling, Brod and then at the very end, I did some Gillet.

MS: Did he ever discuss breathing in lessons?

JD: Do you mean where to take a breath or how to breathe?

MS: How to breathe.

JD: No. How else can you breathe? You take a breath and you blow.

MS: Well, nowadays it seems that some people are obsessed with breathing.

JD: I know, they have all these theories, but I think most of it is a lot of baloney. How do you breathe?

MS: Take in a breath.

JD: Take in a big breath and blow. Obviously there are some kids who take in a little tiny bit, but they soon realize they have to take in a deep breath and do something…sweat a little.

MS: Did classroom instruction differ from private lesson instruction? Did he treat you any differently?

JD: No. If anything, he was worse in classroom than he was in private. He had a sadistic streak in him and he loved to humiliate kids, humiliate one in front of another. The lessons, when six of us were together for the whole year, was what they call “a baptism of fire.”

MS: Was that his teaching style, or was that just his personality over all?

JD: Both. He was a very domineering man. I understand that his teacher was that way, so he was imitating his teacher. I like to think, of course you might disagree with me, that I was tough and demanding, but I don’t think I ever went out of my way to humiliate anybody.

MS: No.

JD: Well, he did, and we all had the same first name, “Stupid.” You Stupid. He was brutal, but the wonderful thing about it was that after you finished four years of that, there wasn’t a conductor in the world that scared you.

MS: Did he communicate well though?

JD: Yes, Yes. That was his great thing. He was the only man I ever heard who explained music to us.

MS: In terms of phrases?

JD: Everything about music. He just seemed to have an understanding about the structure of music, how music was supposed to sound and how it was played. In other words, he could take a “dumbbell” or a “turkey” or whatever you want to call it, and make them play well. Of course, in our youth and naive approach, we thought he could make them play well forever. He

could, however, make them play well as long as he was there telling them what to do, but when they would go out and try to do something by themselves, they would be back to square one. He could work with some kid who was not good and show him how to play a phrase that was very beautiful, and it would be startling. Then, if the kid had to do something by himself, if it was somebody that was not talented, he didn’t seem to know what to do.

MS: How did he get his ideas across so well?

JD: He got them across so well because there was never any structure in any of his lessons or his classes. You had four pieces and you did not necessarily go through all four pieces. You could spend the whole lesson doing 8 measures, and you would never get beyond that if things were not happening. In the orchestra classes or woodwind classes, it was the same thing. He wanted to make sure you understood and you were going to stay on that until the two hours were up. To give you an example, we had woodwind classes with him. We played one concert a year. We started at the end of September and in April we played a concert. You could have, during the concert, dumped a bucket of ice water over each one of us playing, and we would have kept right on playing and playing well.

MS: Are there many teachers now, from what you see, that work with their students the same way?

JD: No, no. The whole thing has changed so dramatically. Now you see, particularly with our experience with that stupid academic world. You start out at the beginning of the semester and they tell you you’ve got to play a recital, and you’re not going to get your grade if you haven’t played a certain number of compositions. I didn’t have anything like that. I never played an orchestra excerpt or a solo for my teacher. Because, his point was, and I think it was pretty well demonstrated in all his pupils, you learn how to play music and then you just apply that to anything you have to play. I was talking to some students in Aspen trying to make them realize this. For instance I’d say, “We’re going to do the Brahms Violin Concerto.” Open up the beginning of the Barret book and compare it to the oboe part of the Brahms Violin Concerto. The Brahms

isn’t as complicated as 80% of those little melodies. If you learn how to play those melodies, the Brahms Violin Concerto isn’t going to be any harder or as hard. That was his point. He never said this, but it became obvious. If a teacher has the patience, he or she could take a student and teach him how to be a top flight oboe player and never do anything except play long

tones, arpeggios, scales, broken thirds, intervals. You can turn those all around to teach all sorts of things. Everybody thinks you just learn the scale so they honk up and down the scale and they learn the scale. Well, you can learn the scale and you can also practice how to get a beautiful attack on a low B natural, and how to make a beautiful line going up and down, and while

playing broken thirds how to play in between the notes, and to learn about when to take a breath, and to practice scales with inflections- down, up, down. You can learn all those things, and how to make a line by playing long tones and ninths. That was his approach. It took anybody that was with him a while to catch on. In some instances, in my case, it was very frustrating,

because I never had more technique in my whole life than I did the first day I came to the Curtis, before I even had a lesson with him. I had all kinds of technique, but I didn’t know anything about music. So the first two years I spent just doing these things which I thought, “Oh God.” I could do a Gillet study and there I was doing do, re, mi (slow, with inflections he demon-

strates), and learning how to make reeds. Well, as time went on, I began to understand what it was all about, but the first year in particular, it was just excruciating. I just thought “I will never be able to play oboe, and if this is what it is, I don’t want to do it.” As time went on, I began to understand his methods. He explained everything about music, but he never explained any-

thing about what he was doing or what he asked you to do. It was “Do it.”

MS: So, he never told you the purpose?

JD: No, there was never any explanation such as, “You will understand as time goes on.” It was just “do it.”

MS: Tabuteau was said to have used many analogies in his teaching career. Would you consider this part of his teaching style?

JD: Yes, yes, most definitely.

MS: Do you have any examples?

JD: Well just the sort of things you heard me say for years. He talked about inflections, impulses and lines. I think I probably use a lot more even than he did, because I find that a very effective way of getting ideas across. He certainly was the man that made me think about that to start with.

MS: Would you say Tabuteau revolutionized American wind playing?

JD: Oh, definitely.

MS: Why?

]JD: First of all, with his ability to explain to people how to play and what to do. The proof of the pudding. The charter of the Curtis Institute was a school to develop solo performers, which meant piano, violin, voice and some cello. The orchestra was not considered the focus of the school. The school started in 1924, and it took a few years for things to gel. By the time the school began to function in all ways, it was the beginning of the Depression. I’m sure you kids have seen all the TV things about the Depression. They were pretty scary days for everybody. You could not find a job anywhere. The word began to get around that when there were openings for wind players in American orchestras, the conductors all came to the Curtis. Here were kids like me. I was 19 years old when there was an opening for first oboe in Pittsburgh and first oboe in the Philadelphia summer season. Now you can imagine that there were plenty of older men with a lot of experience around that were playing.

I say there were plenty- there were some that would have liked very much to have those jobs. First oboe in Minneapolis, Angelucci; first flute was Opava from Curtis; and Santucci, bassoon, from Curtis-Washington D.C., small orchestras Indianapolis, and Detroit. These young kids got hired everywhere. They didn’t get hired for any sentimental reasons. They got hired very simply because we played better than the other people around, and that was certainly all Tabuteau’s doing. Sam Barber said to me on a number of occasions, “Everything I learned from Curtis I learned from Tabuteau and Vengerova, my piano teacher.” Jorge Bolet said the same thing to me, “I learned all my music from Tabuteau.” During the days when I was

the director of the Institute, I had a series called The Faculty Commemorative Series and I had a “Tabuteau day” which lasted for the weekend. People came from all over the country, not just oboe players. All kinds of people on all instruments saying, “This is the man who taught me more music than anybody else.”

MS: I read that some musicians were brought over from Europe to play in the Boston Symphony, for example. So why was Tabuteau the teacher that stood out?

JD: First of all, he stood out as a player and then he had this gift of teaching. When you consider at the Curtis he taught oboe, woodwind ensemble, orchestra class, and then for the last 12 or 14 years that he was at Curtis, he also taught the strings. He had a string class.

MS: Is that something he wanted to do?

JD: That started during the War when I was away, so I don’t know. But, he started the string class. You hear the men in the Guarneri quartet talk about how the string class was the greatest experience at the Curtis. There are a lot of them around in this country who were in that class. As I said, I don’t know how that came about. In those days, Zimbalist, who was a great

violinist, was the Director of the school.

MS: So Tabuteau was apparently a better teacher than their teachers?

JD: Well, I don’t know-his thing was that he taught music-I don’t know if he could have told them what to do with the right arm. I don’t know if he was able to do that. He started out life as a violinist as a little kid. He played violin for a while. Obviously, not very long, but he had some idea about violin. It was the way he explained music to the kids that transcended whether you played the clarinet or violin or any other instrument. He even had an orchestra for a couple of years during the war that did broadcasts.

MS: How did Tabuteau go about teaching you phrasing?

JD: Well essentially- you want me to repeat all this stuff?

MS: You don’t have to go in depth.

JD: He started with the Barret, with the very simplest structures, and he explained how the music went from this point to this point, and then instead of playing the notes, you play the line…and you put your notes on that line.

MS: How much do you think he inherited from Gillet?

JD: That’s a good question. It’s a question that I don’t know if anybody alive today will be able to answer. Did you get to visit Minsker yet?

MS: No, that will be in two weeks. I did read that Laila Storch wrote he did attribute some of his ideas to Gillet.

JD: Well, I never heard about that until the end of his life. He never mentioned Gillet during my student days. Minsker is one of your prime sources, and he is certainly the last living one who goes way back. He connected with Tabuteau 7 or 8 years before I did. He left the Curtis in 1933, or something like that. He knows as much about that as anybody. We’ve often

talked about that, but there is no way of really knowing except to say look at Gillet’s pupils. Among the pupils who came to America was Longy in Boston. They are beginning to release some of the very old Boston recordings made before 1917, and I’m looking forward to this, as a matter of fact I think some of them have already come out. I knew Longy’s daughter very, very well. She was a teacher at the Curtis Institute when I was a student there. She said, “My father never made any records.” I could hardly believe that, but she was very adamant about it. I’ve discovered recently that it was not exactly true. There were some records made, now maybe she didn’t know about it, it’s very possible. She was a little girl. There are some records, and

someone has told me that there are some things that have recently come out. I’ve heard one of them where there’s just a few notes of the oboe, but it sounds like it could be the “real stuff,” as the kids at the Curtis used to say. Then there was Gillet, who played with the Boston Symphony for many years, who was Gillet’s nephew. We always thought him to be a very ordinary

oboe player. He had phenomenal technique, but a sound that was just-I don’t know-it was hard to believe the two were pupils of the same man. There was a man in Chicago that I heard a couple of times whose name was Barthel. He was also nothing particular. Tabuteau seemed to be something very special. There were a couple in France I heard who were quite good, one by

the name of Bleuzet, and one by the name of Morel, who really played. They didn’t quite have the sound, but they played, and there was something very beautiful about the style.

MS: So, he never talked to you about his development?

JD: No, no. Except at the end of his life. He was a very vain man, and he began thinking, “I want to make sure I get credit.” So, he used to blow up every once in a while and say, “If I hear any words when I’m in my grave I’m going to come back and haunt you kids,” and he’d say, “I owe everything to my teacher-everything to my teacher,” as if to say, “You owe everything to your teacher.” I never heard any of that until toward the end of his life. When I was a student, there was never any mention of his teacher’s name.

MS: Or when you played with him?

JD: Well, yes, but that was very different. When you’re playing in an orchestra with someone, you’re almost living together. There was a lot of conversations, things we talked about or heard about, that I never would have if I had just been one of the students, no matter what my career had been. John Minsker was the one who had the longest period with him. John Minsker was with him almost 20 years. He left in January, 1954, and Mr. Minsker joined the orchestra in 1936, so that was 18 years.

MS: Did Tabuteau talk about the number system with you?

JD: He never talked about it, he just did it. Well you have the Art of the Oboe recording.

MS: I have the new one.

JD: Do you have the old one too?

MS: I don’t own it, but I’ve heard it.

JD: Some of it’s the same and some is different, but it’s all from the same source. It’s about dynamic progression, but it can also be about intensity without necessarily being dynamic. In other words, you can be going towards a peak, but it’s quiet. It’s an intensity, a coloring you might say. It, in itself, was kind of a paradox in that it was very limited, but, at the same time, it

opened up worlds of ideas. It was very limited in that you go from 1 to 9 or 10. As he used to point out, in English you can’t do that without having the number seven with two syllables, because you see in French (he counts in French) you have to go to 14 before you get to two syllables. So you could say those things quickly in his language. He used to get upset because he had to go 1,2,3,4,5,6, seven…

MS: You think he developed it in his mind in French then?

JD: I don’t know. Did you get the Capet book?

MS: Yes.

JD: Well, he talks about distribution of the bow. Did you get it in the English translation?

MS: I got it in German and translated parts.

JD: Well, I can’t even remember, it’s been so many years, but I should get it out and look at whether the distributions were ever equated with the musical sense. I mean the distribution as to where you should be on the bow according to the technical execution of the passage. But, did that ever equate with the musical execution? In other words, did he ever equate certain

numbers on the distribution on the bow with inflections that equated with the musical structure? I’ve forgotten to be honest with you.

MS: I seem to remember it being some kind of equation with color depending on which part of the bow you were using.

JD: O.K. You could say he got this idea there, or he could have gotten the idea there.

MS: So he spoke to you about this book then?

JD: He spoke to me about this book more towards the end of his career in Philadelphia.

MS: Did he say then that this is a book you should get and read? (See Appendix A)

JD: Yes, he gave me his copy.

MS: Did Tabuteau use this numbering system to teach inflections also?

JD: Yes, with everybody.

MS: Can you think of any specific exercises he gave you outside of etudes?

JD: Scales. You mean for inflections or numbers?

MS: Numbers.

JD: With scales it was very simple. Down, up, down, up, slowly. Try to make it sound like you were playing a down-bow or an up-bow. Yes, that went on forever.

MS: What have you carried on into your own teaching that you learned from Tabuteau?

JD: Well everything, everything. I owe everything to my teacher. However, there are a lot of things I’ve talked to you guys about that are my own ideas. He got his ideas from his teacher, and his teacher got his ideas from his teacher. Even if it’s not the ideas themselves, but something gives you an idea of what to do. I don’t think anybody just springs whole out of nothing.

MS: Do you think that Tabuteau’s ideas had a positive effect on everyone because he was a good communicator?

JD: Yes, he was a powerful communicator. Very convincing-great storyteller. He had the flare for acting. He put on a good show. He was a fantastic storyteller. He could be in the presence of anybody, Toscanini, or Stokowski, or anybody. If there was a group and he was there, before ten minutes went by, he would be the center of attraction telling stories.

MS: What would you say was the single most important musical concept that you took from Tabuteau?

JD: I couldn’t answer that. There were so many things. I couldn’t answer the single thing. If you start thinking about the different things and you started to separate them, it’s like saying you’ve got to come down to one that can’t be eliminated. They all evolved into a total, into an entity which is pretty hard to chop up. I can chop it up when I’m teaching, but I believe I made it obvious, that even though we’re discussing one particular thing, it’s related to the other things we do. It’s all a related situation.

MS: When you were in school and talked to other students, did he teach everyone the same way?

JD: As far as I know, yes.

MS: Everyone has different problems though, would he take them aside and work on that specific problem?

JD: Well, to a certain degree. You have to understand one thing. In the early days there were so few oboe players anywhere. This is a bit of an exaggeration, but it was almost like taking in warm bodies. If a kid came and wanted to study the oboe, he just accepted him. I don’t know if he was being honest with us when he said it, but I think he believed he could take anybody and make them play. As I told you, I realized later that only to a degree this was true. He could make them play in the room. But as far as them absorbing this and being able to go out and do well on their own, it didn’t work. Some had it, and some did not have it.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dr. Melissa Stevens is currently assistant professor of oboe at Capital University’s Conservatory of Music in Columbus, Ohio. She is a member of the ProMusica Chamber Orchestra, the Lancaster Festival Orchestra, and an associate with the Columbus Symphony Orchestra. Miss Stevens has been a member of the Wheeling Symphony and has attended the Aspen Music Festival, Waterloo, and Interlochen. She performed at the 2001 IDRS Conference and the 1999

NFA Convention with the Cardinal Trio. She holds a DMA and Master’s Degree from the Ohio State University, and a Bachelor’s Degree from the New World School of the Arts, Miami. Her major teachers include John de Lancie and Robert Sorton.

Rebecca Henderson, Oboe Professor of the University of Texas

Rebecca Henderson is one of my favorite oboists currently out there. Her sound is pure, ringing, and has depth, complexity, and flexibility. Her CD, called “…is but a dream” is a fine example of the American school of oboe. I actually met her when I was in high school, the summer after my Junior year. She was a very kind lady, and I was very captivated by her. I was planning on auditioning for her at the University of Texas this year, but she has been playing for the National Symphony Orchestra, and I have heard from reliable sources that she’ll probably end up there soon. This would mean if I did get in, I’d show up and she’d be gone to D.C.!

Anyways, I just found this website of clips of her demonstrating some aspects of oboe playing. Very interesting, and worth listening to.

Correspondence with David Weber RE: EH Shaper Tips

For my EH shaped cane and reeds I use a shaper tip I made, copied from shaped cane from Lou Rosenblatt.  I don’t really know what is in the market for EH shapes.  Carlos’ tip is really fine, another copy of Rosenblatt’s, but slightly too narrow, I feel.  Someone said he had a wider one, too.  That may be really nice. The typical tips out there are really really wide for me.  There may be something from Westwind or Jeanne or Adam.  I’ve not tried any of these, though.

I feel you are a prime candidate to learn how to make your own shaper tips….. Yes???  Right!  You can do it.  It may even be a good future side-career for you.  It requires very few tools and little investment, but just a few blisters and lots of patience.  That is the best way to get what you really want.  Interested?  I’ll be happy to tell/show you how.

Woah! Making my own shaper tip? Sounds interesting! Of course I’ll probably spend ridiculous amounts of money messing up a bunch of tips, but worth a try!

Anyone care to share a shaper tip they might own and love dearly?

Reeds for Jillian Camwell

Several days ago I began making reeds for Jillian Camwell, author of Prairie Oboe Companion. I don’t mind making reeds for other oboists who are curious about my bloggings and what not and want to experience them first-hand. Well, in particular, I believe she was curious about my June 3rd posting on Xanga regarding my 3 different gouges and 3 different shaper tips. Well, I starting making some samples and I ended up with 9 reeds. Not only did I end up with 9 reeds, but there are a LOT of variables in them. A list of them

Currently using 2 gouging machines. My Opus 1 machine is back with Mr. Driscoll being updated.

In order from left to right, Reed #3, Reed #2, Reed #3

Reeds 1-3 shaped on a Weber 1-B shaper tip.

Reed 1 - Graf gouging machine #2, Weber staple (gouge sides thinned a bit from Reed 2, which was made 1st)

Reed 2 - Graf gouging machine #2, Weber staple (gouge thicker, made 1st)

Reed 3 - Same as reed 1

In order from left to right, Reed #6, Reed #5, Reed #4

Reeds 4-6 shaped on a Weber 1-C shaper tip.

Reed 4 - Graf gouging machine #1, Weber Staple

Reed 5 - Same as Reed 4

Reed 6 - Graf gouging machine #1, Chudnow Corkless staple E

In order from left to right, Reed #9, Reed #8, Reed #7

Reeds 7-9 shaped on a RDG 2 shaper tip.

Reed 7 - Graf gouging machine #1, Chudnow S staple

Reed 8 - Graf gouging machine #1, Chudnow E staple

Reed 9 - Graf gouging machine #1, Weber staple

Currently, I have my Graf machine #1 set to gouge the sides quite a bit thicker than my Graf machine #2, so it works better for wider shapes.

From Left to Right: Chudnow S tubes, Chudnow E tubes, and Weber tubes

Now, what was interesting for me was that for some time, I’ve been using the Weber staple because I find that they are much more stable than the Chudnow tubes, which are wider and have a bigger opening. When I compare my Weber staples to my Sierra Brass, Sierra Silver, and CA silver staples which range from $3.25-4.95, the Weber staples almost always win out in intonation. Chudnow’s corkless staples also have the same intonation issues as the others, which I particularly don’t like, specifically:

• -a sharper high G and A that tends to “get away” from me because it doesn’t feel focused
• -a sharper middle E,
• -a spreading C and Bb,
• -and a weaker low F

However, the corkless staples have some slightly different qualities to them. For instance, the corkless E staples (skinnier looking ones) have incredible “ring” to them, and less resistance to them. In fact, they feel like some of the most “freeblowing” reeds I’ve ever made. (Not that this is necessarily good, SOME resistance is good.) Some would also say this “ring” isn’t necessarily good either, and produces a brighter tone. But making reeds with the E staple, and with the slightly wider 1-C with a heavier gouge turned out to be a fantastic combination, and I’m anxious to experiment with this setup again. I decided to make a couple reeds with the E staple and the RDG 2 shape, since the reeds I make using the RDG 2 are always VERY beefy. Much to my surprise, the massive “ring” in combination with the fuller tone I got from such a wide shape was VERY interesting. One of the reeds was clearly the best reed in all of the 10, until it cracked. (Isn’t it always the way?)

When I visited Martin Schuring at ASU a couple months ago, he told me the S staples are the only kind he uses. We both agreed that they definitely kill more vibrations that enhance, and I think they work well for him because of his unusual setup. He takes a LOT of reed in (it looks like he’s down to the string) but he actually covers the reed with his big lips, so that the amount of reed exposed in his mouth is actually a very small amount. Furthermore, he plays on a covered Howarth XL, and finally makes his reeds using Chinese “Golden Bamboo” cane, which is known as some of the single hardest cane out on the market. The hard cane in combination with the deadening staples would probably counteract each other in an interesting way.

Meanwhile, this time about in the experimental spirit, I also made a reed using Chudnow’s S corkless staple. I’ve probably made close to 30 reeds over the past year, and have had absolutely no success whatsoever. However, this time around, with the RDG 2 shape, the S corkless staple made a decent reed, which I was surprised. It seems that the RDG 2 shape produces enough vibrations to counterbalance the S staple, thus producing a decent reed. I don’t think that it’s as good as the other two, but it was interesting that I FINALLY made a decent reed with the tube.

By the way, if you wish to buy the Chudnow staples Oboe Stuff and Singin’ Dog Reeds both sell the staples for $0.25 per staple cheaper.

Finally, one last note, regarding gouging machines. I have two Graf oboe gouging machines, but would love to trade one for an English Horn double radius gouging machine (Jeanne, Graf, Kunibert, or other brands acceptable). If anyone is interested, please contact me!