Oboe Brothers - Time Magazine

David Weber directed me to THIS article. Very telling of their own style.

Music Quote

Music alone contains the all-important secret of separating the soul from all mortal cares for at least as long as the notes can keep it absorbed, through the skillful management of consance, whether vocal or instrumental. And if sleep is so universally praised for its power to enthrall the senses of unhappy humanity, lifting them up and, for a few hours, making them impervious to misfortune, how much more praiseworthy must an art be which, not robbing us life as does sleep (when it is called the Brother of Death), allows us to live ecstatically in delicious, contented peace, our senses fully about us, yet glad and truly blissful. This art… deserves to have voices, instruments, poetry, painting, architecture, mechanics, mimic, and any other art pay court to it and obey it.

- Pier Jacopo Martello, 1715

Old Liang Wang Video from NPR

John Ferillo’s tribute to de Lancie

Published in the Double Reed

Although I realized some time ago that this moment was looming, I am still having trouble coming to terms with the strange notion of a world that no longer contains John deLancie. Perhaps one of the reasons that it is so difficult for me to accept is that, despite the progress of the disease which took him, at the end, Mr. deLancie’s mind and spirit were remarkably unbowed by either the disease or his years. He was the same towering figure that strode into my life 29 years ago. He possessed the same clarity of vision and sense of purpose that shaped his phrasing in the orchestra and shaped his lectures in lessons and classes. There was the same indefatigable will which vanquished the mechanical barriers of reeds, instruments, and gougers. And, most important, there was the same unique blend of passion for our art and wry humour about our profession.

When I arrived, a muddle-headed 18 year old, on the doorstep of the Curtis Institute, I had heard much of the intensity of the environment there. The Philadelphia Orchestra was on tour in the People’s Republic of China that September, and oboe lessons did not begin for several weeks. The atmosphere in classes, while serious, seemed relaxed. When I opened the studio door for my first lesson, and that penetrating gaze fastened on me, I began to realize that a wholly different experience was opening up for me. “Did you bring the book?” he asked. “The book?” I, of course, had a pretty good notion of which book he was talking about, having just reached the 12th Barret Grand Etude, after much misery, in my Senior year of high school, “The Barrett,” he said with the air of a man who does not tolerate much shilly-shallying. I was still getting used to a place where things were referred to as the Curtis and the Barret. “Oh… yes”, I said, a bit more nervously, opening it to Grand Etude number 12- so very, very close to the end of the tome. Page by page, with great relish, he turned back, till, several hundred pages later (actually, it was only 135 pages, but who is counting?) we arrived at Melodic Etude number 1. There ensued a lesson which, as a musician and teacher, I have referenced almost every day these 28 and a half years. It contained a substantial portion of the core principles which he applied to playing our instrument and to understanding music. Beginning with a scaled long tone, he assembled the basic phrases of that first melodic etude piece by piece. He explained the notions of using one’s wind to shape a line and putting the notes on that line. His explanations were elegant in their simplicity and directness. His logic overwhelmed all doubts. Our goals were utterly clear- it just remained for us to find the pathway there. The force of his will drove us irresistibly towards them.

Later that week, I went to hear him play in the Academy. I knew, before hearing a note, that it would be as he had said it should be. There was that same air of a man who knew exactly the task in front of him and how it needed to be carried out. In fact, I don’t know if I have ever heard a musician on any instrument who showed more integrity carrying things from the realm of ideas to performance than he. There were extraordinary individual moments- Das Lied von der Erde, Don Juan, a run of the Martinu Oboe Concerto. The beauty of these moments, of course, cannot be conveyed by words. They were suspended in time. His voice on the instrument was uniquely his own- supple and rich, yet remarkable for its centered, even sound quality. More than anything, however, I was aware of the enormous force of will evidenced in those four years of playing (his last four years in the orchestra). He was Babe Ruth pointing at the outfield wall.

I sat next to him as a substitute in his last month in the orchestra at Saratoga Springs. In a rare moment of relaxation after a performance of Ibert’s Escales, he turned to me with a smile. “Well, m’boy,” he said, “when they ask you, I want you to tell them that, when I hung it up, I could still do it.” “I will,” I said.

This desire to finish well what one has begun came back to me in my last visit with him this May. He was in bed, but happily receiving phone calls from well-wishers and friends from all over the country. A teacher to the very end, he very much wanted me to hear a tape he had just acquired of a performance of the Dohnanyi Suite from 1940. The beautiful oboe playing was by a man who was Tabuteau’s peer, Debouchet, playing at the end of his career at age 70 in the L.A. Philharmonic. Mr. deLancie commented both on the beauty of the playing and the fact that, while it represented the finest standards of our tradition of playing, it was by a man who wasn’t trained at the Conservatoire and who was never even mentioned by his teacher. DeLancie himself had never heard him play. There was a sense, in our conversation, of setting the record straight. It conveyed many things I admired about my teacher’s character. Always the student of history, it was important for him to have a clear view, unsullied by ego or personal prejudice, of our place in the continuity of musical tradition. He also showed, in that visit, the satisfaction of a man who has accomplished the ultimate objective of passing on the runner’s torch. The multitude of calls and visits those final weeks demonstrated this very vividly.

A few days ago, I called one of my oldest friends (a non-musician). “How are you?” he asked. “Well, I just got the news that my teacher passed away,” I replied. “Your teacher? Oh yes, your oboe teacher- John deLancie. I am so sorry to hear that.” He knew of course, as my friend, that I wasn’t speaking of a figure like our high school’s expository writing teacher. He knew I was speaking of someone who had played a very important role in molding me as a musician and as an adult. He knew I was speaking of a very great performer.

Nevertheless, it is difficult for even close members of our families to have a true sense of what a person like John deLancie has meant to us. I am who I am, to a large measure, because of who he was, how he lived his life, and how he did his work.

I salute him, and I give thanks for the gift his life was to us.

John Ferrillo

Principal Oboist
Boston Symphony

An Interview with Thomas Stacy

A CONVERSATION WITH THOMAS STACY

Dan Stolper

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Editor’s Note: THOMAS STACY is one of the world’s most celebrated English horn virtuosos, and one of the busiest. Currently English horn soloist with the New York Philharmonic, he previously held that position with the orchestras of New Orleans, San Antonio and Minneapolis. He was graduated with distinction from the Eastman School of Music, where he was a pupil of Robert Sprenkle. Thomas Stacy’s playing has been the inspiration for many major composers to write for the English horn. As one of his colleagues states, “He has done more to put the English horn “‘on the map’ than anyone. ” Increasingly active as a guest soloist and pedagogue for master classes, he recently signed with both American and European artistic managements. When he performs as soloist, his reviews always mention, in addition to his extraordinary musicality, his unusually large dynamic range, palette of tone color, amazing breath control and lush sound.Since his addition to the faculty of The Juilliard School, English horn is offered as a major there for the first time.

Much has previously been written in these pages about Thomas Stacy’s accomplishments. He talks of his future plans herein, including the exciting news of his first annual INTERNATIONAL ENGLISH HORN SEMINAR to be held at Ithaca College this summer, July 9-14.

On a grey Sunday afternoon in November, following a champagne brunch, we sat down in the studio of the Stacys’ Cape Cod home in Old Greenwich, Connecticut for this conversation.

DS I should ask you first, which characteristics seem necessary for success in a career with the English horn and/or the oboe?

TS From my view the salient aesthetic quality is innate musicality. Beyond that, I think that a great number of people have what it takes to master the required technique. Other characteristics necessary for success really are not unique to the music business.

DS Do you encourage youngsters to aim for such a career?

TS I don’t encourage or discourage youngsters’ aims toward this profession, but I do think that it’s my responsibility as their major teacher to present the facts about such a career. I think that sometimes that is not done and that’s not fair. One should know during their extensive and expensive preparation that it is a crowded field, and to be prepared for what lies ahead in hours of work, reed scrapings piling on the floor at 2 o’clock in the morning and terribly meager recompense, and so I surely, at some time, have a serious talk with my students to tell them all of that. While today I believe that there is less prejudice against females as wind players, women should be aware that they may still encounter discrimination. One must truly love all aspects of this scene, all the ego building and political bull as well as the magic moments of touching the sounds. On a more positive side, there are related fields which offer employment such as the recording industry and other various media production. Also I believe that the discipline and perception necessary to learn to play well can apply to many aspects of a fulfilled life.

DS You started your career–professionally– right from the first day as an English horn player . . . you never had an oboe job in an orchestra. Isn’t that right?

TS Yes.

DS Can you remember when, in your student days you decided to slant your career in this direction?

TS Well, I was intoxicated by the English horn sound a long time ago. From a practical viewpoint, it was discussed at Eastman that there were a lot of elderly English horn players in the profession just then and a lot of young oboe players. I think more young students should consider devoting themselves to the English horn, rather than practicing it very hard for two months just prior to an important audition.

At the Juilliard School the English horn majors really specialize in the English horn, but they also play oboe (and I also have some oboe majors) and I try to make sure that all my students there play the oboe d’amore some, so they won’t have their first experience with that instrument on a professional job. There’s a heavy concentration on the orchestral literature with the English horn students, though I do have them work on solo literature too as well as etudes. But the course there is really designed to train English horn players for the Juilliard orchestras, and for the profession. I think it’s a unique set-up, the idea of an English horn major. Other schools list English horn study in their catalogs, but it’s usually with one of the oboe teachers.

DS Are there any players and/or conductors whose work you find inspiring? How do you feel about the playing in foreign orchestras?

TS I’m very chauvinistic. I very much prefer American playing. I do find the fast fingers and tongues of some European soloists quite impressive. I had a pleasant experience at the Leningrad Conservatory and the Moscow Conservatory, to be involved in giving master classes there. Some of the Russians played for us–they were charming young men. These kids played so well technically–they could double-tongue all over the place and do really flashy things, but for me the sound left quite a bit to be desired. Part of the problem there is that they have trouble getting really good instruments. Getting back to the first part of your question, I sometimes remember John Minsker’s sound.

There’s a great disparity in sound among professional English horn players, and in their soloistic temperaments. After all the English horn is one of the most soloistic positions in the orchestra.

I ‘m very happy that I had the opportunity to be around the creativity of Harold Gomberg; it was inspiring because I felt he was truly a creative player ALL THE TIME, rehearsals as well as concerts. I don’t feel good about people who give their best only at the concerts. (It might be a fatalistic thing to say, but a rehearsal might be the last time!)

I feel that I owe the foundations of my playing on which I heavily rely daily to Robert Sprenkle.

As far as conductors are concerned, I learned a lot about intellectual conceptions of living from Pierre Boulez. I enjoy the musicality of Rafael Kubelik, when he guests here, and I’ve learned from Leonard Bernstein’s Mahler. Ah, I don’t know where to stop! But, I don’t really feel the necessity to have idols, and I’m not sure I want to be one either.

DS I can’t help but observe here with your family, that your work, given its great demands on your time and stamina, hasn’t seemed to get in the way of a good family life.

TS I’m by nature a workaholic. My family is proud of what I do and of course that pleases me. I’m proud of them, too! I try never to be the “artiste” at home if you know what I mean. My studio is never off-limits to the kids; they borrow stuff off my reed-desk all the time! My kids are not interested in music as performers; they enjoy going to concerts a lot though. We never push the kids into anything; my older son is interested in going into business. I appreciate the fact that I was never- pushed into this profession; the decision was mine to make, and so there’s no one to blame for my successes or failures but myself, and I feel good about that.

DS You mentioned that you prefer the American School. What short-comings, if any, do you feel exist today in that school?

TS Our downfall is the one of creating craftsmen, not artists. I think too often technical excellence is used as an ultimate, rather than the foundation or departure point. Also I think because we have mechanical considerations — reed-making, instruments, bocals — that they can get in the way of our ultimate communication with the audience. So often players tend to aim toward playing absolutely perfectly and perfection by itself can come across to the audience like left-over cream of wheat. Certainly teaching creativity is terribly abstract, but I try to at least expose my students to creativity in playing the instrument . . . I rarely work with beginning students anymore . . . but I think the young ones should be exposed to “ad lib” playing as early as possible, don’t always have an etude in front of them, trying to make them play perfectly. Have them create sound-on-sound compositions on a tape recorder . . . that can be done after the child knows just a few fingerings. Then talk of the relationship between music and other things, such as sound and color, music and architecture, music and motion, all these things are very abstract, but I think the student should be exposed to this kind of thinking, and not misled into thinking that if they can play every note perfectly in tune with a glorious sound, they will be great artists. We must again and again impress on the student the importance of creativity . . .

DS Can you clarify what you mean by “creativity”? Do you mean the ability to improvise, or the ability to be creative within the framework of a work of art, even a Barret etude?

TS To be creative within the framework of the composer’s wishes and maybe sometimes slightly OUTSIDE his wishes! Ad lib playing is certainly not an end in itself, I use it as one way of expressing one’s personality, and that I think is very important. I find, for example, that I rarely hear the Tchaikovsky 4th Symphony oboe solo played in such a way that it makes you feel the player has ever seen an onion-shaped dome! The solo rarely sounds Russian at all, and from a technical standpoint, I don’t hear crescendos within the large diminuendo which is very hard to do. You must have a great deal of control as well as imagination to do this of course. Another example is the English horn solo in the “Roman Carnival.”

I don’t think the audience should be aware of the thought processes which go into our practice and preparation for a performance — that’s really our affair. I dissect technique with my pupils — articulation, nuances — but I don’t think we should consider these things our destination. This work is strictly a framework from which to create. A teacher should always stress that the student play etudes soloistically, and seldom the same way twice. Then be able to perform repetitions of the best sounding way–now there’s creative thinking and listening.

Other deficiencies I often hear are a misunderstanding of staccato notes. Too often they’re like short, ugly bow strokes on a string, rather than a beautiful bell-like sound, as I think they should be and relative to all double reed playing, I think the dynamic scope is almost always too small–that while the color may be changed slightly, it’s almost always in the mezzo-forte-mezzo-piano range. I think one must strive to have the equipment, both physically and reed-wise, to make it possible to project a huge dynamic range.

DS This seems to be a problem of the English horn to a great extent . . . the English horn so rarely sounds compelling. It so often sounds blandly mezzo-forte, as you put it . . .

TS Especially with the English horn one must excite the audience with the sonority itself. If you don’t have the audience in the palm of your hand with the ictus of the very first sound, you probably won’t later! Of course the most important thing is that the English horn can be heard! Let the conductor ask for less! Students often come to me confused over interval projection and “per note” projection. Sometimes the English horn doesn’t project because the player makes a diminuendo on every note! Beautifully legato intervals project better at any dynamic level. One must project BETWEEN the notes, as it were. I had a student yesterday who plays in an orchestra that performs in Carnegie Hall; he said the conductor always asks for more in “La Mer”. So we worked for a little larger reed opening, a different bocal, and most importantly tried to insure that the pressure point in the reed was at the correct place for the embouchure to touch. Often young players take the guts out of the reed at the point where the lips touch the reed. They’re doing that to make it easier to play, but it has the reverse effect; they have to lay back on the blowing and not put a fast enough air stream into the instrument, they then have all sorts of problems . . . projection, playing legato, to a certain extent pitch, but most especially projection. I think . . . to oversimplify one of your concerns–how to project high notes . . . is simply a faster air stream.

Of course there are times when projection is not a problem at all, such as in the Strauss “Four Last Songs” where I have to use a reed made of sautéed onions! For some spots in the Schoenberg “Five Pieces”, op. 16 — the movement called “Reflections in the Lake” where no attacks are called for, I use a mute. Avery Fisher Hall is very live . . . so I use a heavy piece of black cloth, through which the bocal is inserted, leaving it to drape down over the instrument. Sticking something in the bell really doesn’t mute very much unless you’re playing a lot of low notes, and I find that kind of muting sometimes causes me to miss an attack because it changes the resistance. The cloth kind of mute dampens the sound, because of course, the sound comes out of the holes all over the instrument.

DS It must look pretty exotic . . . like a black veil over the instrument. . .

TS Well it happened to be around Halloween. .

DS Do you gouge your own cane?. . . to change the subject a little . . .

TS Yes. It gives me greater control and consistency. I always have better results if I do every step of the reed-making process myself. I use an old Sassenberg machine I bought some years ago from Otto Eifert . . . it’s not a sophisticated one with tons of adjustments and I reshaped the blade myself. I don’t make seasonal adjustments in the gouge, although I did make a slight adjustment after Avery Fisher Hall was renovated. The “new” hall requires slightly more sensitive playing than the older version. My gouge measurements are .75-.60 . . . although I have gone as high as .80. “Bought” cane seems to fall off slightly faster– in other words the arch converges sooner causing lighter sides.

I think one’s chances of getting good quality English horn cane are better than getting good oboe cane because there’s so much less demand for E.H. cane. I like a rather wide shape . . . the width at the tip is 8.45 mm.

I’m in the process of developing a better shaper for oboe d’amore . . . so much of the playing which I hear on that instrument sounds like something from the Gong Show, but I think that it can be played as well as any member of the family. I think that it should sound like the mezzo-soprano of the family, not a castrato! Most of the commercial oboe d ‘amore shapes I see are too narrow, especially in the belly. That gives the sound some of those peculiar whiny characteristics.

DS Do you advocate wire on English horn reeds?

TS I use wire on every English horn reed. Also on d’amore reeds. The wire stabilizes the reed, and it should be very close to the tube, 3 to 4 mm above the wrapping. Many English horn players place the wire too close to the playing end of the reed. It chokes the sound when it’s out there. Knowing just how tight it should be can be a problem too. It should be firmly around the reed, but not so that it’s indenting the cane. The wire I use is called “Anchor Galvanized 28 one ounce” from a hardware store. I always slip the blades of the reeds too in the style advocated in the Hedricks’ book. Perhaps this is why my reeds never leak, and so I never use fishskin.

DS You spend the great majority of your time playing the English horn. Do you think it’s possible to maintain a high level of oboe playing at the same time?

TS I think so, if one practices accordingly. It happens that if one does a great deal of English horn playing one can lose some sensitivity for the oboe, but this can be regained by conditioning.

DS Do you play the oboe a lot in the course of your particular job?

TS No. I wouldn’t have to. But fortunately, in the Philharmonic we have a section that gets along very well together, so we help each other out some. If for instance I go away for a guest appearance, someone plays the English horn for me, and then I reciprocate with some oboe playing. I also don’t contractually have to play the oboe d’amore but sometimes I choose to. Ron Roseman and I did “Brandenburg 1 ” together and it was fun to work out the ornaments and a good blend of sounds. Doubling is another matter; I think it’s mostly a waste and seems more important for looks than sound. Occasionally in a big work it might be important for relief purposes. Fortunately, Mr. Mehta is not much of a believer in it.

DS You mentioned the “Brandenburg”. I assume you enjoy baroque music.

TS Oh yes. If I may be pretentious enough to call myself a specialist, my specialties would be baroque music and modern music.

DS Have you experimented with playing actual antique instruments, or replicas? Baroque oboes or English horns?

TS I guess you could say I’ve experimented, but I’ve never performed on the old instruments. The idea of learning to play them well really doesn’t intrigue me presently, I seem to have enough to do as it is!

DS Some English horn players have expressed a concern to me about the repertoire, and its specialized nature in the orchestra. It implies certain periods in the season where they won’t have to play the English horn at all, and then all of a sudden there’s a very important solo to deal with . . . sort of like psychological peaks and valleys, as opposed to the more steady character of the exposure a first oboist, for example, learns to handle. Is this a concern of yours?

TS It might very well be a concern of some English horn players, but it’s surely not a concern of mine. The New York Philharmonic plays over 200 concerts a year — that’s in 45 weeks, and I guess we have one of the biggest repertoires of any orchestra, so I find that I don’t have much time off.

DS So your orchestra doesn’t do too many Beethoven or Schubert festivals?

TS No, unfortunately! So I’m playing most of the time. If there are psychological problems inherent in this situation I guess I’m conditioned to them. After all, art shouldn’t be considered quantitatively. And along these lines, I like to play concertos with the orchestra a lot . . . (it’s a hell of a lot easier than playing in the orchestra!) While the psychological pressure of this kind of exposure can be hard on some people, I like it very much, if I’m well prepared. I think it’s good that woodwind concertos are seemingly done more and more here.

DS What are your favorite orchestral solos?

TS I must say I enjoy the Berlioz works, the “Damnation of Faust” especially.

I’ve gotten away from a subject before I intended to. Speaking again of deficiencies as we were, another is that often players can’t play softly with an intriguing sound. When they make a diminuendo, the sound is often just soft. Not soft and beautiful, soft and intriguing. This happens because the dynamic is controlled in the wrong way. I feel dynamics must be controlled by the amount of padding on the vibrating surface . . . the amount of lips on the reed. The support must be kept the same through the diminuendo to maintain the character and interest in the sound.

DS So you make the adjustment for diminuendos where?

TS With the lips. By converging the embouchure in a circular fashion on the reed so there’s more padding on the vibrating surface.

DS Do you feel any change in the shaping of the inside of your mouth?

TS No, not ideally. I’ve observed that when players–sometimes even very fine ones– have difficulties making a diminuendo using vibrato such as the one at the end of the Beethoven 5th cadenza — even the most pedestrian member of the audience can detect this problem. If the air velocity is not maintained, the resultant problems are myriad.

Advanced students often come to me, and in a matter of a few minutes, I can get them playing with a faster air stream and everything is better. They don’t have to take breaths as often, and they get rid of that horrible old-fashioned habit of having to have places marked in the music where they stop and let out some air. Use enough air to begin with –have a Cadillac engine–use enough gas all the time and maybe you won’t have to stop to let it out!

DS What do you think of the idea– I’m not sure whose it is–of the sensation of having a ping-pong ball in your mouth?

TS I always say a grapefruit! Maybe that’s the difference between oboe and English horn! I advocate the idea of maximum space in the mouth having the tongue down, with its tip close to the tip of the reed, for efficient tonguing.

DS May I ask you some questions now in line with something we touched on earlier — how you were able to help a student by making suggestions about bocals, reed styles, and so forth? About instruments, I know from our long association that you are not a user of French-made instruments as a general rule. Do you want to comment on your choice of instruments, and what to advocate for students? Is it a matter of what works well for you?

TS For my own playing, I very much prefer Laubin instruments. I bought my first Laubin oboe while I was at the Eastman School and have used them almost exclusively, except for a short time when I experimented with Gordet instruments, which didn’t work out, and I do own a Loree oboe d’amore. I especially prefer the Laubin English horns, because they’re ME! However, I surely believe one can find a fine Loree English horn.

I suppose the difference in makes of instruments always comes down to preferences in sound. I must say a Laubin bocal has improved almost every instrument I’ve seen.

DS Some advice for young English horn players of the dollars and cents variety. You use No. 2 Laubin bocals; is that a standard choice because it’s “middle of the road”?– or are stability and tone quality characteristics distinctly superior?

TS I’m not the “Middle of the Road” type on anything. Yes to part two.

DS What about the player who finds himself/ herself in an orchestral situation where the pitch is on the “up” side. Is a shorter bocal the answer?

TS Could be, but a No. 1 bocal is fairly rare. Most are 2 and 3 lengths. By playing with a slightly shorter reed, one can play pretty high using a No. 2.

DS What reed length do you advocate?

TS I use reeds that are between 55 and 57.

DS What about the problem of sagging C’s?

TS For instance at the end of the Fantastic Symphony Solo? I find that this is almost always a bocal problem but having the C tuned too low and/or the C key not raising high enough will exacerbate this problem.

Also the reed tube should go securely home on the bocal–its actually a continuation of the bocal. The reed should go on the bocal about 10 mm. There should be no leakage at this juncture. If English horn players try to play with a leak here, it’s like having one of the octave keys slightly open. I use a short piece of dental tubing on the bocal and slide the reed under it at this point. But one may use aquarium tubing, or wrap this juncture with damp cigarette paper or fishskin .

Additionally, this will also help keep the reed where it belongs on the bocal instead of accidentally coming off in your mouth. Another insurance against that happening is when you tie up an English horn reed, after tying the knot at the bottom, leave enough string to rewrap back up to the top, leaving spacings of about 4 mms. This gives you a grip on the reed, especially good if your hands are wet during performance.

I also wanted to mention a concern over the note A-flat on the first leger line. It’s often flat and is also usually a bocal correction. That seems to have been an age-old problem with the English horn; you no doubt know the old fingering charts advocated starting to use the second octave key on the note A-flat.

DS For particularly long solos, such as the “Swan of Tuonela” or the one in the Shostakovich 8th symphony, is it? or the slow movement of the Ravel G major concerto, do you make reed adjustments, or are these parts of the repertoire no special concern to someone who’s in good form?

TS I never think about endurance, but of course I play almost constantly. I know some players who feel they must “build up” toward certain solos, but I don’t. Perhaps physical differences account for some of that. An exception for me is the second movement of the Bach oboe d’amore concerto, which I frequently play. I find, if I’ve been doing my running, and not procrastinating about that, and if I’ve lost a little weight and been laying off too many Negronis, it helps, because, as we know, if you get the breathing going in the wrong places in that movement, it’s disastersville for the music! I would never make reed adjustments for the solos which you mentioned.

For younger students, I recommend that they practice for more, shorter time periods, such as 15 minutes in the morning, 15 minutes in the afternoon and 15 minutes after dinner, as a means of building up the musculature around the embouchure. This may sound like short periods of time to many, but I mean the physically/musically aware kind of attentive practice.

DS Do you practice much with the tape recorder?

TS I’m a believer in it. For a while I tried to record a short piece of Bach every day, and that is VERY revealing. I think that kind of practice can be very valuable for what the tape recorder tells you musically; one can’t get overly concerned about the quality of sound . . . too many variables, room sound, microphone . . . young students often get very upset about the sound when they listen back to themselves . . . but if they listen primarily for the communication, the phrasing, in that way the recorder is indeed the truth machine! I also recommend using other electronic devices, the metronome and the strobe tuner.

DS OK Tell me this . . . what’s different about the English horn? What does the oboist need to rethink, to do differently when he or she decides to play the English horn? Does the English horn really need to be treated uniquely? Are there special problems, special demands on the player?

TS That’s a very good question. There are times that I think it’s treated TOO uniquely. I myself apply the same principles of playing to the three instruments.

DS Back to your solo playing. I believe that you do more of that than almost anyone. I know the literature isn’t a large one–even the oboe solo literature isn’t overburdened with masterpieces. Which concertos do you find yourself playing most? Which do you really enjoy?

TS I really like the new Persichetti concerto. That was commissioned for me as you know, and it will be recorded, hopefully, and I hope to be playing it some at the international festivals in Europe in 1980 with the Philharmonic. (I also like Persichetti’s little unaccompanied piece, Parable.) The enlargement of our repertory is one of my pet missions. In a really unselfish way, I try to make English horn playing better, and a bigger literature would help that. For instance as I told you I couldn’t resist the other night asking Messaien to write something for English horn and organ, (Zubin Mehta acted as translator!) and the other day in Juilliard I rode three floors on an elevator with David Diamond and asked him to do a sonata. I like the Hindemith sonata, even though many people do not, perhaps because it’s rather a severe piece, as you observed, and because many times it’s not played well. I’m not sure the tempo markings are really what they should be . . . I rather like the piece Syd Hodkinson wrote, for me, The Edge Of The Olde One, for electrified English horn, which I premiered here with Boulez. I’m scheduled to play it on a recital at Eastman in April, with their “Musica Nova”; it’s an ideal place to do it because they have all the necessary electronic gizmos, and they’re eager to hear it there. The other concertos I mostly play are oboe d’amore concertos. I’m especially fond of the Telemann A Major concerto which I’ll do with the Philharmonic this summer. And I like the Bach concerto very much. The English horn solos in the orchestra repertory seems to have whetted the appetite of the listener for more of this sound. And with seasons being longer, I think managements now like to present something a little different from the usual piano, violin or cello soloist. This makes me think of stage presence for the woodwind soloist. When I play solos I use a long black swab that goes all the way through the instrument. It’s so obnoxious-looking to the audience to have to take the instrument apart, get a feather out, all that mechanical commotion between the movements. Don’t swab if it isn’t necessary. Of course, sometimes you’re trying to gain a little time for yourself; but the overall effect is not good. When I’m soloist I never play a tuning note–I never play one note on stage before the first note of the piece. Thankfully, I was taught at the Eastman School how to bow–how to show the top of one’s head in bowing.

DS Tell me something about your plans for the future.

TS The Philharmonic has commissioned an oboe d ‘amore concerto for me, and I’m really excited about that.

DS Who ’s the composer?

TS Jon Deak, our associate principal bassist. It must certainly be the first concerto for this instrument since Telemann. It’ll be fun because I’ll be able to work closely with the composer; we get along very well together. And we see each other daily, so it’ll be convenient. It’s to be completed for the ‘80-’81 season.

I’m scheduled to play a recital in Rochester on April 10, which I think I mentioned earlier, and with the Orchestra Piccola in Baltimore for performances of Bach’s oboe d’amore concerto on April 15 and 16 and with the Philharmonia Virtuosi of New York on May 4. And the Telemann performance on May 13 with the Philharmonic under Neville Marriner. On January 28th I ‘m doing a recital in Wilton, Connecticut in which I play all three instruments. This recital will also include a premiere of a new work for English horn and harpsichord being written for me by Braxton Blake, a young composer at Eastman. My long over-due book, SOLOS FOR THE ENGLISH HORN PLAYER, from G. Schirmer, should be out any day now. I’m working on another studies book now, but heaven only knows when I’ll get to finish it. SOME VERY EXCITING future plans are for the First Annual International English horn Seminar with Thomas Stacy at Ithaca College this summer for one week, starting July 9th. Peter Hedrick is helping organize this project and will be its administrator. Paul Laubin will be on hand as special instrument consultant.

DS Back to some technical questions. Many English horn players feel the need for extra fingerings for the high register. Do you use them?

TS No, I don’t feel the need for them; they can actually be a hangup and I almost never use them. Not even the high C in the “New World” solo, which I finger normally. I think that note is more resonant without the auxiliary fingerings. I use harmonic sounds fairly freely if I think they sound appropriate, extensively in the Persichetti concerto. It can be good to occasionally add extra fingers as an aid to slurring.

DS Does someone like you, with your busy schedule of rehearsals and concerts, still feel the need for a steady routine of practice?

TS I can — and have — played without practicing, but I’m more comfortable with my own playing if I practice. It’s a security builder and I enjoy practicing. I actually have a written-out routine of practice, to help myself mentally reorient around certain tenets of good playing. I very rarely practice the orchestral literature, but I do think about the literature. Sometimes I feel more thinking, less just playing through, is probably more fructiferous.

DS Do you teach circular breathing?

TS Yes I certainly do, and there’s no special “glass-blower’s” mystique about it. I find most of my students can learn it in about five minutes. First of all I have them work with the reed alone, having them blow on the reed while pushing the air out of their cheeks with their hands, and while they’re doing that and concentrating on it, I have them take a breath through the nose. So all they have to think about is taking a breath and pushing the cheeks with the hands. You can even go another step and have another person actually push the student’s cheeks while they’re playing the instrument. (Sounds obscene, doesn’t it!) I find the technique useful in my own playing. I do not use it in the “Swan of Tuonela” for instance, because I can hear it a little and that bothers me, but in certain situations, such as on a trill, it works just fine. There is always a slight change in the sound where the depth of the support changes for just an instant.

DS In the 12/8 Barret Grand Etude in G Major with rising sixteenth notes and descending eighths, do you concern yourself with a different articulation style in each direction? In your teaching in general, do you concern yourself with physical sensations in situations like this.?

TS I feel strongly about analyzing the physical sensations and their results. After all, one doesn’t need a teacher to tell them that it SHOULD sound good, but rather HOW to achieve that end. I’m all for breaking down the technical parts of playing and reed making! I teach vibrato, for instance, in great detail, and perhaps one of the things I do with the vibrato that’s different is that I don’t advocate working on vibrato with the metronome. I find once that’s practiced a great deal, the vibrato maintains that metronomic quality. However vibrato should be even in width and “height” and in intensity — what I would term a “diaphragm intensity vibrato”. I start the student out making pulses in the sound with kicks from the diaphragm activated by the lower muscles. I think as the vibrato becomes faster — as the pulses become closer together . . . that it works up in the body and is not so obviously activated from the diaphragm. The main thing I try to achieve in beginning vibrato teaching is evenness . . . I draw a diagram . . . the vibrato should look like this.

When one plays with vibrato for a pitch machine, I don’t think the vibrato should be very visually obvious.

DS I don’t want to get you away from your train of thought, but something you said intrigues me, and that is that as the kicks in the diaphragm, the pulses, become faster, the sensation works up in the body. Do you feel that you can actually see motions in the diaphragmatic area, the abdominal area, when a person is producing a good vibrato? Is this desirable?

TS Yes, a slight movement . . . I’m opposed to a throat vibrato or any other kind of vibrato, OTHER THAN DIAPHRAGM.

DS Do you feel any sensation–pulsation–in your throat?

TS No, I think the throat should be entirely passive.

DS Would I be misinterpreting if I suggested that by your use of the word “passive” some pulsation could be taking place without your wanting it to, but that it happens as a natural phenomenon?

TS I mean that the throat doesn’t do anything, except to act as a passageway for the air.

DS Some of the oboists I admire most speak quite freely of their use of the throat vibrato and their teaching of it. From what you’ve said so far, am I right in saying that you are completely opposed to the idea?

TS Very definitely. The trouble with most throat vibratos I’ve heard is that they’re too fast, and playing where we do, in big, live halls, you might as well not bother with that. Remember the reverb time in a good hall is about 2′.6″ so this has an effect on the vibrato, and if you play a long tone, out front you are in effect getting sound-on-sound. If the waves of the vibrato are too fast, you don’t hear any vibrato at all. I think vibrato can be overdone to the slow side–it’s one of the parts of playing that SHOULD be overdone for the audience, as an actor overdoes his makeup. I’ve never heard a slow enough throat vibrato; I don’t know if it can’t be produced slowly enough, or if that’s just the taste of the player. The diaphragm vibrato gives a warmth to the sound which is easy to maintain across the intervals and enhances that sonorous sound we spoke of that I feel must reach the audience immediately. I’m not for varying the speed of the vibrato relative to where the notes fall–the range–for high notes I advocate playing the same speed as for low notes. I do feel that this type of vibrato has enough flexibility to suit anyone’s tastes. What I like about it so much is that there’s actually a physical awareness of the vibrato integrated into the blowing. It really all goes together. Teaching the vibrato to a youngster produces good results in several areas–everything seems better! The support becomes more constant, the throat is more open (more passive), and everything blooms–that’s why I believe in teaching vibrato to young students. Also, many of the players whom I hear using the throat vibrato cannot make an attractive decrescendo, using vibrato, without the pitch changing.

DS Do you feel your vibrato succeeds or fails depending on the character of the reed?

TS That’s a good question. There is a relationship there. It has to do with the reed’s opening. It must be large enough to accommodate the variance of the air stream caused by the kicks from the diaphragm . . . sometimes a student’s vibrato will be inhibited by the reed’s having too small an opening.

DS What about rosewood English horns?

TS I find them generally light in sound, and of course weight.

DS Speaking of weight, do you use a neck strap ?

TS No.

DS Can I come back to our Barret “Grand Etude”, and ask you how you teach your students a concept of articulation style for the detached eighth notes?

TS Their length must be just right; I find if those particular notes are too short they sound ugly. Of course this is related to the way the notes are ended- I find more students have trouble ending notes skillfully than they do beginning them! The support must be kept constant, as though those eighth notes were to be slurred, and then simply interrupt with the tongue to produce the duration of sound you want. I use the tongue to end the eighth notes, even at a slow speed.

DS Would you agree with me, that in general, shortness has a lot to do with the way the note ends and not the way it begins?

TS I think the production of a note is the same whether it’s a staccato note or a legato note. The only thing different of course is the length . . . the start should sound exactly the same. I think there’s no such thing as a “hard attack–soft attack”, “legato tonguing” is a bunch of bull.

DS Would you say that one efficient tongue stroke should serve you for most every musical situation?

TS Yes. I feel there’s no other way to think about articulation then starting and stopping notes with the tongue.

DS Thank you for giving us your candid views and ideas in this conversation.

TS Thank you for asking me to give them! I hope that I have been articulate in expressing some of my thoughts and that they might be of some practical use to someone out there. (I can well remember how it was to grow up in a small town in Arkansas where there was no oboe teacher readily available.) I feel that this publication should be used for exchange of ideas, and in doing so further our art.]

COOPER’S NOTE: Notice this phrase: “I really like the new Persichetti concerto. That was commissioned for me as you know, and it will be recorded, hopefully, and I hope to be playing it some at the international festivals in Europe in 1980 with the Philharmonic.” Hence, one can probably assume this interview was done somewhere around 1979 or even a bit earlier. i.e., before I was born.

Perhaps a Preview to the Tabuteau Book?

Found this IDRS archive written by Laila Storch. There’s a brief introduction written by the editor at the time, perhaps Daniel Stolper. At the very bottom of the page it says “Most recently she (Laila Storch) has made two tours with Soni Ventorum for the State Department to South America in 1972 and 1973.” We can assume then that this archive was probably written close to 30 years ago! Is it possible that the Tabuteau book has been in motion for the past 30 years?

Editor’s Note - One of my most serious responsibilities as editor of this journal is to bring to the present generation an understanding of the important contributions of those oboists who are no longer active. The very name Marcel Tabuteau has become a legend, and in discussing the idea of a memoir devoted to him with two of his most distinguished students, John deLancie and John Mack, the name of Laila Storch occurred to both of them; not only was she a Tabuteau student but she was also a close personal friend. Her professional duties at the University of Washington are demanding but she graciously consented to consider this project, and in a recent letter she related this touching incident: “When I visited Madame Tabuteau last summer near Paris, I mentioned this project to her and expressed my feeling of inadequacy to get across a real picture of Tabuteau. She was paralyzed and barely able to speak, but when I asked her if she thought I should do it, she spoke a long and emphatic ‘Out’ (typo, probably “Oui” as in “Yes” in French). You can imagine this made me feel even more responsibility . . . and only a couple of weeks after my return from South America, Madame Tabuteau died. This, added to the realization that it is twenty years in February that he left the Philadelphia Orchestra, has made me feel an even greater urgency to keep the promise. ” I know you will share my pleasure in Miss Storch’s memoir; I hope other Tabuteau students will want to follow her example.

John Minsker

In case you missed this article with John Minsker, it’s a lot of fun to read.

Highlights of Richard Woodham’s Tribute to John de Lancie, VERY IMPORTANT READ

    “The oboe curriculum at Curtis consisted almost entirely of etudes, long tones, slow scales and arpeggios and occasionally duets. Annually there was an oboe recital in which each student would perform one or two solo pieces, and after our first year or two of study we were allowed to accept professional engagements outside the school, provided that we kept up our studies satisfactorily and didn’t create conflicts with our school obligations…”

“Mr. de Lancie began my first lesson by playing on is oboe and reed a low D natural of seemingly endless duration that began with a clearly enunciated whisper, developed to a deep, sonorous fortissimo with no distortion of tone quality, and then gradually diminished in a perfectly modulated way so that the actual ending of the note was virtually inaudible. (I suggest that any oboist reading this article who feels the need for a lesson in humility soak up a reed and try this at home!)
This demonstration was a revelation to me, a revelation that one note could carry so much power, life and meaning; I was accustomed as most hot-shot young kids are to trying to play the maximum number of notes in the shortest period of time! I quickly deduced the following imperatives: that one must develop a prolonged sostenuto with one’s air, have a clean and reliable attack in the low register, develop a real dynamic range that is not a mere illusion created by raising and lowering the instrument, and be able to create the tool helping one to do all of this, a vibrant and flexible reed. So many of the basic challenges of mastering the oboe were defined for me in the first note of my first lesson—Mr. de Lancie flung down the gauntlet in an unforgettable manner. Needless to say, I’ve been working at these things ever since. These skills are particularly valuable in orchestral playing, where an artistic player can make a one note solo say a lot.”

“We then went on to the first Barret melody where he explained how the use of the “speed of the wind” applied to musical phrasing by creating motion suggested by the underlying harmonic tension and relaxation defined by the bass line and by the melodic shape and structure of the music. In a variant of the dictum of “putting the notes on the wind,” he said I must learn to “play between the notes” to achieve a true legato and compelling musical line, and demonstrated with a slow scale where all the notes were perfectly conjoined and matching in timbre. He urged that scales be practiced slowly, with an increase in intensity and volume as one ascends, to counteract the natural inclination of the oboe to be loud down low and weak in the high notes.”

“During my course of study, nearly every prepared etude had to be transposed either up or down a halfstep or whole step after having been learned in the original key. I believe that this tradition came from a custom necessary to learn in order to play in opera in earlier days, to accommodate singers. Today it has little professional use, but I believe that it is invaluable, like solfege, in developing the ear and musical concentration. It also encourages evenness of sonority, good intonation, and reliable technique.”

“Oboe students may be surprised to learn that in my course of study I never played a single note of an excerpt or concerto for my teacher. Yet, I felt that I was taught a sufficient command of the instrument, and a thorough enough understanding of musical expression, to be able to play a great deal of music convincingly even at sight. “

“Because I was not taught someone else’s exact interpretation of four or eight bars of music I am eternally grateful to have been given the tools by Mr. de Lancie to “Do my own thing,” so to speak, for the music. I am still very reluctant to use, in teaching, orchestral music or solo music to address fundamental instrumental or musical deficiencies and don’t like to belabor great music by endless repetition until it begins to lose its flavor and non-verbal meaning. From Mr. de Lancie I gained the sense that music is a living Art subject to re-thinking and reinterpretation, and, for any player, this perspective is essential to maintaining life in one’s playing.
Although he was an interpreter of deep conviction, Mr. de Lancie told me that he frequently changed his interpretations, if he felt so inclined, after some thought.”

“…But for now, I hope that this tribute to my teacher will inspire those who choose to pursue the oboe, and will serve to acknowledge to him my deep appreciation for his efforts.
Because of him, I will try to retain my dream, and all that it suggests, for as long as I play music on the oboe, and I am grateful for having had a teacher who gave me a sense of the limitless wonder of music and its beautiful, unanswerable questions in addition to all the answers that have served me so well. “

Richard Woodhams, principal oboe of the Philadelphia Orchestra wrote a tribute after his teacher, John de Lancie passed away. I think one of the most important notes about the tribute is the emphasis on the basics: long tones, Barret melodies (transposed), other basic concepts. It’s interesting that he never worked on a concerto or excerpts.

Bio of Richard Woodhams (taken from Philadelphia Orchestra website)

Since his appointment by Eugene Ormandy as principal oboe of The Philadelphia Orchestra in 1977, Richard Woodhams has earned a reputation as being among the world’s foremost oboists.  He studied at the Curtis Institute of Music with the late John de Lancie, Mr. Woodhams’s distinguished predecessor in the Orchestra and former director of that school.

Mr. Woodhams has appeared as soloist on numerous occasions throughout the United States in a variety of repertoire. He has performed and recorded Richard Strauss’s Oboe Concerto with Wolfgang Sawallisch, and has also recorded two concertos by the 18th-century astronomer, composer, and oboist William Herschel with Philadelphia’s Mozart Orchestra. Mr. Woodhams gave the United States premiere of Helios, an oboe concerto by Thea Musgrave, with Philadelphia’s Orchestra 2001, and the world premiere of Bernard Rands’s Concertino with the Network for New Music.  He has also appeared with pianists Christoph Eschenbach, André Watts, and Emanuel Ax, violinist Itzhak Perlman, and the Guarneri, Tokyo, and Shanghai string quartets, among other notable musicians.  Most recently, he premiered chamber works by Ned Rorem, Ellen Taaffe Zwilich, and Chuck Holdeman, as well as a work for oboe and string quartet by William Bolcom with the Guarneri Quartet.  The Bolcom work was commissioned by the Chamber Music Society of Philadelphia.

Mr. Woodhams is a member of the faculties of Curtis and Temple University, where he teaches both the oboe and woodwind orchestral literature; many of his pupils occupy positions in prominent orchestras both in the United States and abroad.  He has received The Philadelphia Orchestra’s C. Hartman Kuhn Award, given to “a musician who has shown both musical ability and enterprise of such character as to enhance the musical standards and reputation of The Philadelphia Orchestra,” and also holds the Orchestra’s first endowed chair, funded by the Samuel S. Fels Foundation.

Mr. Woodhams also serves as principal oboe of the World Orchestra for Peace, founded by Sir Georg Solti in 1995, the 50th anniversary of the birthday of the United Nations.  Under its current music director, Valery Gergiev, he has performed recently in Europe, Russia, and the Far East.  In September 2007, he will participate for the second time as a judge in the International Oboe Competition of the Bavarian Radio. 

Born into a musical family in Palo Alto, California, Mr. Woodhams began his orchestral career as principal oboe of the Saint Louis Symphony, and he has also played temporarily in the same capacity with the Chicago Symphony and the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra. He is a regular participant in the Aspen and La Jolla music festivals, and was a soloist on The Philadelphia Orchestra’s 2005 spring tour of the Far East.  Mr. Woodhams is a resident of the Overbrook Farms section of Philadelphia.

Judith LeClair and Tom Stacy

These are 6 years old, but I just found them. They’re interesting.

Judith LeClair Interview

Tom Stacy Interview 

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.