EUBO

Following up to my previous post titled EUBO Auditions I thought I should mention that I did, in fact, get chosen as the sole bassoonist for the 2013 tours. The audition process was absolutely grueling and I have spent the past month waiting for the nostalgia to set in before writing anything about it.

EUBO auditions are held in two three-day batches in order to accommodate for the large number of hopefuls who come for a live audition. The total number of instrumentalists at Echternach, Luxembourg, (one of the orchestra's places of residence) this year numbered close to 100. Curiously, the instruments auditioned in April were strings, harpsichord, oboes, and bassoon, no trumpets, percussion, or plucked continuo (I say curiously, as those instruments appear on some of the tour rosters). It's no surprise to me that the trumpets and percussion were auditioned separately, seeing as though they wouldn't have gotten much out of the course (chamber music with natural trumpets? No thanks!) as the rest of us, but I was surprised there were no lutenists. Whatever.

For three days (an evening, two full days, and a morning) we played non-stop. Solo lessons, chamber music, orchestra rehearsals - you name it, we did it. And all throughout I had the distinct feeling of being watched - the orchestra's rehearsal hall had a balcony which was constantly manned by at least one observer plus a video camera. 

Preparing for an audition is always difficult, especially when you aren't given a clue as to what you will play until the day before you get there. All you can hope to do is keep calm, eat and sleep enough, and stay focused. After four hours of travel, we stepped into our first rehearsal and the nerves began to go. I remember checking my pulse whenever I had a moment in the vain attempt to slow my pounding heart. Luckily, we played bits from the 1st Orchestral suite - something Donna had suggested I prepare. After playing the second Bourree well, I think I managed to catch enough attention to put me on the radars of some of the observers. 

Cleverly, I had decided to wear a tie. Though a small gesture, two tutors approached me the following evening to tell me that they had noticed (I was the only one to do so during the second round of auditions). I'm sure they were pleased to see me in proper concert dress too during our informal chamber concert on the final morning. 

By the end of the weekend, naturally, I was exhausted. A shadow of myself, I managed to collect enough energy to buy a burger with some others, having been dumped at the train station following the concert, which kept me conscious for the rest of the afternoon. Surprisingly, most of the Baslers were bassoonists and it was nice to share the ride home with Giovanni and Nelly. Despite keeping in reasonably high spirits, it was hard not to feel utterly vanquished as I overanalyzed every moment of the previous three days. 

To my complete surprise, within two days it was announced to me that I had won the placement. It was baffling to me, considering the high number of applicants (10) and my poor performance (or so I thought) during the auditions. Maybe I hadn't been that bad after all? Or maybe it was something else. Looking back, not only had I dressed well (at times), I had displayed one or two acts of leadership (keeping track of rehearsal time and recommending not to take on another movement, stating a program order for the oboe band before any of us could lose track, etc.), and took directions well (I don't think the conductors ever heard me say more than, "Sure," or, "Cool, cool, cool."). Surely it was this display of my other qualities which helped tip the scales in my favour?

A Unique Opportunity

To me, a concert is an opportunity to shape discussion. I want my audience to talk about context, the performance itself, or how they felt during the event but absolutely not about my equipment. As early musicians, we seem to get carried away often enough about what is historical or not: instrument, pitch, temperament, etc., and we shouldn't allow that to bleed into the concert itself as it only invites unwanted judgement and discussion.

For example, last year I went to go watch the Ottawa Bach Choir perform a concert of early 17th century music (I think it was German?) accompanied by a great group of 17th century instrumentalists (cornets, sackbuts, dulcian, violin, organ, harp, etc.) who styled themselves 'La Rose des Vents'. The concert was very well performed, but it bothered me that the conductor, while giving a brief introduction, included that the ensemble was playing at a=465 in Valotti temperament. I gave a big snort while the rest of the audience seemed to 'ooh' and 'aah' as if they were somehow in the know. For those of you who didn't get that last bit, the temperament came about many, many years after the music was shelved. My point is that had this conundrum not been mentioned, I would have no story to tell! I remember this OBC concert over all the others that I have attended because of this tiny historical hiccup.

These hiccups happen all the time, they will always be there as we aren't living in the 17th century, but we must choose to put the emphasis on the performance. The harder we grasp at being how some would say 'authentic', the slipperier that bar of soap becomes. Playing a 17th century violin? It's a copy. Got an original now? It's been modernized. Got that fixed? It's German so you should shy away from playing Italian music if you know what's good for you. However much you are concerned about these things - to a certain extent I am too - don't allow an opportunity for these kinds of judgements to occur in the concert for it will only distract and/or detract one from the experience you're engineering. The simplest way to do that it to eliminate the 'authenticity' discussion completely.

It is understandable that many who come to see an historical performance don't know very much about the equipment we are using but ask yourself if your event is principally for educational purposes or artistic. The most grueling thing for me to watch is an ad-libbed description of one's instrument. Yes, maybe the audience has a better understanding of how it works, but will knowing that you are playing on gut strings make the performance of the Messiah that much more uplifting? Even in extreme cases, like krumhorns, I think it would be best just to mention that you're available to discuss the instrument during the interval or at the end - it adds an element of personal discovery within those interested and there's more time for entertainment. I am still perplexed why some presume that I came because I want to hear a musician speak extempore. No, I came to hear you play.

An Hypothetical Concert Introduction

Cicero wrote that there were three apparent goals which an orator must aspire to achieve in speaking: to instruct, to please, and to move the passions.

What you will listen to this evening comes from a time when two media were inextricably linked. Inspired by the writings of Cicero and Quintillian, musicians strived to model music from speech itself. Within decades their dialects had helped develop national musical styles. Since, of course, the swan cannot sing as the nightingale, his song will be his own. (Thoughts on that last sentence inter tubes?)

This special link is of great benefit to my peers and I, as we all speak and can use our understanding of the voice, and its proper use, to direct us to better comprehend the mechanics of our calling. Unfortunately, though we musicians use speech to transmit, we rarely use it as a source of comparison.

Thoughts and inspiration manifest in us through language and the passions which composers hoped to invoke in their audiences were definable. Unlike the music of later generations, this evening's entertainment is a true attempt at communication with its audience.

I hope that this evening sees you informed, pleased, and moved.

Je vous souhaite un bon concert.

Wietfeld Bassoon for Sale

For those of you who have been reading my baroque bassoon series, you may have noticed I have been collecting a number of instruments for myself. In order to finance my classical instrument, I have decided to sell my Orriols/Wietfeld instrument which you can see pictured below.

The instrument is available for trial in Basel. Contact me via the 'Contact Us' form or at andrew@theheckeler.ca.