The Technique Zone - Are you sitting comfortably?

The new year is traditionally a time for making resolutions, often with self-improvement in mind. It might be a promise to get fitter or to eat less chocolate, or maybe an assertion that you’ll practise more and improve your recorder playing. If you find yourself making the latter resolution every year this new series of blog posts is designed to help you. 

The Technique Zone will be an ongoing series devoted to different aspects of recorder technique. I don’t have all the answers, but hopefully my tips may help you to better understand what you could do to become a better player.

How to use this series

It’s easy when you’re filled with new year enthusiasm to promise yourself you’ll work on every aspect of your playing this year. After all, the elements of recorder playing – breathing, tone production, articulation, fingering etc. – are all interlinked. However, if you wish retain some sanity I would warn against this! Instead, take a few minutes to think about your playing. Which elements of technique do you find hardest? Be honest about your weaknesses. Pick one area to focus on and hone for a while before you then move on to tackle something else.

We all know how difficult it is to multitask. Trying to work on too many things at once brings a distinct danger of doing nothing really well. Instead, take time to really polish one aspect of your playing – your tone, for instance – to the point where the good habits you’ve learnt become second nature. At that point you can consider another area of your technique, safe in the knowledge that you’ll maintain the good habits you’ve already built up while learning something new.

Alongside the Technique Zone I plan to run another series of posts, devoted to the thorny issue of practising effectively and efficiently. But more on these in due course….

The subject of this first Technique Zone post will be posture and remaining relaxed while playing, so let’s get started….

Let’s warm up

Photograph by Zoltan Tasi

It’s easy to throw yourself into practising without a second thought, filled with enthusiasm to make immediate progress. Don’t neglect the process of warming up first though. A runner would never begin their training with a high speed sprint. Instead, they’ll start with a gentle jog to warm up. Likewise, a gymnast or ballet dancer will do some stretches to limber up their muscles, ready for the demands they’ll make of their bodies. Even cats stretch when they wake up - they must instinctively know it’s good for their wellbeing!

Playing a musical instrument may not seem quite as physical as running a marathon or dancing a jive, but its repetitive nature can be equally damaging over long periods. It’s easy to get caught up in the music you’re practising and before you know it an hour has gone by, leaving you feeling tired and stiff. Instead, take a few minutes before you begin to stretch, making sure the key muscles you need are warm and relaxed. Tension is one of your biggest enemies and you’ll always play better when you’re relaxed.

An excellent resource for this is a sheet of warm ups published by the British Association for Performing Arts Medicine. Why not print a copy to keep in your recorder case for reference?

Before I move on to talk about posture, can I also urge you to take regular breaks whenever you’re playing. This is important whether you’re practising alone at home or playing with others. Sitting still for too long takes a huge toll on our bodies. It’s important to get up, walk around and stretch for a few minutes every half hour or so. Your body will thank you and your concentration levels will benefit too.

Are you sitting comfortably?

Most of us do much of our playing sitting down, especially when rehearsing with others. If you generally sit to practise I encourage you to sometimes ditch the chair and stand for a while if you can. Standing restricts your breathing less, encourages you to move more often, increases blood flow around the body and will help your concentration too. Give it a try. There’s no need to ban yourself from sitting entirely, but it’s good to change things up from time to time.

Having said all that, a lot of what I’m about to say is equally applicable whether you’re sitting or standing. But let’s take a moment to think about the part of our posture which does change when we sit – our lower body and legs.

Setting good foundations

If you’re sitting down, please stand up for a moment and consider your lower body posture. You don’t need a recorder for this – just your body and some self awareness. You might find it helpful to stand in front of a long mirror if you have one.

Stand as though you were about to play the recorder and look down at your feet. Are they close together or spread far apart? Move them into different positions and note the effect this has on your stability and balance. With your feet very close together your core muscles have to work harder to maintain your balance. Remember, you use these same core muscles to control your breathing, so you don’t want to overwork them.

Now move your feet a little further from each other – about hip width apart – and see how much more stable you feel. While you’re there, spread your feet even further apart and note the way your upper leg muscles then have to work harder.

While you’re standing, consider your knees. I know you don’t use your knees to play the recorder, but if you have them locked and stiff that makes your leg muscles work harder, increasing tension. Instead, keep them slightly soft so you’re not stiffly locked in position.

Please take a seat….

Now we’ve set the foundations, let’s sit down and consider the effect this has on our balance and posture.

When you play sitting down do you use the back rest of your seat? In many places recorder players meet to rehearse we’re provided with cheap, moulded plastic chairs. Heaven knows who such seats were designed for, but I’m pretty certain it wasn’t the human form! If you sit back in many of these chairs it’s almost impossible not to slouch. Instead I encourage you to sit forward a little on your seat. You don’t need to be perched on the edge, but leave a little fresh air between your back and the chair so you can use your body’s own balance mechanisms.

Now you’re sitting down, keep your feet about hip width apart and place them beneath your knees, so you have a right angle at both your knees and hips. Note how this gives you a feeling of stability and balance. Now try tucking your feet beneath your chair or stretching them languidly out in front of you. Both of these actions deprive you of balance, don’t they? Tucking your feet under your seat tips your upper body forwards, while stretching the legs throws you backwards. Either way, you have to engage your core muscles (the ones you’ll be using to breath and blow) much more to maintain an upright playing position.

Bring yourself back to that balanced position – feet beneath your knees, with right angles at knees and hips. Now gently rock your upper body back and forth a little, gradually reducing the movement until you come to rest in the centre. Think of the Weeble toys made for children from the 1970s and you’ll have an idea what I mean. If you’re of the wrong generation to recall Weebles you can see what I mean here!

When you reach the centre you’ve found your ischial tuberosities – your sitting bones. You’re now sitting in a balanced way, as nature intended. By doing this you minimise the work the muscles in your back and core need to do.

Let’s return to the back of your seat again for a moment. If you can sit back and use the backrest for gentle support while sitting well, that’s great, but remember this isn’t possible with all chair designs. I almost always sit forward on my seat while playing because doing so puts less strain on my body than fighting a badly designed chair. Don’t forget you can always relax back into the chair during rests!

If you’d like to see a visual demonstration of the ideas I’ve just talked about this short video may be helpful:

Find a balance between relaxation and sitting up straight

We’ve all been told at some point in our lives (often by parents or school teachers) to, “Sit up straight!” But just how straight should you be? If you actively try to straighten your back you’re almost certainly going to end up with tense, sore muscles after a while. Our spines have their own natural curves which we shouldn’t attempt to expunge. Instead, try a method often espoused by Alexander Technique teachers. Imagine a thread running right along your spine, through your head and out of the top of your crown. Feel this thread gently lifting you, so you feel taller, but without straining to do so. Sitting well should use as little effort as possible, while avoiding being so relaxed that you slouch!

Head up, chin in, shoulders down!

It’s very easy to get into bad habits with your upper body while playing the recorder. We naturally feel an instinct to reach for the mouthpiece, stretching our chin forward. When we get tired and tense our shoulders will rise and in moments of stress (such as that tricky bit with all the accidentals!) we forget to check our posture.

Use a mirror to observe the position of your shoulders when you’ve been playing for a while. Now roll them in a circular motion, back and forth, dropping your arms at your sides, so gravity pulls their weight gently downwards. Are your shoulders further from your earlobes than they were a few moments ago? I bet they are! While you’re here, are your shoulders back and inline with your body, allowing your shoulder blades to form a V shape? Or maybe they’re rounded and pulled forwards. If you’re not sure, try rolling them forwards and see how much more strain that puts on your upper back muscles. A physiotherapist who used to treat my back would often say, “Shoulders back, boobs out!” to remind me to maintain good upper body posture. Now I realise this phrase only works for 50% of the population, but gents can try “shoulders back, chest out” instead!

Finally, think about the position of your chin. We spend too much of our lives today with our heads down over computers and mobile phones, often sticking our chins forward. The average human head weighs 5 kilos, so sitting with your head stretched forward puts enormous strain on your neck, often resulting in tension and headaches. As someone who has an unusually flexible spine and neck I’m frequently painfully aware of this fact because my natural vulnerability to overextension.

Try instead to tuck your chin in and keep your head lifted rather than bent forward. Doing this not only allows a freer path for the air passing through your windway when playing your recorder, but also helps you avoid tension headaches and knots in your neck and shoulder muscles. It may be you need to lift your music stand a little higher to encourage a healthy head position when playing, although I’m aware this can cause problems seeing the music with certain types of glasses.

Next time you play your recorders, try to be more aware of your head, chin and shoulders, focusing on keeping your chin tucked in, shoulders low and relaxed. Most importantly, make sure you always bring the recorder’s mouthpiece to you, rather than stretching your body towards it. This is particularly important for bass recorders and larger.

Knick basses or those with crooks have lots of points of adjustment and don’t overlook the way you support the recorder either. A sling can be helpful in taking the weight of the instrument, but maybe try it slung diagonally across your body if it causes discomfort when hung around your neck. Another option is a spike attached to the bottom of your bass, so the floor takes the weight, rather than you. With bigger basses make sure your seat is at the right height to allow you to play comfortably without having to actively stretch to reach the mouthpiece.

Are you now sitting more comfortably?

All the tips I’ve shared with you today are things I’ve picked up during over forty years of playing, as I’ve learnt to be comfortable in my own body. None of them are groundbreaking concepts, but they are easily overlooked.

When music making is your passion it’s easy to get caught up in the moment, neglecting your physical wellbeing. We spend many hours of our lives making repetitive movements. This can be damaging, but it needn’t be if you simply think about what you’re doing a little more.

How to practise what you’ve learnt…

Practising good posture shouldn’t be something you only consider when playing your recorder. Instead, make a point of sitting really well for some time every single day. OK, there will be times when you just want to lounge languidly on the sofa, and that’s absolutely fine! But find moments in the day when you’re doing something simple (maybe while you’re eating breakfast or as you sit on the platform waiting for a train) and consciously check your posture. Find your ischial tuberosities, drop your shoulders, lift your head and take some deep, relaxed breaths. Doesn’t it feel marvellous?! Try to bring this habit into your practice time too. Maybe follow some deep, relaxed breathing with a few minutes of long notes or a simple folk tune where you can think about how you’re sitting without the distraction of other technical challenges.

Have you picked up other useful tips on maintaining good posture while playing? If so please do share them with us in the comments below so others can benefit too. I’d love these Technique Zone posts to become an interactive resource where we can all learn from each other. In the meantime, keep relaxed and tension-free and I’ll see you again soon in the Technique Zone! 

Knowing me, knowing you….

January year is a time when we look back at the old year to take stock, as well as looking ahead to the new year stretching out ahead of us. My musical activities over the last year came about because of the Covid-19 pandemic. While this wretched virus has done its best to wreak havoc, for me it’s had one huge upside - meeting you! Of course, I already knew some of you personally before this all started, but it’s been a huge pleasure to get to know new names and faces, through the gift of your emails, cards and letters. Of course, I do most of the talking in our ‘conversations’, writing to you every 14 days. But I really look forward to finding your side of the conversation waiting for me in my email inbox. It’s been a joy to meet some of you in person and I’ve made so many new friends - thank you.

To start the new year I thought we’d continue the spirit of getting to know each other. Much of what you’ve learnt about me so far has been about my current musical life, so I figured I could share some more of my backstory, musical and otherwise. Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a full autobiography, but merely a few (hopefully) interesting and sometimes quirky glimpses into my life. I’d love to learn more about you too, so please do read to the end and get in touch.

Where it all started…

I grew up in West Sussex, on the south coast of England and, aside from my college years, I remained there until we moved north to Essex in 2013. It’s ironic really – my parents moved to Sussex in the 1960s from Essex, and I’ve now followed my roots back again! It’s been a big adventure moving away from my home territory, and without it I’d probably still be teaching in schools and wouldn’t have met you!

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One of my favourite places in my home county of Sussex - the village of Bosham

My start on the recorder

Like many children of the 1970s I started playing the recorder with the rest of my class at primary school. I began at the age of seven, led by my teacher, Mrs Cureton, who I naturally assumed was an expert on the instrument. It was only when we met again many years later that she confessed she’d only been a couple of pages ahead of the class! When it came to shifting from descant to treble recorder, there weren’t enough treble recorders to go around, so I was entrusted with a sopranino instead. Now that was either a very foolhardy decision, or perhaps someone had realised I was the one least likely to make a screechy sound on this shrill instrument of torture!

My final year at primary school brought me the opportunity to play another instrument. I really wanted to play the flute, but the teacher was oversubscribed so I plumped for the clarinet instead. Moving to secondary school I continued to dabble with the recorder, playing in the school ensemble, but the clarinet had become my main instrument. It wasn’t until the 4th form when my music teacher, Mrs Lloyd, asked if I fancied taking a grade on the recorder as she was entering some of the other girls for exams. I thought, “Why not!” and started working on the pieces. This was the moment I saw the light and realised that not only was the recorder a ‘proper instrument’, I actually preferred it to the clarinet. From that moment I was completely hooked, and the rest, as they say, is history…

I never intended to be a professional musician

Through my school years I enjoyed music and loved the gang of friends I’d made through music making. But I never had any intention of being a professional musician. Naturally, school careers advisors warned against trying to make a living through music, so it simply never occurred to me that it was even a possibility. During the 1980s the WISE campaign (Women in Science and Engineering) was launched so I was encouraged to consider careers which followed that route. For a time I had ideas about becoming a physiotherapist or radiotherapist, but music continued to play a big part in my life. By the time I moved on to the local sixth form college I had decided to become a music librarian, hoping to work in this field with one of the big orchestras. Fortunately, my parents could see how much I enjoyed the practical element of music making, and they encouraged me to go to music college rather than following a purely academic music education at university.

My first wooden recorder came via an unexpected raffle win

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Sitting on my motorbike in my parents’ garden

At the tender age of thirteen I helped my Mum man one of the stands at an event organised by the local police to raise awareness of safety when riding bikes. The day included a raffle, so my Mum bought a ticket and put my name on it. You can imagine the conversation that evening when we got a phone call from the police asking to speak to me… It turned out I’d won first prize – a motorbike! I repaid Mum the fifty pence for the ticket and claimed my prize, which I couldn’t yet legally ride! With no use for the bike, we sold it and a couple of years later that cash paid for my first wooden recorder – a rosewood Moeck Rottenburgh treble. The recorder is well past its best these days, but it holds such happy memories I’ve never had the heart to part company with it.

Magic musical moments don’t always come where you expect them…

The most joyous experiences in music making are often the ones you don’t see coming, which leave you soaring on a cloud. Playing in an exciting concert can keep me awake for hours, on an adrenaline high. But sometimes those highs come when you’re least expecting them.

About a decade ago I conducted a playing day with the Suffolk branch of the Society of Recorder Players. We finished the day with Steve Marshall’s Sinfonietta No.2 – a piece for three equal choirs of recorders. It finishes slowly and quietly, and players often lose control, rushing the moment. On this occasion though the massed players (about 50 people) played an absolutely blinder, performing the final run through with enormous poise and musicality. As we finished you could have heard a pin drop as the perfection of the moment sank in. It was one of those once in a lifetime experiences I know I’ll never replicate. As I drove home afterwards I recall grinning like a loon and it left me on a high for days!

I once gave a concert to 350 people and an eagle owl

Strange, but true! Anyone who lived in southern England in 1987 will no doubt have vivid memories of the great storm, which felled millions of trees and did enormous damage to homes and businesses. A wildlife centre near Chichester was damaged by the high winds and during the night an Eagle Owl escaped its enclosure. It subsequently spent many months living in the environs of Chichester Cathedral, feeding off vermin in the cathedral close.

One evening in February 1989, as the west doors opened after evensong, the owl flew into the Cathedral and refused to be captured by the vergers. By chance, the following day, I was due to give a recital there, so my audience of 350 was augmented by one more, of the feathered kind. Fortunately, Oswald (he was christened so as he’d flown in on the eve of St Oswald’s day) slept through the whole thing, perched in one of the arches above the lady chapel. One can only imagine the chaos that would have ensued if he’d chosen to exhibit his six foot wing span by flying down the nave mid-concert!

A few days later, he’d become hungry enough to be tempted down by a tasty morsel and was finally returned to his aviary at the sanctuary. Oswald’ adventure was subsequently immortalised in a children’s book by the actor and director Patrick Garland. I’ve since given several more concerts in Chichester Cathedral – all of them to even larger audiences, but sadly none of them had feathers!

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A more recent concert in Chichester Cathedral. A packed audience, but none with feathers or talons!

The adventures of a magazine cover girl

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I’ve had the honour of appearing on the cover of The Recorder Magazine not once, but twice. The first time came in 1993, when the magazine was relaunched by Peacock Press, just after I’d left college. The photographer Robert Carpenter Turner was tasked with the job of finding a photogenic recorder player to appear on the inaugural cover and somehow he found me!

Thirteen years later one of our crazier Parnassian Ensemble publicity photos took pride of place on the cover, to celebrate the release of our CD. The shot selected featured the four of us lying on the floor, with our feet up on the harpsichord and, because I was closest to the camera, my legs take centrestage! Needless to say, this isn’t a photo we use in our publicity much, but it was huge fun to create, as I think you can tell from our expressions!  

I’m a photo addict

If you’ve been a subscriber to Score Lines for a while you’ll already know I’m a keen photographer from the photos I share with you each week. However, you may not know the true extent of my photographic addiction…

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One of my most recent photos, taken in Peterborough Cathedral

Back in 2007 I started a blog as somewhere to share my photos. By the end of 2008 I was sharing at least one new photo every day and decided I’d keep doing that for a year. My training as a musician told me if I practised regularly I would improve. Why shouldn’t that also be the case with photography? Sure enough, after a year I was making better photos and was thoroughly hooked. I decided I’d miss my daily dose of photography if I stopped so I kept going…. for ten years!

In 2018 I decided the need to find a new photo every day was limiting me, so I took the decision to free myself of that requirement and just take photos when I wanted to. I still use my camera most days, even now, but I’m able to be more experimental, trying different styles, such as the pinhole photography I’ve sometimes shared with you in Score Lines. If I’ve learnt one thing from my photography addiction though, it’s the fact that regular practice really does make a difference, whatever skill it is you’re trying to acquire!

With a little help from my friends…

Music making is almost always a matter of teamwork and nowhere is that truer than when you’re making a recording. I’ve been involved in a few recording projects over the years, but there are two I’m especially proud of. In 2009 Steve Marshall persuaded me I really should record a CD and the result was Helen and Friends. Featuring a wide variety of music, from solo unaccompanied repertoire to consort pieces and a performance of Steve’s Concerto No.2, which he composed specially for me. Lots of my friends appear on the CD, including the Phoenix Recorder Orchestra. Here’s one of my favourite tracks from the CD for you to listen to straight away. There’s another track over in my Members’ Area for Score Lines subscribers to download and keep.

If you’re not already a member, why not subscribe to Score Lines here and you’ll receive immediate free access to my exclusive subscriber videos, sheet music and much more.

Encouraged by the experience of recording my own CD, when the Society of Recorder Players asked me to produce a CD of music in memory of Brian Bonsor I leapt at the chance. In collaboration with Brian’s widow, Mary, I chose a mix of his music then set about recruiting a handpicked ensemble of players who I knew could learn and record the music without needing vast amounts of rehearsal time. I’ll be forever grateful to the friends who agreed to take part in the Bravo Bonsor! project, for giving their time and talents so willingly. Musical teamwork at its best.

The need for speed

Over the months I’ve shared photos from a huge variety of places, but some of my favourite locations to shoot are places which are home to fast cars. I grew up watching motor racing with my parents, as well as attending events at the motor circuit at Goodwood. There’s nothing quite like the smell of the mineral oil used in old cars and the roar of an engine to get the heart beating that little bit faster!

Fortunately, Kevin is also a petrolhead so we love spending summer days attending car shows and race meetings with his beloved 1965 Mini. I adore old cars in particular and I have even been known occasionally to pass up the opportunity to play my recorder in favour of a weekend watching the action at the Goodwood Racing Revival!

Wheel to wheel action on track at Goodwood

Of course, speed doesn’t have to happen at ground level. Over the years Kevin’s love of old aircraft has also rubbed off on me. I relish the challenge of photographing them in flight, even if I can’t always remember their names. This May, as a belated celebration of a significant birthday we both had in 2021 we’ll be taking a ride in a North American Aviation Harvard, a WWII training aircraft, in the skies over Bedfordshire. Naturally, I’ll share a photo from the day with you after the event!

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The very aircraft Kevin and in which Kevin and I will be taking to the skies - named ‘Wacky Wabbit’!

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So now you know a little more about me – some of it musical, some of it not. Now it’s your turn… Why not get in touch to tell me something about yourself – it could be how you came to recorder playing, or maybe something completely unrelated to music.

While you’re there, do let me know what you’d like me to write about here on the Score Lines blog in 2022. I’ve got lots of ideas, but I’m always open to suggestions. At the moment I have some longer term themes in mind which I’ll cover over several posts, including technique tips, practice methods, repertoire and some interviews.

But what would you like to read about? You may have ideas I haven’t even considered yet? This blog is for you so the more information I have about you and the things you’d like to learn the better I can tailor it to your needs. All you need to do is leave a comment below, click reply to any issue of Score Lines or ping me a message via my contact page. I’m already looking forward to seeing my inbox contains next time I check…. 

Do you speak the same language as your conductor?

The guidance of a conductor can be immensely helpful, but how often do you really think about what the person standing in front of you is trying to convey through their gestures? I work with many ensembles and orchestras of differing standards and know only too well how my movements can make or break a performance. Of course, if the musicians I’m directing don’t understand my gestures I might as well be standing there waving semaphore flags!

In this week’s blog I share with you some of the secrets of the conducting world to help you get the best from the next conductor you work with.

Image created by Chenspec

Do all conductors do the same thing?

Up to a point, yes. However, it’s important to understand that not all groups of musicians have the same needs. An ensemble of inexperienced players will probably most value a clear beat to help them keep in time. But a professional orchestra is entirely capable to playing a vast array of repertoire without needing someone to keep them in line. For them, a conductor is the person who shapes the music to their own artistic vision. A regular beat is largely unnecessary, so instead they use different gestures to indicate their musical wishes. For instance take this performance from Mozart’s 40th Symphony by Sir Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic. He barely gives the beat, instead showing the direction and shape of the music in his gestures and facial expressions.

In my working life I adapt to suit the musicians I’m conducting at any moment in time. I’m very happy to be a musical coat hanger, on which inexperienced musicians hang their beats. Equally, it’s a joy to be freed of the need to beat time and to be able to offer gestures which show my musical intent.

When I first started conducting it was a relief if I could keep a regular beat, starting and stopping people successfully. Changes of tempo were scary because I had to know in advance how I would communicate them clearly. I often made mistakes. To anyone among my readers who saw some of my early, error strewn, efforts, I can only offer my apologies! Over time I gained confidence and was able to add other gestures to my repertoire, sharing more information. I now understand that if the musicians I’m directing don’t do my bidding it’s almost certainly because of a flaw in my communication skills, rather than in their playing. It’s a sobering thought and one that means I’m perpetually on a mission to improve.

How did I learn to conduct?

If you’ve ever felt even the slightest inclination to try conducting yourself you may be interested to hear the route I’ve taken to this point. I never expected to find myself here, and I like to think I’m proof that you don’t need to be a Simon Rattle to be a useful conductor. The path I’ve followed is open to anyone - if you fancy having a go you can start with baby steps and learn as you go. Amateur recorder groups often find themselves in need of a conductor and they’re mostly very understanding towards those who are brave enough to get up and have a go.

My earliest experience of conducting was through the ear tests which were part of my music grade exams at school. The requirements have changed a lot over the last three decades, but in my time one of the tests required the candidate to conduct along with a piece of music played by the examiner. This revealed whether you could determine the time signature of the music and certainly wasn’t designed to reveal future directors of the Berlin Philharmonic! Here I learnt how to beat 2, 3 and 4 time and it helped me better understand what the conductor of our school band was doing too.

During my music college years I had choral conducting lessons with a lovely chap called Stephen Jackson, who was director of the BBC Symphony Chorus for many years. I learnt a lot in theory but found the prospect of conducting my peers utterly terrifying. Stephen once told me I looked ‘scared witless’ as I attempted to direct part of Brahms’ German Requiem! In my last year as a student I was trusted to conduct an arrangement of my own with the recorder ensemble from the college’s junior department. This was a less scary prospect and with some encouraging advice from the ensemble’s tutor I began to enjoy the experience.

From there I gradually began working with groups on courses and conducting is now a major part of my working life. If you’d told me this would happen back in those choral conducting classes I’d have roared with laughter!

Learning is all about watching and stealing!

Aside from those terrifying conducting classes at college, I freely admit most of my conducting education has come from watching other conductors in action. At concerts I’m perpetually observing the gestures they use, noting which ones have the desired effect and which don’t. My conducting technique has shamelessly been stolen from conductors of recorder groups, orchestras, brass bands and choirs!

Even watching bad conductors can be educational. I find myself noting things that don’t work, or places where the musicians are playing well in spite of the conductor. A few years ago I recall watching a brass band competing in a contest in Yeovil. They gave a creditable performance, in spite of their director who conducted the entire piece at a forte dynamic. The band ignored this, playing quietly when required despite his misleading gestures.

Learn the language of conducting

Now you know a little more about my route into the world of conducting, let’s take a look at some of the things I do to help the musicians I coach. Remember, while there are some universal gestures, others are unique to individuals. The information I share with you here is my take on conducting. Next time you’re in a rehearsal take some time to observe what your conductor does. You may pick up some useful tips which are helpful for your playing and any conducting aspirations you may have!

To use a baton or go freehand

This is a very individual one. Orchestral conductors tend to use batons, while choral directors more often employ more flexible hand gestures. I tried a baton in my earlier years but always felt I had more flexibility and control without. The important thing is clarity and it’s entirely possible to be unclear with either method!

Right or left handed

Occasionally you’ll encounter a conductor who uses their left hand to impart the beat rather than the right. In fact, many years ago I conducted left handed for a while because of tendinitis in my right shoulder and I’m not sure anyone even noticed! Does it matter? Not at all. Most people aren’t distracted by a left handed beat, but do remember that the beating patterns will be a mirror image of those made by a right handed conductor.

Deciphering the patterns

One topic on which conductors tend to agree is beating patterns. In the following video I explain the most common patterns. I also cover some tips about the quality of the beats I give.

If you struggle to spend time watching the niceties of the various patterns while playing, there are two crucial landmarks to look out for - upbeats and downbeats. The first beat of any bar will go downwards, while the final beat (whether there are 2, 4 or 7 of them) will always go upwards. If you ensure you’re always on the first beat of your bar as the conductor’s hand descends you’ll immediately stand a better chance of being on the the right beat elsewhere in the bar!

Follow my leader

As Sir Thomas Beecham once facetiously said, “There are two golden rules for an orchestra: start together and finish together. The public doesn't give a damn what goes on in between.” OK, this is a gross oversimplification, but the way we start and finish music does matter.

As I show in the next clip, there are different ways to begin a piece of music. With less experienced groups I may conduct a whole bar to set them up with the tempo, while for more advanced musicians a single upbeat might be sufficient. As you’ll see, the quality of these introductory beats is very important to ensure a clean start.

Once I’ve got an ensemble going, another important part of my job is to ensure the various parts come in at the right time. No matter how good you are at counting bars rest, it’s reassuring to see a gesture from the conductor to confirm you’re coming back in at the right time. This won’t always be an extravagant gesture - sometimes even a moment of eye contact is enough. The important thing is for me to inspire confidence in my players, so I always try my hardest to be there in their hour of greatest need. That said, as a player, don’t always rely on your conductor to bring you in - your key entry may coincide with a moment when your conductor is fighting a fire elsewhere, managing another part which has gone off the rails!

Sometimes less is more

Over the years I’ve come to appreciate how powerful a conductor’s gestures can be. Perhaps an accent will be absent because I didn’t show it in my beat. Or maybe I’ll give an extraneous gesture which results in notes played where they shouldn’t be.

The example I always give to groups when explaining this idea is the following clip from a Christmas episode of Mr Bean. Rowan Atkinson may not be a professional conductor, but the responses of the brass quartet to Mr Bean’s movements are so well observed - and so funny too!

The following is an example from a piece I conducted just last week. The accompanying voices play chords, but irregularly on just one or two beats per bar. Initially I gave every beat equally and this resulted in notes being played in the rests. When I changed my approach, making more meaningful gestures (sometimes reinforced by the left hand) on just the beats where chords are written the result was more successful.

Below you’ll see the section I’m playing above, taken from Steve Marshall’s Variations on A Chantar. You can see the irregular accompaniment, with chords occurring in a different place in each bar.

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Variations on A Chantar by Steve Marshall

Conveying meaning in music

As well as showing the beat in my conducting, I’ll try to convey other information about the music, such as dynamics, articulation and phrasing, through my gestures, as I show in the following clip.

Preparation is key

If you read my blog post four weeks ago you’ll already know I’m a big fan of annotating music with a pencil. That’s especially true when I’m conducting, particularly if I’m to help others play to the best of their abilities. Score preparation is a personal thing, but for those of you who may find yourself one day conducting an ensemble it may be helpful to have a glimpse into my methods.

There are no hard and fast rules for marking up scores and my markings will depend entirely on the type of music and its level of complexity. But here are some of the things I frequently mark into my own music:

• To start with I’ll circle things which need my immediate attention, such as speed changes and I’ll figure out how I’m going to handle pauses. Sometimes (as in the example below) I may note a particular rhythm or melody which will help remind me of the tempo I’m aiming for.

• I’ll often write large numbers in above the score to flag up where the time signature changes. A conductor who’s beating the wrong number of beats per bar is as much use as a chocolate teapot!

• Labelling entries with instrument names so I can give helpful leads. If several parts come in simultaneously I’ll often group them with a square bracket.

• I’ll look out for accidentals I think players might miss. I’ve become good at predicting these over the years - after a while you gain a sixth sense about which ones will be forgotten. Of course, marking these in my score doesn’t make the musicians more likely to play them, but it does remind me to listen out for them!

• Writing in larger bar numbers. This is an age related thing - larger numbers mean I can refer to sections quickly in rehearsal without perpetually whipping my glasses on and off!

• Notes about articulation, dynamics, phrasing, interesting harmonies and more. Often there creative decisions I need to make, to put my own stamp on the way the music is played, introducing light and shade.

• In a fugal piece I will often mark each entry of the theme so I can see its journey through the score.

Below you’ll see a page from Steve Marshall’s The Dream-Country, which I’m currently rehearsing with one of my orchestras. You’ll see a lot of the items mentioned above and I’ll almost certainly add more notes as we build up our interpretation of the music for performance.

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Building trust between conductor and musicians

When I stand in front of an ensemble, especially in concert, I’m very aware of my responsibility to assuage any nerves, helping the musicians play to the best of their abilities. At a basic level this means I need to be utterly consistent, maintaining the beat clearly and giving leads where the players have come to expect them. Naturally, I am only human and I do make mistakes occasionally, but I try to keep them to a minimum.

For me a big part of building trust is being in eye contact as much as possible. As a player, feeling the conductor actively involved in the performance and seeing the whites of their eyes is comforting - you feel you’re in this together and the support is mutual. When people are nervous, a little eye contact and a smile go a long way!

Of course eye contact works both ways. It’s a great myth that conductors are powerful - we have as much power as you give us! I can express my musical ideas clearly through my gestures, but if the players don’t watch, my efforts will be worthless. When the interaction becomes genuinely equal the results can be truly awe inspiring.

Some years ago I conducted a recorder orchestra piece in a concert at the end of a week’s course. We’d rehearsed thoroughly so I felt confident we’d give a good performance. Things started well and we successfully negotiated the tricky corners - a combination of concentration and interaction to get everyone through their exposed and awkwardly timed entries. Then we came to the big solo moment for one of the players, which had been rock solid all week. Imagine my terror as the soloist came in half a bar early! I had a split second decision to make - bring the orchestra back in at their allotted time and hope the soloist would realise, or to just jump two beats and hope the entire orchestra would realise we’d lost half a bar. I plumped for the latter option and to my immense relief they came with me - one of those occasions when they watched like hawks and understood my gestures correctly. From there we sailed through to the end and enjoyed a huge adrenaline rush of relief as the audience applauded! The orchestra could have assumed I’d make a mistake and stuck to their guns, but the trust we’d built paid off and we lived to tell the tale.

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So there are some of my thoughts on the weird and wonderful world of conducting - hopefully you’ll have found at least one helpful nugget of information within. When you consider the concept, it’s a strange job. We stand in front of a group of musicians, waft our arms around, apparently in control of proceedings, then take all the applause when the performance is over. I hope my words help you understand it’s not all about the glory. I never take for granted the trust musicians place in me and any rehearsal or performance is the ultimate example of teamwork. Without you I wouldn’t have a job and it’s an honour to forge that sense of trust every time I conduct.

If you’ve ever had so much as a passing thought about trying this yourself please don’t hesitate to try, even if it’s just a case of gathering four friends to play some simple tunes while you beat time. Seeing the music from both sides of the fence can be simultaneously terrifying and immensely rewarding and even if you never try it a second time you’ll learn a lot. If you have experience of conducting why not share some of your tips in the comments below, or you could tell us about your finest and/or scariest moments in rehearsal or performance. Or if you prefer to remain safely ensconced in the orchestra, why not share some of the tips you’ve picked up from conductors you’ve worked with - there’s always something new to learn.

In search of perfection

Would you say you’re a perfectionist? It’s one of those terms we use as both a desired quality and a flaw. But is it something we should desire in music making?

Think about your favourite piece of recorded music, whether it’s a CD or streamed music. Is it perfect, or are you aware of flaws? I wouldn’t mind betting it’s as close to perfect as you could wish. Now consider how that recording was made. If it was created in the last fifty years, the chances the artist made a first take then re-recorded short sections which could be spliced in to cover any errors. Such practices are completely normal these days, allowing us to enjoy a ‘perfect’ performance every time we listen. But is this always a good thing?

The pianist Austrian Artur Schnabel (1882-1951) is best known today for his interpretations of Beethoven and Schubert. Indeed, the noted music critic Harold Schonberg described him as, “The man who invented Beethoven”. Maybe that’s a touch hyperbolic, but his interpretations of Beethoven were justly admired, and he was the first person to record a complete cycle of his piano sonatas. As a teenager, when I loved to tussle with the odd Beethoven piano sonata myself, I had an LP recording of Schnabel playing Sonata No.17 and I loved the spontaneity of his performance. Was it the perfect recording? Absolutely not but that mattered not a jot to me!

Schnabel recorded his Beethoven cycle between 1932 and 1935 – a time when performers were limited to four minutes of recording time (the length of a 78rpm disc) and no possibility of editing. Imagine the pressure he must have felt to play every note as perfectly as possible. Schnabel famously hated the recording process, but thank goodness he persevered. If you listen to his interpretations today they contain some flaws, but his vitality and musicality still shines through. While researching this blog post I listened again to Schnabel’s performance of Beethoven’s Sonata No.17 (a piece I learnt myself), comparing it with recordings by more recent pianists of note. Interestingly, I still enjoy the Schnabel recording, warts and all and I love the skittish nature of the opening movement. Have a listen for yourself if you’d like to.

So what does this have to do with our recorder playing I hear you ask? I would argue that the recorded music we listen to has a big influence on our attitude to our own playing, whether you’re a professional or an amateur. My audience here on the Score Lines blog encompasses a wide range of musicians - those who are just starting out, players who’ve been at it a while and can get around a piece of music with a good degree of fluency and musicality and some who perform with confidence and polish. Wherever you fall on that sliding scale, I’m willing to bet you’ve berated yourself for mistakes many times. Am I right? Of course I am!

It’s human nature to compare yourself to others, in music and all areas of life. When we listen to what we consider a ‘perfect’ performance we will often compare our own playing unfavourably – “Why don’t I sound like that?” or “What’s the point in me trying if I can’t even get all the notes right?” Is this a healthy reaction? In some ways, yes it is, if it drives us to practise more and improve our playing. But if it just makes you feel downbeat and disheartened I would argue not.

Let me tell you a story, which shows the influence a performance can have on others.

When I first taught at the Recorder Summer School the course would include a professional concert, towards the end of the week. One year we had to move it to the start of the week to accommodate the diary of our performers and it provoked an interesting reaction among our students. Many of them loved the change. They told us that when the concert was at the end of the week, they compared their own playing unfavourably with what they heard and it made them realise how little they’d improved during the course. In contrast, a concert at the start of the week inspired them to work harder to improve their playing. We now have the concert at the start of the course every year – all because of a chance diary clash years ago!

Should we be perfectionists?

There are some careers where anything less than perfection can be disastrous – a surgeon for instance – the difference between perfect and imperfect can be a matter of life and death. Are surgeons perfectionists? Almost certainly. Do all surgeons achieve perfection in their work every day of their lives? Almost certainly not!

Will anyone die if we play a wrong note or mistune that F sharp? Definitely not. But should we aim for perfection? Yes and no. As humans we’re incapable of utter perfection in anything – it’s a simple fact of life that we make mistakes. What’s more important is whether those mistakes spoil the end result and whether we learn from them.

I spent many years teaching the recorder in schools and was always amazed at the courage of the children I taught. They’d fearlessly jump up in front of a large audience and play the music they’d been diligently practising. Mistakes happened but by and large they just got on with it and didn’t fret about them. Children know from recent experience that they’ll make mistakes, but such errors will rarely cause them any long term pain or distress. Think how many times you fell off your bicycle in childhood, picking up grazes and bruises. That wasn’t going to stop you grabbing your bike and jumping back on it. You never fretted about what might happen if you met a pothole or your chain fell off. Childhood is the time when we try new things without fretting about what we cannot control.

As we grow up we begin to worry more. By the time we reach adulthood we’re doing jobs where people count on us to get things right and it seems a much bigger deal if we make a mistake. This often carries over into our lives away from work, affecting the things we do for fun.

Through my work with adult recorder players I encounter lots of people who are at the top of their game in whatever they do for a living. They know their job well and are in control, knowing they have the skills to cope with any glitches that may occur. They also clearly understand the risks of being less than perfect, whether that’s driving a bus, teaching a class of children or removing someone’s appendix.

Now put the same person into a rehearsal or concert and you’d think they’d have the same coping strategies, wouldn’t you? Maybe not. Remember that many amateur musicians come to music in later life, or perhaps return to it several decades after first learning in school. Experience of life makes their adult brains much more aware of the wrong notes and somehow those mistakes seem a bigger deal when you’re 42 than when you’re 9!

Is a musical mistake really a life and death threat? Far from it, but by adulthood we’re used to succeeding and the fear of looking foolish is larger in our minds. This fear puts many off even trying to perform and can deter some from even going along to play in an ensemble until they feel they’re ‘good enough’ and I think this is a real shame.

Yes, you should strive for perfection in your musical activities, but always remember that you’ll never achieve perfection. Try as hard as you can at whatever you do, but don’t let mistakes get blown out of proportion in your mind.

I’ve often heard a quote along the lines of ‘Amateur practise until they get something right, while professionals practise until they can’t get it wrong.’ I’ve tried and failed to find the original source for this quote, but it still contains a lot of truth. As a working professional, I certainly feel the pressure to get things perfect, but I know from experience that an audience won’t enjoy a concert less if it contains the occasional flaw.

I recently watched a televised concert from the London Palladium by the singer Adele in which she performed songs from her new album. She got a short way into one of them and stopped, apologising to the audience, saying how nervous she was. Did they hate her for this? Far from it, they loved this honesty and gave her a huge round of applause! Seeing Adele’s nerves get the better of her just made them love her even more and that in turn gave her the confidence to turn in a fabulous performance when she restarted.

Combatting the fear of imperfection

Put your credit card away!

Photographers suffer from all the same worries as musicians – we compare our photos to those of others and fret that we’re not good enough. A common mistake is to think a better camera or a new lens will turn you a better photographer and many people become afflicted with GAS (gear acquisition syndrome) in the search for the camera which will make their photos look like those of Ansel Adams. Does it work? Very rarely – and I speak from experience!

I sometimes see the same affliction in recorder players. They think if they just upgrade their pearwood treble to a rosewood one or buy an instrument made by a big name recorder maker that’ll make all the difference and they’ll magically sound like Frans Bruggen. I’ve heard beautiful performances played on cheap plastic instruments and awful ones coming from handmade recorders costing thousands of pounds. The truth is if you want to get closer to perfection with your playing you’re better off spending that cash on some lessons from a good recorder teacher, or simply practise in a more considered way to upgrade your mental and physical skills.

A recorder is a tool - buying a more expensive one won’t necessarily make you a more perfect player!

Make a mess and have fun!

When I was at music college my teacher used to criticise me for being ‘too neat and tidy’. It struck me as an odd accusation at the time, but looking back I can see my obsession for perfection almost certainly made my performances less exciting and rather clinical. Now I worry less about the possibility of small imperfections, placing a greater focus on taking risks to create a more exciting performance.

When you’re practising don’t be afraid to make a mess of things. First steps on any new piece of music will often be untidy and littered with mistakes but it’s all part of the learning experience. We learn from mistakes – after all, it’s the experience of falling over in the snow that teaches us to tread carefully when it’s icy if we wish to avoid injury. Wrong notes won’t inflict physical pain on anyone, but do try to remember where your mistakes were you can correct them and do it better next time.

Use your practice time to correct mistakes and seek perfection, but don’t forget to take risks. Throw in an ambitious piece of ornamentation and don’t fret that it might go horribly wrong. Some of what you try will succeed and you’ll learn how far you can take things in performance. Try playing something really fast to find your limits. If you stumble you’ll learn something and your pet cat, asleep nearby, won’t care how many times you throw caution to the wind to try something new! Some of your experiments will fail but others will be successes you can celebrate.

While running Zoom workshops on recorder technique during the Covid-19 lockdowns I realised there were some benefits to this way of working. One of my workshop’s exercises requires my students to blow a note really loudly and quietly, making a frankly awful noise, to ascertain the acceptable limits of their tone. In face-to-face workshops this tends to be somewhat tentative as people are worried about making a fool of themselves. On Zoom, with microphones muted, players were able to give it everything they had without worrying what anyone else thought and many told me they found that freeing.

Don’t wait until you’re ‘good enough’

If you’re fairly new to music making and are still at the stage of playing on your own at home, be brave and find a group to play with. Don’t wait until you’re ‘good enough’ - you’re just trying to insulate yourself from failure. If you find a group who are at a similar level to yourself you’ll be able to commiserate and celebrate your failures and successes together. If you find you’re weaker than your fellow musicians, they’ll help you lift your game, carrying you along on their wave of confidence. Recorder players invariably are welcoming and keen to see you succeed – they’ve all been there themselves, stumbling along as they took their own first steps. It doesn’t matter if you don’t play every note at first – you’ll learn coping strategies and in a few weeks you’ll wonder why you were ever scared about going along.

My partner, Kevin, started a brass band for young players on a Saturday morning. As soon as a child could play five notes on their instrument they were welcome in the band – there was no need to wait until they’d passed any music exams. At times the sound was dreadful, but the kids quickly improved, developing their musical and technical skills. Most importantly they had enormous fun! They didn’t care that their first rendition of Jingle Bells in the Christmas concert sounded a bit dodgy – the applause from the audience spurred them on to improve, even if they weren’t always perfect. Years later I watched some of those earliest band members perform to a packed audience at Birmingham Symphony Hall and their sense of enthusiasm and achievement was infectious. They didn’t wait until they were ‘good enough’  - they just jumped in and had a go!

Be a true amateur

The definition of an amateur is someone who does something for the love of it. Can you say, hand on heart, that you play every note with real love? Or do you get hung up on getting the notes right, sometimes losing sight of the real joy of music making – playing with passion and enjoyment?

“To play a wrong note is insignificant; to play without passion is inexcusable.”

Ludwig van Beethoven

Yes, do try to get the notes right, but don’t forget to consider the story you are trying to convey through your music. What mood are you trying to conjure up? Are you playing that slow melody with true feeling, or are you just content with getting the notes on all the right beats? Share your love of the music in your playing and anyone who hears you will feel it, regardless of the occasional wrong note.

Be a realist

I think musicians often feel they should be stretching themselves all the time. The classic example of this is the student who passes a grade exam and moves straight on to the next one. Most adult players have no desire to take exams, but I sometimes still see the same mentality, as they throw themselves into ever more challenging repertoire without taking time to consolidate.

We all love a challenge, but perpetually being at the bleeding edge of your technique can be demoralising. You’re always at your limit, endlessly trying to get around the notes with no spare mental capacity to think about the bigger picture. Sometimes, give yourself a break – pick an easier piece where you can comfortably manage the technical challenges. This frees you up to explore the different ways you could phrase the music, experiment with different tempi or try some more creative ornamentation.

How to deal with imperfections in performance

It’s very easy in performance to become totally focused on our imperfections – we assume the audience will hear every glitch and think less of us. In reality, many of them will slip by unnoticed. Even when an audience does hear a mistake you can be sure it won’t wreck the concert for them.

I’ve made what felt like apocalyptic errors in concerts over the years, but perhaps the most extreme was an unaccompanied piece by Anton Heberle. Midway through I had a memory lapse in a passage of arpeggio patterns. Unsure of where to restart, I explored one arpeggio, trying to give it an intentionally improvisatory air, hopeful it might lead me back to safety. No, that wasn’t the one. I tried another – still not right. Then inspiration struck – it was B flat major I was searching for! I was finally back on the right path and the music flowed easily from there to the double barline. At the end the audience applauded enthusiastically, I took my bow and retreated to the wings with a huge sigh of relief. Chatting to my Dad afterwards, we discussed the Heberle, a piece he’d heard me play many times before, and he admitted he hadn’t even noticed my faux pas. Because I’d made my explorations in a confident and musical way, he assumed it was an intentional part of the music and was utterly convinced it had been right.

The moral of the story? Always play with conviction and confidence and the audience will believe in you. Take risks and share your passion with the audience and they’ll love you even if you are imperfect.

“Practise like it means everything in world to you. Perform like you don’t give a damn.”

Jascha Heifetz, violinist.

Most importantly, if you do make a mistake, don’t let it put you off what comes next. It’s far too easy to play a wrong note and then spend several bars mentally kicking yourself for making a stupid error. During those ensuing bars you’re even more likely to make further mistakes, purely because you’re busy berating yourself rather than concentrating on the music.

Before a concert with the youth orchestra I played with as a teenager, our conductor gave us a pep talk, telling us, ”I absolve you of your mistakes.” It seemed an odd thing to say at the time but, looking back, I realise he was telling us to immediately put our errors behind us. You are human – you will be imperfect – that much is a given. Remember though, you cannot turn back time to un-make mistakes so to let them distract you, resulting in more errors is unforgiveable. After the performance is over, look back and analyse what you did wrong. Use the experience to improve your playing in the future, but don’t give it a second thought in the heat of the moment.

Performing to a packed audience in Chichester Cathedral with the Parnassian Ensemble

Embrace your humanity

There is an aesthetic embraced by the Japanese called Wabi-sabi – the concept of beauty through imperfection. These imperfections can be flaws introduced in production of an item, or simply marks accrued through years of wear and tear. As a photographer I appreciate the appeal of this aesthetic through the way I react to the buildings I photograph. I often visit old churches and find so much joy in photographing details around these ancient buildings which have over time developed a patina. These imperfections tell us others have been there before us and we can imagine the stories they could tell us.

An enchanting pew end from a Suffolk church. The marks left by centuries of being caressed by churchgoers just make me love this carving even more.

In music we all bring our own wabi-sabi aesthetic to the music we play. We are all unique individuals, bringing our own life experiences and personal strengths and weakness to our musical interpretation. At no point in our lives can we ever consider ourselves to be complete and perfect – the finished article. Over time we bring new life experiences to bear on the way we play music, and our interpretations should be part of an everchanging process. I look back to performances I gave in my younger days and know I would do them very differently now. These changes in interpretation and technique are part of my own musical wabi-sabi. No performance will every be utterly perfect, but I am perpetually on a road towards a mythical perfection I hope I might one day achieve.

I enjoyed a fascinating conversation recently with someone who’d been to the finals of the National Brass Band Championships which ties in with the wabi-sabi concept. In brass band contests all the bands play the same test piece to an adjudicator who is hidden behind a screen, so they can judge without bias. There is a big emphasis at these competitions on playing the music perfectly – avoiding errors as much as is humanly possible.

In this particular contest, there were two performances which stood out to the person I was chatting with. One followed the composer’s score to the letter, getting as close to technical perfection as possible – it turned out to be winning performance. But the second was much more dynamic, taking risks, stretching the musical possibilities and, yes, including occasional wrong notes. What really interested me though was when the person I was chatting to said if they were paying money to attend a concert, it was this second performance they’d rather see. The imperfections didn’t matter one jot – the passion and musicality were worth infinitely more.

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So is perfectionism a good trait for musicians? I would argue one should always strive to play perfectly, practising thoughtfully and efficiently to eliminate our mistakes. However, when it comes to playing with others and in concert, you should be less focused on perfection and aim instead to communicate your love of the music to others. If that means you’re a little less than perfect, you’re just showing your humanity and it doesn’t make you any less of a musician.

What’s your attitude to perfection? Do you beaver away until you have every note polished until it shines, or are you a more spontaneous risk taker? I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject, whether you just play for fun with friends or you’re a seasoned performer. Please do leave a comment below.

Golden rules for recorder players

You like to think of yourself as an individual, don’t you? We all do, but the truth is we’re far more alike than we’re sometimes willing to admit.

When I began the Score Lines blog, just a few weeks ago, I started by sharing Walter Bergmann’s Golden Rules with you. Sadly I never met Walter, but I wouldn’t mind betting he came up with his pithy comments in response to situations he encountered when working with recorder players. Over the last three decades I’ve conducted and coached groups of recorder players of all ages and backgrounds and I too have found similarities in the mistakes they make. As a result there are phrases and tips that I find myself offering on a regular basis. Granted, my ‘golden rules’ may not be as pithy as his, but I wouldn’t mind betting Walter Bergmann would recognise some of the habits I encounter among players today!

Should you worry that you’re making the same mistakes as others? Absolutely not! While we all have different tastes, skills and characters, we are fundamentally made of the same stuff - it’s inevitable we’ll share some of our faults too. I hope there will be at least one nugget here which may help you identify and iron out some of your flaws. Remember though, none of us is perfect so don’t worry if you recognise your own playing in a few or many of my points. One of the best ways we can learn is through our mistakes, so you’re just taking steps towards a new, improved you!

1.      Just wiggle your fingers and blow!

This may seem a very simplistic suggestion, but it reflects two things - our human inability to multitask and the way we tend to overthink what we do.

When working on a tricky piece of music it’s easy to be so focused on just getting your fingers and tongue around the notes that we forget to use sufficient air. As a result our tone quality suffers. I’ll often remind groups to think about their breathing and blowing as well as their fingers and it’s astonishing what a difference it immediately makes to their sound.

This isn’t the only situation where I’ll quote these words though. In lessons I often find pupils are so focused on playing every single note that they get stuck in a spiral of over-cautious, slow playing. Sometimes throw caution to the wind and have a go at that tricky passage up to speed - literally throw your fingers at the notes and see what happens! It’s a really useful way to take stock and discover how far your diligent practising has got you. Some bits will be surprisingly good, while the added burst of speed will reveal the areas which still need more work. Go on, be brave - just wiggle your fingers and blow once in a while!

2.      How long is a minim?

This is a question I often pose to groups and they look at me as though I’m asking the strangest question in the world! Of course, the answer is two beats. But how many beats do you need to be aware of when playing a minim? Then it’s three beats! Confused? Look at this graphic illustration of a minim note within a bar of four beats.

See how the minim begins at the start of beat 1 but doesn’t end until the point where beat 3 begins. Next time you have a long note followed by a rest, think about where the note ends as much as where it begins. Inadvertently shortening a long note can have a detrimental effect on the placing of what follows, especially if this shortening creates a big hole in the music. Equally, there will of course be places where you cannot hold a note absolutely full length because you need to breathe and still be on time for the next note, so this isn’t a ‘one size fits all’ tip.

3.      Very few things in recorder playing can’t be improved by breathing

One of the greatest crimes in recorder playing is under blowing. Scrimping on the air you put through your recorder produces a weedy, undernourished tone and will compromise your intonation too. Remember, recorders are designed to be played with a particular flow of air. If you put less breath than this through your instrument some notes will be flatter than others. Groups I coach never fail to be amazed how much their tuning improves when they simply put use more air. A simple thing but with huge results. It’s easy to get hung up on desperately eking out your supply of air in order to get to the next breath mark. If this results in a weak tone you simply need to find an additional place to breathe.

If in doubt, open your mouth and breathe - your recorder will always thank you for it!

4.      Finish your phrases with finesse

Do you ever have that feeling of “thank heavens I got through that phrase in one piece!”? Of course you do - we all have!

Now think about the final note of that phrase - how did you play it? Was it a much loved and beautifully shaped note, or a huge bump of relief? I bet it was the latter! Next time you’re playing, take care of all your notes - even the last one. Endings matter and a comment I once heard from a Royal Marines bandsman expressed this perfectly - “An audience can forgive anything, as long as you start and finish well and have shiny shoes”! Ok, I know (as did he) that’s a huge simplification, but you get the point. Always care about your music, right up to the last note.

5.      Feel your dots actively

Back in the days when I taught the recorder in schools I’d often ask the children how many beats a dotted crotchet was worth in this rhythm:

A common response was, “One and a bit beats, Miss”. Not quite the precise answer I was hoping for, but it’s an approach I see in adults too. Of course, the correct answer is one and a half beats (unless you’re counting in 6/8, that is) – but how to do you count that half beat?

Most people understand the need to count ‘1, 2 and’ where the and is the quaver that follows the dotted crotchet:

However, in my experience, all too often musicians don’t feel that second beat actively enough. As a result, the quaver occurs in a somewhat nebulous timeframe, rather than precisely a beat and a half after the dotted crotchet. The solution to this problem? Simple – just feel the second beat more actively. Do this and you’ll know exactly where the quaver needs to be placed, then your rhythms will also knit together precisely.

6.      Dotted notes and ties shouldn’t feel nauseous

Those of you who’ve worked with me in person know this is one of my favourite bugbears. If I had a pound for every dotted or tied note which had an ungainly bulge in the middle I’d be a millionaire. The reason this happens is because you’re feeling the rhythm and that is no bad thing. However, take care to feel the dot or the tie in your head, not through your breath. By all means allow your tone to build through a tie or dotted note, but do it with a progressive intensification rather than a nauseous lurch! If you’re not sure whether you have this bad habit, try recording yourself playing music which contains some of these patterns (the voice memo app on a smartphone is handy for this) and you may find it surprisingly revealing….

7.      Always sight read at full speed

This is a piece of advice I was given by a fellow conductor many years ago which is absolutely true. When I run a new piece with a group of musicians I always begin at full speed. Yes, there will be plenty of wrong notes and other blunders, but it plants the correct speed in their minds. First impressions are important - think about the way we judge people based on first encounters. The same applies to music. If you start off slowly your brain will always remember the slower tempo. But if you jump in at full speed, warts and all, you’ll remember that and it’ll it easier to work back up to full tempo as you practise.

8.      Are you watching carefully?

I know I’m not the only conductor who berates groups for not watching the beat closely enough. No doubt the practice of ignoring the conductor has been going on since we moved from thumping a stick on the floor to waving a stick in the air. But do you really need to watch every move the conductor makes? Actually, no!

In an ideal world I’d love it if you watched me like a hawk, taking in every little gesture thoughtfully created to help you play the music. But that sort of attention requires you to all but memorise the music and we all know that’s unlikely to happen. Instead, try putting your music stand at a height where you can see the music clearly but where you can also see your conductor in your peripheral vision. Next time you practise, take moment to focus on your music and note how much of your surroundings you are aware of at the same time. Yes, whatever’s in your peripheral vision isn’t clearly in focus, but trust me, you really don’t need to see me in perfect clarity! Just being aware of the movement of the conductor’s beat will help you keep better in time, and you can look up when necessary to take in other gestures.

 9.      Breathe in sympathy with the music

Imagine you’re about to play a fast piece of music – what body language clues do you expect to receive from whoever’s leading your ensemble? Almost certainly, a brisk lift of their instrument and a speedy intake of breath. How about if they move gently and take a leisurely breath in? I’m willing to bet you’d expect a slower tempo.

The way we breath when playing has a huge influence on our playing and the musicians with whom we play. Next time you practise, try taking different speed breaths and note how it encourages you to play the music differently. A slow breath implies a relaxed tempo, while a sharp intake of breath suggests something more dynamic. While you’re at it, do breathe in time with the pulse during the music and you’ll almost certainly play more rhythmically.

10.  Don’t fight your recorder!

All too often I hear recorder players doing battle with their instrument.

On a Baroque recorder your bottom notes will naturally be soft, while the higher registers are louder and more piercing. You want stronger bottom notes? Try a Renaissance recorder, whose bore is wider at the bottom, resulting in fruitier low notes. The downside? You may have to sacrifice the ease of the highest notes. Every recorder is a compromise and this is the price we pay for choosing an instrument which hasn’t evolved significantly since about 1750.

Of course, not all composers understand this. We’ve all come across pieces where a bottom note is marked forte or a composer who demands a pianissimo top note. Instead of trying to force your instrument to achieve the impossible, I would encourage you to be sympathetic to your recorder and allow it to sing to its best ability.

Let me share a practical example with you….

Last week I rehearsed my recorder orchestra in a piece which ended with a piano low F played by the contrabasses, while the rest of the orchestra followed on with a chord above that. Players of big basses spend a lot of money to buy their instruments – effectively paying for the low notes other recorders cannot reach. Of course you want value for money, so I wasn’t surprised when my contra section gave that bottom F all they had, going for a full on fruity sound! Was it a pleasant effect? Frankly, no! Instead I encouraged them to soften their faces and throats, breathe deeply and blow in a gentle, relaxed way. What a difference! Suddenly we had a beautiful, warm but piano tone which didn’t set my teeth on edge. Even better, the instinctive reaction of the rest of the orchestra and their murmurs of approval showed they liked it too! As soon as the contras played their bottom F in its sweet spot, rather than trying to make it bigger than was practically possible, the effect was glorious.

My advice to you is to think about what is realistic and pleasurable when playing the recorder. Yes, you may not achieve the dynamics the composer demands, but the result will be much more enjoyable and your notes will sound better. Use a slower, gentle airflow for low notes to make a sweet, relaxed sound. For higher ranges plan ahead and be ready to use faster moving breath so your notes speak with ease. Play with sympathy for your instrument (and remember different makes and models of recorder have different needs) and you’ll play more beautifully.

11.  Don’t be afraid of high notes

My clarinet teacher used to tell me that high notes need to be tamed in the same way you would train an over-eager dog. Rather than being hesitant, showing your fear, you need to be confident and assertive, showing them who’s in charge! The same principle applies to the recorder.

How often do you see a top note looming on the musical horizon and feel a cold stab of dread in your heart? What happens when you get to the note? I imagine you may well tense up, blow tentatively, tongue the note for all you’re worth and jam your left thumbnail into the hole in desperation. The result? If you’re lucky, a tight, squeezed tone and if you’re not, a complete disaster!

Here’s a better strategy….

Breath deeply beforehand, so you have plenty of fuel to create the faster airflow high notes demand. Think about just how fast the air needs to go before you hit the note – plan ahead. Tongue gently – high notes are far more likely to split if you hammer them out with force. Finally, think about your left thumb position. Open the thumbhole a small amount. Open it too far and the note will fail entirely, but close it too much and you’ll get a rough undertone. Better still, regularly practise plucking high notes out of nowhere – that way you’ll learn the needs of your instruments so you can find them with ease in the field.

12.  Make your conductor happy by using your pencil!

If there’s a sound that makes me happy it’s the clink of a pencil being placed back on a music stand. Does this make me strange? Well, that’s for you to decide! Seriously though, there’s absolutely no shame in writing on your music if it helps you play better.

I write things on my music all the time. I know from experience that if I don’t, I’ll forget crucial details and will make mistakes. My rule of thumb is if I’ve made a mistake more than once I need to write a reminder in my music. Doing so ensures I don’t have to think so hard about the basics (accidentals which continue through the bar, the breakdown of tricky rhythms etc.) and instead I can focus on real music making.

I have a fascination about the way the human brain works and have recently read several books on the subject. It surprised me to learn that our short term memory is a minute or less. That means if you make a mistake while practising but then carry on to the end of the piece you may well have forgotten what that mistake was by the time you come to write a reminder in your music. Instead, stop straight away and make a note of that missed accidental, or incorrect rhythm.

One of the ways we move patterns and actions from short term to long term memory is by repeating them. If you continually come back to that same accidental and play it wrong you are repeating and compounding the error. After a while the mistake gets stored in long term memory. We all know from painful experience that bad habits are harder to shift than creating new good habits. Unlearning an error is more difficult than learning it correctly from the start as you are having to overwrite an incorrect memory with a new correct one. If my audience includes any neurologists you may well be cursing me for oversimplifying this complex subject by now. However, if my explanation helps even one musician play more right notes I make no apology!

While we’re here, please don’t write cryptic symbols in your music. Instead use words or symbols you’ll still understand in a month’s time. I once asked a pupil of mine what the exclamation mark written above a note in her score meant and she had to admit she couldn’t remember! If she’d used an accidental or a word whose meaning was obvious she’d have avoided making the same error over and over again.

So there you have a dozen of the things I find myself saying to recorder players everywhere on a regular basis. No doubt others will spring to mind as soon as I publish this week’s blog, but I hope these tips will at least make you think and help you play better.

Do you have any handy hints and tips you’d like to share with our recorder community? It doesn’t matter how large or small they are - if they help you they’ll help others too! Please do share your thoughts in the comment below – let’s see if we can all learn from each other.