FRENCH, GERMAN and AMERICAN OBOE PLAYING
Some reflection on having studied with
Fernand Gillet, Lothar Koch and Robert Bloom
Allan Vogel
Contents
Introduction
The original version of this essay, written about seven years ago, was
prompted mainly by 1) the realization that I, in studying with Fernand
Gillet, Lothar Koch and Robert Bloom had worked with great (if not the
greatest) masters of three major national schools of oboe playing, the French,
German and America and that I needed to mull through all the information that
had been given me; 2) I had to write something (anything) to get my degree.
Now that the IDRS journal has given us such a wonderful forum for
communication, I've dug out the old article from under pounds of tube cane,
revised it a bit, and added a little "coda" describing the period of 5 days in
October 1973 when I had the opportunity to play for all three of my teachers.
I am well aware that such an education as mine is certainly not the most
direct way to learn about the oboe and music, and there is unquestionably
something to be said for the steady development of a student by a single good
teacher, or perhaps by two or three within the same school. I did not plan my
training to be the way that it turned out to be, which involved major changes
every two or three years. It seemed as though just when I had become
proficient in a style enough to please one teacher, I found myself playing for
another who did not like it at all. But now that some time has passed and
things have had a chance to cook (as Gillet would say) I feel grateful for
this experience and want to communicate it as much as I am able.
Also by way of introduction, I would like to mention two men with whom I
studied before coming to Monsieur Gillet; Jean DeVergie and Josef Marx. For
years I would study technique with DeVergie all winter and music with Marx
during the summer. DeVergie, a wonderful man who for many years played second
to Gillet and later to Gomberg in the Boston Symphony, initiated me into the
technical discipline of the French school. I remember verbatim a conversation
we had at the beginning of my third year of studying with him:
-Mr. DeVergie, I have something to ask. For two years now we've worked on long tones, scale, Barret and Ferling.
Uh . . . when are we going to study a piece?
-NEVER! You can do that on your own. Here we will still work on long
tones, scales, Barret and Ferling.
Josef Marx is well known as a pioneer in both Baroque and Contemporary
music. He is a marvelous musician and original and courageous person. A pupil
of Dandois and Goossens, he took the spreading influence of Tabuteau almost as
a personal challenge and refused to have a dark tone quality like everyone
else. Aside from teaching me the principles of musicianship, he impressed upon
me the importance of trying to develop from the depths of one's own true
musical character and to avoid the dangers of just copying someone, either in
tone quality or style. This was good preparation for what was to follow.
Monsieur Fernand Gillet, for over twenty years was the flawless first
oboist of the Boston Symphony, is certainly one of the most distinguished
oboists who ever lived. For years the leading oboist in Paris before
Koussevitzky brought him to Boston, his long career includes publication of
several magnificent etude books, the very first honorary membership in our
IDRS, and the ability to exhaust his pupils even at age 95. A truly wonderful
article about him by Jean Northrup appeared in a recent
IDRS Newsletter [1] and
makes the perfect supplement to what follows, which is a compilation of notes
that I made on the bus from Brookline to Cambridge after lessons with Monsieur
Gillet.
Although he had retired not long after I was born, there were still many
stories about Gillet floating around Boston. For one thing he was said to have
been totally accurate. Although once, in a rehearsal the attack of a G was a
trifle indistinct, to everyone's surprise. Then there was the time it is told,
when Koussevitzky asked Gillet how fast he could play the opening of
Tombeau de Couperin and Gillet frankly replied
"As fast as you can conduct it, Maestro. "
Gillet himself modestly denies all this but such legends lent a certain
weight to his teaching. Also we know that he was trained to the Nth degree by
his uncle, Georges Gillet, who was the founder of our modern school of playing, and brought this high level of playing to the New World.
Not very long after beginning his career in Paris, following his
graduation with a battery of first prizes from the Paris Conservatory at age
15, he became a fighter pilot during W.W. I and didn't play the oboe for four
years. During missions over Germany, as the fighting men dreamt of food and
women, the young Fernand also found time to dream about practicing, and the
very very best way to go about it. It is this distillation that characterized
his teaching and made it so natural to write down the following notes.
His ability to be so amazingly thorough, as a glance at his etude books
will reveal, as well as his youthfulness into his nineties can perhaps be
partially explained by one biographical event. At age nine or ten, while
starting to make his first reed, the young Fernand discovered that he did not
enjoy the process. In the best tradition of French rationalism he reasoned
that he would never be really good at something which he didn't enjoy, and
laid down his tools forever. (The boy's uncle made fantastic reeds.) It is
perhaps because he didn't spend so much time whittling that he was able to go
into everything else so deeply, and so he developed a systematic and
completely thought-out approach to every phase of oboe technique. The
following is an attempt to give the highlights of his system under the
headings: wind, embouchure, tonguing, fingering, articulation, and art of
practicing.
Wind
Monsieur Gillet constantly emphasized the ultimate importance of the
wind, stressing that real understanding of how to blow is at the heart of all
wind playing. He pointed out that one can easily be distracted from healthy
support by fingering, tonguing, and adjustments of the embouchure, while it is
only when the tone is well nourished by wind that the fingers, tongue, and
embouchure can really work as they should. Gillet devised an effective
exercise to develop the feeling of swiftly flowing breath on a single note and
then demonstrated other exercises by means of which this sustained wind could
survive the distraction of the other technical functions.
The first exercise, designed to increase the intensity of the wind on a
single note,
takes advantage of the fact that tonguing tends to interfere with a sustained
wind flow and works by pitting the tongue against the wind. If one begins by
playing whole notes, say at [quarter note = 112] and then tongues every half note, a
slight break in tone will probably be noticed. (This is not to say that the
tone actually stops, only that it loses its full flow at the instant that the
tongue makes contact with the reed.) Although one can try to avoid this break
by light and deft tonguing (so that the reed may be missed altogether
occasionally) the only real way to regain the unbroken sound is to increase
the forward motion of the wind. When tonguing quarter notes, and then eighths,
more and more wind is required to achieve the uninterrupted tone. Finally,
after building up the tremendous intensity necessary to making sixteenth notes
sostenuto, one returns to the long tones one can virtually feel the wind
zinging through the bore of the instrument, making the tips of one's fingers
vibrate. "This is how you should have begun," Monsieur Gillet would then say.
How was this intense wind to be carried over into all situations? The
first step was to play legato scales at a moderate tempo, concentrating on
sustaining the wind especially between notes. Here the axiom "you play with
the wind and correct with the embouchure" is helpful to remember, especially
going over the register change: the inherent brightness of the c can mislead
one into blowing less air, rather than "correcting" (in this case, dampening)
with the embouchure.
Sustaining wind through large intervals was also an area requiring
special study, legato intervals being essential to a singing style of playing.
Here is a good example of the interference of one technical function with
another. Just before one leaves the lower note of an interval for the upper
note, just before one executes the necessary fingering and embouchure actions,
there is a tendency to stop blowing the full wind at the very last instant,
ruining the whole beauty of the interval. The necessity for making the various
motions draws ones attention away from the sustained blowing: it is like the
way an electric light can flicker when you turn on a heavy appliance. Unless
the interval is stretched from the lower note "like a rubber band"
there can be no feeling of space, no "interval."
So I was constantly told to "hold well the lower note of an interval."
Finally, to ensure a good quality of staccato I was taught to increase
the intensity of wind in proportion to the speed of the tonguing. The same
principle as in the wind versus tonguing exercise described above holds here:
the tongue tends to break the flow of wind, producing a dry brittle quality
reminiscent of a duck. While the action of the tongue also plays an important
role here (and we will go into this), the brisk flow of wind, once again, is
of paramount importance.
Embouchure
Monsieur Gillet, my French teacher, is the only man I ever heard
pronounce the word embouchure sounding the em as in ember.
This is how he taught embouchure formation: standing straight, with your head
up, you place the tip of the reed about halfway on the red part of the lower
lip. Then you push the lip in with the reed, and, finally, draw the upper lip
back into position on the reed. The embouchure was to remain thus, "naturally"
and not "curved."[2]
The reed was not to be pushed farther in than the lips could roll,
so that relatively little reed was actually taken into the mouth.
Thus the tip of the reed was directly controlled by the lip "not vibrating
alone in the hollow of the mouth." As the pressure of the lips was slight, the
thin reed was allowed to vibrate quite freely, producing the characteristic
bright French oboe sound.
In terms of embouchure control, flexibility was the key word, and two
kinds of flexibility were especially emphasized. First, one needed the ability
to roll the reed and lips in and out to loosen and tighten the embouchure for
different registers, to influence the quality of sound, and to fine tune the
pitches. The latter function is another example of the embouchure "correcting"
what the air flow produces.
The second type of flexibility was control over tapering notes. Tapering
is accomplished by the embouchure closing the tip of the reed gradually. That
the lips are always in contact with the tip of the reed, its most manageable
part, makes this possible. Monsieur Gillet's exercise for this consisted in
playing quarter notes at a medium slow tempo, tapering each quarter as much as
possible. If, instead, one wishes to end each note all at once (the opposite
of tapering), this can be accomplished by simply closing the reed with the
embouchure all at once, instead of gradually. For this rather difficult but
very useful type of staccato, one must be sure to keep the wind going
constantly, so that the spaces between the sound-blocks are "live" and the
musical line is uninterrupted.
Tonguing
I've already written of Gillet's insistence of how vital sufficient wind
is to good quality tonguing, but of course the actual action of the tongue is
important as well. Monsieur Gillet's theory of tongue action can be summed up
as follows: "The tongue should always make as long a stroke as possible."
Whenever there is time, certainly at a slow and possibly even at a moderate
tempo, the tongue should withdraw all the way back (although without curling)
so that its approach to the reed covers the greatest possible distance. At a
faster tempo, the tongue would not have time to go very far back, but it
should still go as far back as possible. Only at a very fast tempo would the
tongue stay as close as possible to the reed.
The reasons for this are bound up with the two aims of tongue
development, quality and speed.
As we have seen, the vital factor in terms of quality is non-interruption
of the wind stream, especially in slow or moderate tempos. If the tongue is in
its back position (from which it makes its longest stroke), it is not going to
be near the tip of the reed, blocking off the wind's access. Monsieur Gillet
said that in slower tempos, one should concentrate on the backward
motion of the tongue which brings the tongue to its proper
position and insures a more deft stroke.
The development of tonguing speed is enhanced by the consciousness of the
tongue as a limb, and one gains this consciousness by constantly paying
attention to the stroke. Furthermore, the muscles involved are strengthened by
making such long strokes at slower tempos, so that the tongue is capable of
moving faster and with more definition when necessary. This combination of
physical capability and mental control are the two components of "technique."
At fast tempos, when the
tongue is closest to the reed, and more often in contact with it, the
windstream must be markedly increased to compensate. One now thinks of the
forward motion of the tongue, and pushes forward with the wind as well.
Fingering
In the training of string players and pianists great attention is usually
given to hand position and finger action, but we oboists tend to give these
matters insufficient attention. This is partly because work on sound and reeds
can be so consuming, but may also be due to the simple fact that we cannot
really see our hands as we play, as do players of most other instruments. It
is therefore easy for us to be unaware of the basic balances, motions and
tensions of our own fingers. Perhaps we can take the mechanism of our modern
oboe, with its sophisticated key positions and light well lubricated action as
our first inspiration to finding our own ideal hand position and finger
action. This oboe, the product of years of painstaking development by master
craftsmen, deserves to be played by hands equally well in position and without
rust and binding in the fingers.
Monsieur Gillet stressed the importance of hand position to the
development of finger technique. In most cases the left hand should be rather
slanted, bringing the knuckle of the left forefinger close to the second
octave key. Special attention was given to working the octave keys and
halfhole in the most efficient way. He recommended sliding the forefinger and
developing clever combination motions for d2 to e2, and from g2 to a2 etc. The
right hand should be square to help the fourth and fifth fingers.
Through extremely slow and rhythmical practice of trills, register
changes, and difficult intervals the ideal of definite finger action was
worked toward. I was constantly told to practice slowly, but move my fingers
quickly.
Monsieur Gillet pointed out that the release of the key is immediate,
while covering a key takes time. It is this disparity that can make seemingly
simple intervals so bothersome. The trick was to concentrate on striking
quickly and, if necessary, placing slight pressure on the key that was to be
lifted, so as to synchronize the two actions. He also thought that the fingers
should be just high enough over the keys to allow for definite motion.
Mr. Gillet's flexible embouchure, deft tongue and light reeds gave him
the possibility of great refinement of articulation, comparable to that of a
five violinist. He was particularly sensitive to how different articulation
patterns affect evenness.
Articulation
Within articulation groupings such as
(a) 
(b) 
the tongued notes tend to be too short because of the time taken to tongue
them. Thus, the first note of the first figure, and the first two notes of the
second might not be given their true length, resulting in unevenness. As a
remedy to this problem, Monsieur Gillet recommended practicing such groups
(made of four sixteenth notes) in 12/8 rhythm. First, each quarter note was
thought of as a triplet. Each triplet was then divided in such a way as to
stress the notes that were likely to be slighted, holding extra long those
notes that would tend to be too short. Thus example 1 would be
practiced
(12/8) 
holding the first note.
Example 2 would be practiced
(12/8) 
prolonging the second. These patterns could also be invoked to overcome
unevenness of fingering in passage work.
In any articulation pattern when tongued notes followed slurred ones,
care had to be taken that the last note under the slur was the same length and
quality as the tongued notes to follow. For example; in
if the two staccato notes are to be very short, the second sixteenth (the last
slurred notes) had to be virtually clipped off by the fingers so that it would
approximate the same quality. On the other hand in an andante
the second note would
have to be longer to match the tongued notes.
For the sake of clarity, grace notes were always to be tongued. . .An accent
could be made with a huff of wind, but in a dolce wood, when a forte would be
inappropriate, the accent would be made by delay. In situations when you had
both dotted rhythms and tonguing,
you had to compensate the long note with the
breath since you had so much less time to tongue it than the short note, which
would otherwise be disproportionately accented...When different types of
rhythms were used consecutively it was advised to "separate" them,
that is, stress the differences. In
one would
stretch out the triplets and move the sixteenths along...In this realm of
musicianship the middle ground between technique and interpretation, Monsieur
Gillet gave a thousand valuable hints.
It is dangerously easy for oboists to become very limited in their ability to
articulate a musical line. This is especially true when, crazed by the desire
to produce a big and full sound, one makes a reed on which delicate
articulation is practically impossible, or neglect to develop the embouchure's
ability to taper. And yet, especially in solo and chamber music, articulation
is almost more important than tone quality. How many of us have had the
experience of admiring the tone of an oboist at first, only to become quickly
bored when it became evident that the player had only a tone that we were
hearing a tone moving from note to note, not music. Conversely, doesn't it
also happen that we can become accustomed to a sound we may not at first like
because of the player's true ability to articulate the musical line
expressively?
Art of Practicing
Up to this point, the discussion of Monsieur's Gillet's teaching has been
a factual account, as accurate as I could make it, of his technical system.
Now I shall relate his most important teaching, and the most difficult to
master: his art of practicing.
He often said "I am here, not to teach you how to play, but how to
practice." One of his central axioms was "It's not how much you practice, it's
how you practice."
It is the application of analytical intelligence which characterizes
Gillet's way of working. Thus, when a technical difficulty arises, one doesn't
immediately "practice"; one asks "why?" and analyzes the problem into its
various components. If, for example, there was difficulty in passage work, the
first task would be to specifically find what the causes were. Was a register
change in an awkward place causing unevenness? Were the tongued notes too
short? Was there sufficient wind to enliven the staccato? So the first
cardinal rule was to ask why.
The next step was to devise a little exercise for each part of the
problem. Types of exercise he used have already been discussed. It is the
ingenuity and specificity of these exercises which make Monsieur Gillet's
method so unique. For example many instrumental teachers would advise
practicing passages in different rhythms in order to develop evenness, but
Monsieur Gillet wanted his students to discover just those particular rhythms
which would specifically help the afflicted place. The key to finding the best
practicing rhythm was another of his major principles "Think of the last easy
note."
For example, let us imagine a rapid passage in which the interval b to c
sharp had to be negotiated. Here the last easy note is b. "Think" means: in
playing this passage I should be able to gather my wits when I'm on the b, the
last easy note, and prepare the best position, so that I can execute the c
sharp when the time comes to strike quickly. It is the function of practicing
to develop this type of focusing just where it is needed. So I would devise a
little rhythmical pattern where a pause would occur on the b, during which I
could "prepare" the c sharp. I would practice this pattern slowly but very
rhythmically, moving my fingers with definition, and then go on to something
else.
I would not (as a good Gillet student)
try it fast, even once. Monsieur
Gillet, amazing as it may seem, said that in all his years of practicing for
the Boston Symphony, (and playing, we must remember, with such remarkable
accuracy) he never once practiced anything fast at home. Then, he repeated,
surveying the studio which was the scene of this unique discipline, "Not once!
" No, the passage, once practiced slowly and intensively, had to be allowed to
"cook" for two or three days. The real learning was this cooking, whereas the
practicing itself was just putting the ingredients into the pot. If you were
to play the passage fast, and should there be some imperfection, this would
be tantamount to throwing something rotten into the pot just before allowing
it to simmer for a few days. He put the same point another way, saying "You
can destroy in thirty seconds what you have done in thirty minutes."
The method of "asking why," separating the problem into its parts,
devising the best exercises to remedy the situation, doing the exercises
slowly, rhythmically and intensively for a short period of time, and then
"letting it cook" were the essentials of Monsieur Gillet's practicing system.
One good effect of such a method of practicing is that it is extremely
efficient, so that one is actually able to practice more in a shorter amount
of time. In fact, it was advised to practice many different types of things
each day, for short intensive periods, rather than to try to do a lot of one
thing. The variety itself, helps to divert the mind so as to enhance
concentration, and also tends to make one's playing better rounded. A typical
practice session would begin with work on one's basic tools (wind, embouchure,
etc.). Some work from one of his books might follow. These books are composed
of many short, to-the-point exercises for fundamentals, typically focusing
just on the most difficult points. In his
Vingt Minutes d 'Etudes pour L'Hautbois,
for example there are studies for the register changes in all the
major and minor keys (instead of whole scales) and just the most difficult
intervals. There is no padding here. He never allowed himself to be enslaved
to etudes, always stressing that "You work on etudes for what they can do for
you, not to try to play them on energy-wasting tour de force." In the manual
which he wrote to accompany his uncle's etude book, he suggests useful tempos
and articulations for practicing.
Before ending this discussion, something should be said about Monsieur
Gillet's approach to music that is, how to practice actual pieces or orchestral
solos. One principle was that when practicing music, one should work primarily
on the technical elements, not on the piece itself. For example, one might
work on the most expressive or difficult intervals. This would prevent the
piece from getting stale as well as being the most efficient way of mastering
its actual execution.
The real interpretive work, done away from the instrument, was in singing
the music to oneself, and searching for the composer's original feeling.
Another major emphasis was the importance of understanding the
underlying structure of a phrase. A complicated line in
Bach (or Ferling) was revealed to
be a simple melody with ornaments. Then the dynamics, articulations, affects
and inflections of the entire phrase could be sung into the few important
structural notes, or even a single note. This became a fantastic long tone
exercise for wind, embouchure and tongue, and one could blow one's
interpretation of the phrase into this long note, enhancing the development of
one's musical ideas.
Much care was given to refining the expressive details of the music. This
could go into the realm of intonation: not only did one strive to play
perfectly in tune, but one tried to find the most expressive place for pitches
like leading tones, and major and minor thirds and sixths. This refining
process also took place in terms of articulation. We tried to find the precise
amount of tapering, the perfect length of detaché, etc.
the right quality of staccato. It was thoroughly absorbing,
valuable and fulfilling work.
In a letter, Gillet wrote of his books "they can be considered as a
Dictionary and they are a lifetime study. You find all the combinations of
technique in them, and there is not one note unnecessary in them. I could give
a slogan for my works: 'You take the bull by the horns.' "
So absorbed was I in this world of Monsieur Gillet that an opportunity to
study in Berlin presented many ambiguous feelings. Finally, reflecting that
Gillet would certainly be there when I returned, at only eighty three he was
of course in fine shape.
Koch is the marvelous solo oboist of the Berlin Philharmonic and is also
very prominent in Europe as a soloist and chamber musician. His playing is
immediately recognizable on records by his very unique sound, beautiful in a
rather flute-like way. As I discovered, this type of sound was popular with
other oboists living in Berlin and had been developed principally by Karl
Steins, the other first oboist of the orchestra, although none of them was
Koch's equal.
Considering the many wars between France and Germany since the mid-
seventeenth century when the hautbois was first brought into being by the
Hotteterre family, we should certainly not be surprised that such different
national characters, which give rise to such different sounding languages
could also have different ideals of oboe sound.
The French sound on the oboe, and on most instruments, has tended to be
light delicate and flexible, while German playing has always been heavier,
sweeter and richer. After all the French eat croissants and the Germans prefer
chocolate cake.
Karl Steins, who had already been a member of the Berlin Philharmonic for
some years when Koch arrived, had a role in the development of modern German
playing not unlike that of Marcel Tabuteau in the U.S. Just as Tabuteau
developed the American oboe tone in response to the glorious Philadelphia
string sound, Steins' shimmering ethereal tone became a major influence on
German oboe playing. For years vibrato had been little used, but before long
the fast nervous vibrato of the Berlin oboist could be heard throughout the
country. Lothar Koch coming into the orchestra at age twenty-one also fell
under Steins' influence, but before long had surpassed him. One is reminded of
stories that one hears about the young Robert Bloom, deeply impressing all
listeners with his intense musicality and beautiful sound.
But this Berlin concept of playing was so very different than what I had
learned from Gillet, one could almost say the two styles were diametrically
opposed. [3] Also Monsieur Gillet and Herr Koch were such totally different
people that it was quite an experience to go from the perfectly ordered
Appolonian world of one to the wild Dionysian world of the other. Where Gillet
was eighty-three, Koch was thirty three and at least twice as big. While
Gillet had his ritual the day of concerts, (having tea and cake at four), Koch
might first get up at four, lose himself in teaching all afternoon, rush to
the concert, getting there barely in time but playing beautifully, and
finally, staying up with friends and students into the wee hours. Where Gillet
had his perfect art of preparation, Koch achieved comparable virtuosity with
very little practicing, through the sheer force of his natural talent.
In reflecting about Koch I've tried to penetrate beyond the word "talent"
and have tried to analyze what this ability to attain such results without
consistent practicing really involved. For one thing, Koch's music making
springs directly from his personality both are extremely energetic, intense,
joyful and direct. He has tremendous will, harnessed to wonderful musical
instincts, and a need for perfection linked to a very cool and objective ear.
It is as if he had a clear target in his mind: a certain sound, the right
balance between intensity and inner calm, a sense of absolute evenness of
technique and tone quality these constituted his mental target. And then he
endeavored to constantly hit this target through sheer strength of will and
concentration. You could almost see the concentration taking him over as he
started to play and what emerged was always flawless.
Lessons with Koch were totally different than with Gillet. There were no
exercises, scales or etudes. Koch would accompany at the piano or harpsichord
and we would work on music from all periods. Sometimes the focus was on the
tiniest details of interpretation but more often we just played. Through his
fine keyboard playing, as well as through verbal exhortations he was able to
evoke in lessons his own performance mood of intense yet calm singing and one
simply played one's best, if not better.
I was quite caught up in all this and in spite of all the opposing
technical principles learned from Gillet, not to speak of exhortations to be
artistically independent from Josef Marx, I found myself copying Herr Koch, at
least as much as I could. There was no other way. The whole nature of his
teaching, with its roots in his direct and intense personality, had the
inevitable effect of molding your playing to conform to that clear and
beautiful image that Koch had in his ear. So notes had to be exactly such a
length and quality, the ritard must be paced exactly so, etc. and all these
comments were delivered in a highly charged atmosphere, almost as if this
inspired concert had to be interrupted to make these vital corrections.
Finally I would get what he wanted, thank God, the keyboard accompaniment
would continue and so would the "concert."
I remember the first few lessons I took with Koch. The musical work was
wonderful but when he insisted that I raise the oboe and take more reed into
my mouth it felt uncomfortable, as if the reed suddenly became much heavier.
But I had to give it a try and before long was playing in a style that was
best expressed by President Kennedy when he said "Ich bin ein Berliner." Also
Koch taught me to make Berlin style reeds. And as the Berlin school of playing
has had such a great influence among oboists throughout West Germany we can
discuss the reed and embouchure techniques of Koch as fairly representative of
that country's oboists in general.
At first glance an American oboe player might well confuse a French reed
with a German as both are short scraped. However the French reed, built to be
very vibrant, is light with a thin tip and also quite closed, while German
reeds tend to be heavy with short thick tips, more open and much less vibrant.
Cane of 9 1/2 diameter is used, the gouge is approximately .55, the scrape
only 10mm and the shape 7.3 at the tip.
Unlike the French who play their reed at the tip, its most vibrant and
flexible part, the Germans take a lot of reed into the mouth so that they are
playing on much heavier wood, usually the bark of the cane.
Now, with all due respect to Steins and Koch, there are, from my present
point of view, some disadvantages built into this way of playing, quite apart
from whether or not you like the sound that is produced. The fact that the
reed is so open and must be gripped, and also that the gripping is on such
inflexible cane, makes control of tone colors and of articulations much more
difficult. Dependency on reeds is even a worse problem than elsewhere because
the oboist's embouchure can have less effect.
The natural vibration produced by even excellent wind cannot survive the
heavy reed and tight embouchure, and this explains why German oboists before
Steins tended to play with very little vibrato, and those after him often
resort to lip vibrato. Also tonguing is somewhat more difficult, since the
reed protrudes so far into the mouth that the tongue is cheated of its room to
move freely. In general this is a rather tiring way of playing, and as one
gets more and more tired, the embouchure grips more and more, pushing up the
pitch and pinching the sound.
Within any school of playing the better players are less likely to be
hurt by the school's inherent weaknesses, and Lothar Koch is a fine example of
this. Although he bites quite a bit and takes so much reed into his mouth that
the cane is barely to be seen, he still manages to play with a very live
sound. Perhaps this is made possible by the fact that he is so big and pours
every ounce of his strength into his playing.
If his embouchure and reed style somewhat limit his tonal palate, and
make certain refinements of articulation nearly impossible, Koch manages to
make do without these tools, and has built his musical style upon types of
articulation which he is better equipped to execute. Instead of tapering
notes, for example, he makes good use of short blocks of sound, with live
silences between them. What he lacks in variety he makes up in consistency
consistency which goes beyond mere accuracy because its source is love for
music, the strong will to do it justice, and the pure joy of playing. His
musical instincts are so wholesome and so strong that all obstacles, even
those he puts in his own path, are overcome.
As it turned out I was able to renew my scholarship which made another
year of study in Berlin possible. Work with Koch was proceeding very well, I
had a few opportunities to sub in the Berlin Philharmonic and to hear this
magnificent orchestra very often, and I was able to play a good deal of Bach
in churches. But I knew I would come home eventually, and so in the summer
between my two seasons in Berlin I auditioned for Robert Bloom in New Haven.
Robert Bloom, who was recently introduced to a large master class as "the
king of oboe players," started the oboe at age 19 with Tabuteau, having
previously been a cellist. In a very few years he was English hornist of the
Philadelphia Orchestra, and developed an outstanding career which included
playing under Toscanini in the NBC Orchestra and with the Bach Aria group for
over 25 years. He is perhaps the most influential teacher in America today
with students in important positions all over the country. In the past couple
of years he has taught at Julliard and Yale and has given master classes at
Curtis, California Institute of the Arts, and other places all over the
country. He has a beautiful soulful sound, impeccable musicianship, and a
depth of musical feeling and understanding found alone in true artists.
I had of course always heard about Bloom, in fact the man with whom I
began the oboe, Tony Maly, often played second to him. In a certain way my
training came full circle because Mr. Maly had started with generally the same
principles that Mr. Bloom had to once again teach me from scratch.
So although I had always heard about Bloom, my audition was my first
meeting with him. It seemed to go well, he was extremely friendly and gracious
and put me totally at ease. As I left he said, "See if you can work on
lowering your oboe this year." A few days before, in Berlin, Herr Koch had
given me the summer project of getting my oboe even higher! So it is not
surprising that when I played for Gillet during this period and asked "Does
this sound more American or European?" he answered, "To me it sounds like the
middle of the Atlantic."
Robert Bloom speaks in such a gentle manner, yet the effects of his words
can be quite powerful. It was soon suggested that Germany had been the worst
place in the world to have studied oboe and that major
changes were essential in terms of wind, embouchure and tone
production in general.
The first major change was to lower the angle of the oboe which has
dramatic implications for the embouchure. In Germany, the oboe is
held rather straight out which increases the role of the upper lip so
that both lips can tightly grasp the reed. When the oboe is lowered
and the head raised, the lower lip , which has a crucial function to
perform, is brought into a more advantageous position.
The American embouchure is a flexible one, certainly more so than the
German, and is more sophisticated in its function than the French.
There is a certain amount of in and out movement of the reed and
complimentary rolling motion of the lips, although stability is also
sought. Furthermore, the embouchure acts in two distinct ways:
Vertically (biting) and horizontally (cushioning through a puckering
motion). All dynamic levels are produced by regulating the size of
the reed's opening through various degrees of biting, which always
have to be balanced by the complimentary puckering in order to
maintain proper pitch.
These are some of the basic elements of the American type embouchure,
but working with Mr. Bloom was sensitively search for exactly your
right embouchure and becoming at the same time sophisticated about
what a well-balanced tone really is. He would suggest subtle changes
that would suddenly make one's sound blossom. His own embouchure was
a model of flexibility and firmness, perfectly directing the wind, and
supple enough to almost vibrate with it.
Bloom strongly emphasized good blowing and the intensity of the wind.
Here he is in accord not only with Mr. Gillet but with good woodwind
teachers of all times and places. But he would also instruct in the
manner of a voice teacher, sensitizing me to the physical sensations
of good tone production, advising me to keep the tone "forward and
into the mask" and demonstrating by singing beautifully. Long
association with the Bach Aria Group must have influenced his approach
to tone production: his playing follows vocal principles and in the
naturalness, flexibility and beauty of his tone and phrasing, the
influence of great singing is unmistakable.
The way Bloom teaches vibrato brings together various elements of his
approach in a revealing way. When the wind is of sufficient
intensity, and the embouchure holds the reed perfectly, a vibrato
comes naturally into the sound, almost as if to reward the player for
doing everything so well. This is the column of air vibrato. Vibrato
after all is natural; the sound of a gong playing in a large room
pulsates. No part of the body has to make the vibrato. It may be
generated in the good support of the abdominal muscles and diaphragm,
but all parts of the body should be flexible enough to be vibrated by
the column of air. The Berlin vibrato, beautiful though it can be,
was a mixture of lip vibrato and
isometrics. [4]. When I was
"persuaded" to abandon this type of vibrato, the sound I was
producing was revealed to be unvibrant because I wasn't blowing enough
and was choking off the steady meager flow of wind with my too-tight
embouchure. When wind and embouchure were right, the tone was on the
edge of vibrato, like a wine glass filled to just above the bring, and
then by leaning forward a little extra with the wind, the column of
air would spin.
By extremely careful attention to the technique of beginning a note,
the various elements of tone production were developed and finally
coordinated. A good breath had to be drawn, the tongue placed on the
reed so that the wind could be brought forward without yet making a
sound, and the embouchure formed and finally set for that particular
pitch with its dynamic and tone color. At this point, the
"moment of truth," one simply waited for the cue from Mr.
Bloom. And when it came, one calmly said "Tee," allowing the
perfect attack to occur. It would occur, that is, if you were lucky.
Because of such development of wind and embouchure, Mr. Bloom was not
so dependent on reeds and he taught his students not to get overly
bogged down in reeds. I'll always remember the 85 year old Gillet
holding up a 30 year old reed and sadly musing, "To be so
dependent on a piece of wood. . ." or Koch entering a
period of crisis because a shipment of cane was bad, not to speak of
many oboists who spend
more of their lives with reeds than with music,
Bloom's credo was "since the reed isn't perfect,
just blow and use your embouchure." And he proved his
point by his ability to sound beautiful on almost all reeds.
Mr. Bloom taught me techniques of reed making which were his refinements
of the principles discovered by Tabuteau, the latter needed to further develop
the French method of tone production in order to blend with the lush
Philadelphia strings. It is the strength of this American style that a richer
sound need not be gained at the expense of flexibility. This is possible
because of the rather complicated three inert scrape. In a reed comprised of
tip heart and back, the lips can play flexibly at the tip, while the sound
gains substance from the resistance of the heart, and depth from the cane out
of the back.
To make a good reed in this style requires subtle balancing and the right
integration and definition of the three parts.
We use a heavier gouge than the Germans to match our long scrape and tend
to work with a narrower shape, because the long scrape and puckered embouchure
would produce a flat pitch with a wide shape. American playing at its best has
the French virtue of flexibility along with the solidity of German playing.
Yet these wonderful techniques which can give us a "good" or "correct"
sound cannot of course guarantee a beautiful sound. We cannot copy someone
else's beautiful quality, except perhaps temporarily, but must develop our
concept from out of our own depths. Helping a student through this process is
the great teacher's most subtle art, as Bloom understood.
In this country many oboists make the mistake of seeking to phrase
according to warmed-over formulas and devices of Tabuteau, but Bloom, no
imitator himself, taught his students to learn to phrase, not by numbers, but
by searching into the music itself. He was wise in encouraging the development
of individual artistry in his students, after seeing to it that the elements
of tone production and musicianship were in order.
Now that about eight years have passed since my last formal oboe lesson,
I am realizing more and more that even with an education as long as mine, the
period after one finishes studying is (hopefully) much longer, and is our real
challenge. During this time I have found the principles of musicianship and
technique imparted to me by Robert Bloom to have been extremely sound, a fine
foundation to build upon. And in the good natured collegial warmth for which
he is loved by oboe players all over the country, Bloom is a good example for
us all.
Coda
In October of 1975 I went back East for two main reasons: to play with an
ensemble from California Institute of the Arts at the Kennedy Center
Contemporary Music Festival in Washington, D.C., and to finish up my doctorate
in performance at Yale which involved playing a recital and taking an oral
exam for a group of Yale professors. There was about a week between the two
dates during which I had to go to Boston to rehearse with the musicians who
were helping me with my recital and also to N.Y. As it so happened the Berlin
Philharmonic was touring the Northeast just at this time, playing in
Washington (at the Kennedy Center one night after the CalArts group) and then
going to Boston and N.Y. just when I was to be there. So I had ample
opportunity to see Koch and to play for him. He had many inspiring musical
things to say, but thought I really should go back to my Berlin embouchure.
I tried, and it felt awful, just like the first time.
Then he said "Whatever the
national school, the sound should just really be beautiful." Then I went to
Boston where I played for Gillet. At ninety-three he was as youthful, alert
and informative as ever, and sounded fine on a reed labelled 1938. I was happy
to find him experimenting with some of the same trick fingerings that I had
been using, wondering all the while if he would approve. Finally I went to New
Haven where Robert and Sally Bloom undertook to get me ready for the recital
and exam with warm friendship, inspiring tapes of Bloom's performances, (when
will they be released on record?!), coaching toward natural, warm and positive
playing, and sage advice of various kinds.
And speaking of sage advice I'd like to close with a quote from J. J.
Quantz from his great book "On Playing The Flute;"
"For universal good taste is not to be encountered in single nations, as
each flatters itself; it must be forward and shaped through the mixture and
through the reasonable choice of good ideas end good methods the disagreeable.
He who knows how to of playing from different nations. Each choose that which
is best will not be led nation has in its musical idiom something astray by
that which is common, low, and both of the agreeable and pleasing, and of
bad."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALLAN VOGEL is principal oboist of the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra and
has been chosen as the ensemble's featured soloist on many occasions. He has
performed at the Marlboro Festival, New York's Mozart Festival at Lincoln
Center with Tashi, Washington, D.C. Kennedy Center Contemporary Music Festival
as well as with the Berlin Philharmonic, the Los Angeles Philharmonic and the
Marlboro Festival Orchestra under Pablo Casals.
He is a founding member of "MUSICAL OFFERING" baroque ensemble and plays
also with Ko-Kela and the California Double Reed Quartet.
He teaches at California Institute of the Arts and U.C.L.A. In the past
season he toured the Northeast with Music from Marlboro, and spent a month in
Germany, recording Bach Cantatas with Helmut Rilling. His most recent
recordings include the Mozart and Beethoven Quintets for piano and winds with
Peter Serkin for RCA. He also recorded for Columbia with the Columbia Chamber
Soloists, and for D.G.G. with the Berlin Philharmonic.
Vogel received his doctorate and Masters in performance from Yale, where
he studied oboe under Robert Bloom and keyboard under Ralph Kirkpatrick. He
also studied with oboists Lothar Koch, Fernand Gillet, Jean DeVergie, and Josef
Marx. He was twice awarded Fulbright Fellowships to Berlin and received
fellowships at Tanglewood and Marlboro Festivals.
FOOTNOTES
1. Volume V, September 1977, No. 2. [return]
2. Here is where the French
and American concepts part company. [return]
3. In America we sometimes refer
to "European" playing, as if all oboists
in Europe played in the same style But there
is tremendous variety, even apart from
the French and German Schools discussed here. [return]
4. A flutist who played with Tabuteau during
the latter's last playing years told me that
Tabuteau was getting his vibrato, by that time,
by shaking the oboe, but that it still sounded
great. Interesting! [return]