Here Comes Treble: Instruments Are Individuals Too!
...Each musical instrument, though it is engineered similarly to every other of its kind, has unique characteristics. Finding one’s own ‘perfect instrument’ is as difficult as finding the perfect person to marry...
Flautist Isabel Bradley, with an infectious enthusiasm, tells of her "perfect'' instrument which helps her to produce sounds she never imagined possible: rich and growling or velvety dark in the lower register, singing and ringing in the middle and upper registers.
Isabel's wonderful words make "music'' for the mind. To read more of them please click on Here Comes Trebel in the menu on this page.
In a previous ‘Treble’ I mentioned that “music-making has as much to do with the quality of the instrument as that of the musician.”
If a pupil wants to learn the flute, a good-quality student-model instrument is recommended. Should the mechanism be faulty, the instrument will be difficult to play and the student will become increasingly frustrated; if the problem isn’t corrected, they may discontinue music lessons altogether.
Once a musician reaches a higher standard of proficiency, the subject becomes more personal. The materials from which the instrument is made, the intricacies of the variations in design between different manufacturers, the standard of workmanship, all take on greater importance.
A flautist friend and mentor, Dr. Albert Honey, told of a flute he once owned: made of a seamed tin tube and silver-plated, it was an archaic design. For years after he sold it, he maintained that no other flute gave him the sound quality that this one did. He longed to be able to recreate those sounds so much that, with great difficulty he located the instrument, purchased it at enormous expense and even had it re-silver-plated using an antiquated, illegal process involving arsenic and a midnight tryst in an old aircraft hangar! Some musicians take the individuality of their instruments more seriously than others. This particular flute was a great disappointment to him – designs had improved since he’d last used it.
When I was twenty, my teacher and mentor Lucien Grujon, helped me select my first ‘professional’ instrument. It was a long process. For ease of transport, flutes come in three parts which are fitted together before playing: the foot joint, the body and the head joint. I had the choice of at least five ‘bodies’ (with foot joints) and five different head-joints; these were tried and tested in all possible combinations. After several hours, the final selection was made. Over the years, flute design has changed by tiny increments, creating instruments which are easier to play and are capable of producing increasingly beautiful sounds.
In 1936, my father, a self-taught musician, purchased a solid silver flute from the instrument-makers, Rudall Carte and Co of London. He ordered it by mail after seeing it advertised in a catalogue. Its serial number, 7946, is stamped on the instrument together with a hallmark and the company’s name. It is a superbly engineered piece of silver-smithing and a lovely instrument. Often, Dad said to me, “One day, my gal, when I don’t need it any longer, you’ll have a marvellous flute!” He died in 1993, playing his flute regularly to within weeks of his death. When I inherited the sixty year old instrument, I had great difficulty playing it. I wanted more than anything else to be able to enjoy it as Dad had.
Close to our home in South Africa lives an excellent flute maker, Michael Botha, who had serviced my instruments and Dad’s for many years. Clutching the Rudall Carte in its original case, I visited Michael’s workshop. He drooled over the historical instrument; remarked on the workmanship and took delight in every key, spring and pad. Then I asked him to modify it so that I could use it. He was horrified; but, after much negotiation, he agreed. His workmanship matched that of Rudall Carte and Co.
Since then, I’ve played on the Rudall Carte many times, and still do so occasionally. Unfortunately, even with the modifications it remains an antiquated flute; tuning is tricky and the sound isn’t as big or as liquid as I like. I experience nostalgic pleasure when playing on it but it’s not my instrument of choice. Essentially, it’s not ‘my’ flute, it remains Dad’s.
While busy with the modifications to Dad’s Rudall Carte, Michael sold me a flute he had made – serial number four. It is silver, delicately made, light to hold during marathon chamber-music sessions or challenging concert performances; the head-joint is gold-lined and the mouth piece gold-plated. This is ‘my’ instrument in every way, helping me to produce sounds I never imagined possible: rich and growling or velvety dark in the lower register, singing and ringing in the middle and upper registers. For me, this instrument is far superior to any that may cost thousands more. Another person playing on it at a similar standard to mine may dislike it intensely for any of a hundred personal reasons.
Each musical instrument, though it is engineered similarly to every other of its kind, has unique characteristics. Finding one’s own ‘perfect instrument’ is as difficult as finding the perfect person to marry.
After many years of making music, I’m incredibly lucky to have found ‘my’ flute’.
Until next week, ‘here comes Treble!’
by Isabel Bradley
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