Young girl
On my father’s arm,
Dressed in my best,
Lifting long skirts to rise,
To float,
Up the winding wide staircase;
Watching glamorous concert-goers,
Breathing in perfume,
Admiring lace and silk,
It’s swish and swirl,
Exquisite evening bags
Dangling, tantalising,
From elegant, bejewelled wrists;
Envying them their ease of conversation
With men,
Suave in suits and glossy ties.
Anticipation –
It feels like butterflies in my chest.
We take our seats,
Red-velvet, soft,
High in the balcony,
Where I can see and hear
The giddy excitement:
And here they come –
The Orchestra,
Musicians in glittering black
With gleaming instruments,
And there’s the conductor,
He bows, lifts his baton,
And the Music soars,
Up to our ears in glory…
And oh, the fun,
watching:
the flautist floating his sound high and pure
and silver and sobbing,
sitting crouched like a bad-tempered toad in his chair;
The trumpet’s bright and brilliant sound
Ripping through the ponderous strings,
The trumpeter’s face red
and glowing,
and bright with sweat;
and the percussionist,
swinging his hammer back and forth
between gong and base-drum,
“Bonggggg”, “Boom”, “Bonnngggg,” “Boom”,
“Boooonnnnnggggg”
And missing a beat
As he catches and rights
The falling, reverberating gong.
Interval –
We go downstairs
And fight our way through the crowd,
Heading backstage.
We find and talk to
The red-faced trumpeter,
The ‘grumpy toad’ flautist –
My much-loved teacher,
And some of the young cadets –
Flirt with them behind Dad’s back…
Sleeping with my head on his shoulder
Through the second half;
Roused by a roll on the timps.
Edging our way downstairs,
Through the tunnel,
To the car in the parking lot,
Discussing in detail
Every note,
Every musician,
And –
Just being together:
Me, my Dad, and music.
I recently performed a programme of some of my favourite works for flute and piano at the Theatre on the Square in Sandton, during one of their Friday lunch-hour concerts. Here are the prose and poetry that I used as introductions to the works I performed with my friend and accomopanist, Susan van der Wat, that day:
Recently, Leon and I saw the marvelous production of The Magic Flute, recorded and broadcast from the New York Metropolitan Opera. Hearing the libretto in modern American-English was a treat; learning of the attributes given to the instrument, the ‘magic flute’ resonated deeply with me:
“A flute … is worth more than gold or crowns, For by its power will human joy and contentment be increased.”
Isabel and Susan
The flute is my magical instrument – playing it brings me not only joy and contentment, but fun, laughter and communication with other musicians, and my audience.
The first ‘jewel’ that we performed was the exquisite Romance by Camille Saint-Saëns, a work that I love performing, which certainly brings:
The Joy of Music
The promise of beauty resonates,
Deep in my soul,
Ripples through me,
Pours forth in joy and gleaming light,
Floating,
On a magic-carpet-ride.
Sounds pour through me,
Sparkle, soar and shine,
Passing in golden chains from me, to you, to me…
Carried through air and time and space:
Precious jewels of sound,
Living on,
into forever.
An Arpeggione
Our next offering – a jewel, perhaps ‘stolen’ from other instruments – was the beautiful Arpeggione Sonata by Frans Schubert. This sonata was written for an instrument by that name – the Arpeggione: it was somewhat rounder of body than a cello, but was held between the knees like a bass viola da gamba; similar to a guitar, its neck was fretted and it had 6 strings, but it was played with a bow, as is a cello. Invented in 1823 by Viennese guitar maker Johann Georg Stauffer, it was fairly popular for about 10 years, but never became widely played. The only work ever written for it was this sonata by Schubert, and it was first published in 1871, long after his death. Schubert also arranged this work for viola and piano. ‘Cellists, clarinettists and flautists, of course ‘steal’ it from the viola and perform it regularly! Though one wonders if this music can truly be ‘stolen’, as the instrument for which it was written no longer exists. No matter which instrument plays it, it remains glorious music.
My last teacher, Lucien Grujon, believed that the first duty of a musician is to respect the wishes of the composer, to try to understand the inner meaning of their works. “What you play,” he would say, “must be understood by the audience… The rhythm is what gives life to the music – the music must be interpreted through the rhythm. Playing in time is one thing – playing rhythmically is another, entirely. Say something through the notes, give your message to the audience.”
The sonata is in three movements, the first entirely separate, the second moving without a break into the third.
Here are the thoughts that pass through my mind as I play the Arpeggione Sonata:
Music – The Heartbeat of Life
My friend and companion –
Music talks straight to my heart,
Wakes joy, delight, sorrow and grief,
Invites laughter, tears
And bliss.
My friend and companion –
Music awakes my imagination,
Paints pictures in my mind, And, re-visited,
is as welcome as a well-loved friend:
Familiar, yet – each time, somehow more,
somehow new;
Comforting,
Invigorating,
Soothing.
Music is the heartbeat of life.
I was privileged to have three wonderful flute teachers. When I was a small child, I listened, delighted, to the musical jewels that poured through the night as Dad played wonderful recordings of renowned flautist, Marcel Moyse, or practised his own flute. When I was eight years old, my father taught me to play the piccolo – my arms and fingers were too small to hold a flute. A year later, Chippy Yutar took over from him. Under her, I advanced to playing the full-sized concert flute, earned distinctions in music exams, learnt to perform in public, and enjoyed my first years as a member of an orchestra. Chippy instilled in me my love for music, and the joy that comes through playing with other musicians. When Chippy moved away from Johannesburg, Lucien Grujon, who studied at the Paris Conservatoire under the great Marcel Moyse, became my teacher. He often said to his pupils: “your flute is just a piece of metal – you have to make it live, vibrating with your own soul and feelings, through the inspiration of the composer.” Lucien Grujon taught me mastery of the instrument.
Our last jewel of the afternoon was the Hungarian Pastoral Fantasy by Albert Franz Doppler. Doppler was a virtuoso flautist and composer. The fantasy comprises several sections linked by piano passages, and is a favourite ‘show-piece’ for the flute, vivid and exciting.
I imagine that, when I join with it to make music, this is how my flute feels:
Soul of a Flute
Another’s breath
Breathes life
Into my long, smooth body;
I quiver in anticipation,
As warmth flows through me.
Ripples of light move inside me
As fingers move my keys;
Vibrations of air,
Of round, dark sound,
Thrill from my lowest notes.
Sorrow pours its tears into me.
The light moves,
Changes,
Gleams silver inside me.
Joy flies and dances from my keys,
Jumps in starbursts of light and singing
Inside me –
In the air around me.
Sound courses, vibrating, through me –
Silver and gold,
Velvet and silk,
And sparkling jewels.
Through shifting kaleidoscopes
Of light and dark
I laugh,
I sing,
I sob.
Sometimes I sing alone…
Sometimes my voice blends,
in bliss,
with the songs of others –
the same, but different.
I am – but I live only
Through the breath,
The touch,
The life,
The passion – of another.
As an encore, we played a piece of simple, glorious music – the Morceau de Concours by Gabriel Fauré:
