Wednesday, July 01, 2020

Teaching and Travel:
My Passions
Since 1989, when I resigned from the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra, I have been extremely fortunate to reside in Italy, Netherlands, Switzerland, Japan and Mexico. And from those locations as my centers I have literally been privileged to teach all over the world.
I was very happy with that situation until the arrival of COVID-19. Now, for the foreseeable future it seems travel is no longer an option, even today I’m feeling the frustration having had to cancel a week of teaching in Taiwan, which I was very much looking forward to.
Fortunately, the Internet provides me with the facility to continue my passion for teaching with the extra benefit of enjoying an international enrollment.
If any of my readers are interested in taking lessons with me, I would enjoy meeting you, hearing you, and getting to know you. You can contact me on Facebook Messenger or on my email, bomaestro@gmail.com.
Roger Bobo, July 1, 2020

Sunday, June 07, 2020

Tubists Online
A good friend of mine, while we were having an intercontinental online chat, asked me, “Why are there so many tubists playing online?”
Reviewing the online activities of the amazing number of unemployed musicians, who have discovered the Internet post COVID19, is almost the only outlet where there is a possibility to perform. Both My friend and I had noticed that there seemed to be a disproportional amount of tubists, frequently amazing tubists, compared to other instruments. There could be two reasons for this.  
1.        (The easy answer): Both my friend and I have a huge number of tubists friends. And
2.        Tubists, long before the COVID 19 plague arrived, had developed and promoted our instrument through the last century to the present, in a way that has no precedent in music history.  
(When I speak of tuba and tubists I’m including the euphonium. The euphonium is, after all, a tenor tuba and euphonium is just too difficult to type every time I want to refer to our very special community. We are of the same family.)
Harvey Phillips, who was the spearhead of much of our historical evolution through the last century, would be proud.
What is it in our tubist DNA that has driven us to develop our instrument to this historical and high profile visibility? Is there something in our character that led us to choose this instrument or was it our association with this instrument the led us to the collective need to evolve. It’s an ancient question: Are we the result of heredity or environment?
Recently, I assisted Scott Sutherland in a virtual video project with 100 tubists from around the globe, playing Scott’s arrangement of Nimrod from the Enigma Variations by Edward Elgar, (which can be seen and heard in my previous blog.)Today we were surprised and delighted to see that the Nimrod video had surpassed 60,000 views. Scott and Phillip Broome deserve an enormous ovation for their work in coordinating 100 separate videos from the 100 superb tubists from around the world into one unforgettable virtual performance.
I would also like to thank those 100 tubists for their generous time and talent, which made the mega event possible.
I’ve been listening to the tuba for 70 years; I’ve never heard anything like this before.

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Roger Bobo, June 7, 2020, Oaxaca Mexico  

Thursday, April 16, 2020

Legacy of a classic Contrabasstrombone
It was spring break in the late 1950s, specifically 1958. As in every spring break, we stuffed 4 of my fellow Eastman School of Music classmates plus a couple of tubas in my 52 Chevy 2 door, and started the early Saturday morning six-hour drive from Rochester to New York City.
I was scheduled at 8:00am on Sunday morning to have a lesson with my hero, the legendary William Bell, the iconic tubist in the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. The lesson was in Mr. Bells Studio on 48th street one floor above the famous Red Lobster Restaurant. At 7:30 on a Sunday morning walking on the streets of New York, it felt like a ghost town. The cleaning staff, which was at work in the Red Lobster, was happy to stop working, talk to me, and point out the stairway to Mr. Bell’s studio. They all knew him. He was late that morning. During my lesson one of my friends was a block away on 49th Street; he told me could clearly hear me playing the Stravinsky Petrushka bear solo. I’ve often wondered how many sleeping New Yorkers I awakened on that Sunday Morning.
During my high school and Jr high school years I listened to the Sunday afternoon broadcasts of the New York Philharmonic, many times with a score in my hand; I learned much of the repertoire in that period. My teacher then was Robert Marsteller, 1st trombonist in the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra. He was a genius teacher and he guided me both as a soloist and as an orchestral tubist; much of my orchestral thinking was developed from the point of view of being a 4th trombonist or a contrabasstrombonist. Mr. Marsteller spoke frequently of a contrabasstrombone that William Bell sometimes played in the NYPO. I was fascinated by that and could only imagine what it must have sounded like.
During that early morning lesson with William Bell I brought up the subject of the contratrabasstrombone and after the lesson he invited me to go with him to the NYPO locker room and he would show it to me. We took a taxi from 48th Street to the Carnegie Hall stage entrance and went into the locker room. He opened his locker and took out a tattered old brown corduroy bag. He opened the bag and took out the tarnished bell and slide of the contra, put the parts together and handed it to me. I played on it, handled the slide as best I could and the sound it made was just as I had imagined.
He then said “Well, you seem to really enjoy playing it, I’ll be happy to sell it to you if you’d like”. He asked me if I could afford $450, Of course, I quickly agreed, then he said I could pay it when I wished; I took me a year with $50 payments. I saw it then and still see it as an unbelievable gift.
Fredrick Fennell, conductor of the Eastman Wind Ensemble through the mid 1950s took a special interest in this instrument and wrote a letter to the Conn Company asking for any historical information; they returned the following sparse information: the instrument was made before 1909, this they knew because the Conn factory was burnt to the ground in 1909. Conn only could tell us that there were two contrabassstrombones built. I had the opportunity to play the other one once while visiting the Conn Factory Museum in 1961. It was a strikingly inferior instrument then the one I got from William Bell, in which the second slide was a larger diameter; the one in the Conn Museum was the same bore size on both slides. This caused it to be very stuffy. 


The vague verbal history tells the instrument was made for Mr. August Helleberg, who is still known for his famous Conn Helleberg mouthpieces. He was known as a great tuba virtuoso and had played with the Chicago Symphony, the New York Philharmonic and finally with the Metropolitan Opera. He also played with the Sousa Band from 1898 to 1903. 
It’s surmised that during Helleberg’s years with the Metropolitan Opera he encountered a need for contrabasstrombone in the four Ring Cycle operas of Wagner. This need is probably what inspired the collaboration between August Helleberg and the pre 1909 Conn Company, which resulted in the two contrabasstrombones and, of course, the Conn Helleberg mouthpieces.
That contrabasstrombone was my most valued possession; I would show it off at every opportunity. Once when the Philadelphia Orchestra came to Rochester to play a concert in the Eastman Theater, I went back stage after the concert to meet Abe Torchinsky, the tubist; He was a jolly, good natured man but visibly skeptical of the way the tuba of the time was evolving. When the subject of instruments came up, of course, I took him to my room in the Eastman Theater to show him my contra. His voice suddenly rose in both volume and pitch and he was clearly agitated in a balance between anger and humor and it was clearly directed at me. Mr. Torchinsky was a William Bell student and they were good friends.
It was made clear to me that the contra was a Christmas gift to Mr. Bell from Mr. Torchinsky several years prior! There was more to the story; the instrument really belonged to the Philadelphia Orchestra!! As with every symphony orchestra, there was a storeroom full of unused or non-functional instruments. Mr. Torchinsky discovered the contrabasstrombone and presented it to his teacher and friend as a Christmas gift. Although I’m sure Mr. Torchinsky viewed me as some kind of tuba troublemaker, we eventually became good friends.
William Bell had told me that there was an American composer named Vittorio Giannini who always wrote for contrabassstrombone instead of tuba. When I returned to Rochester the first piece I encountered in the Philharmonic was a work by Giannini called Frescobaldiana, which had a part for contrabasstrombone. I tried my best to learn it but getting my nonexistent slide technique functional enough in 3 days for a Thursday night concert was not realistic; I played the part on tuba. The following school year I was fortunate to become a contrabasstrombone student with the great and famous trombone Maestro, Emory Remington. I was his one and only contrabasstrombone student.
I tested my theory that the contrabassstrombone would be a suitable instrument to use for tuba parts in the symphony orchestra. Specifically, I used it in Brahms 2nd Symphony and Tchaikovsky 6th Symphony, both very much orchestrated like the fourth part in the trombone section. Brahms and Tchaikovsky knew what they were doing; the contra sounded fine but tuba was the right instrument! 
When the contra was right, it was overwhelmingly right. In 1961 I used contra in an Eastman Wind Ensemble with Fredrick Fennell for an album called THE GABREILLI’S OF VENICE; I learned that for Italian Renascence music the cylindrical sound made by a contrabassstrombone was far more idiomatic and simply correct than the wider sound of a 20th century tuba. Having played an entire concert of Gabrielli with the brass section of the Los Angeles Philharmonic in San Marco’s Cathedral in Venice, Italy, Gabrielli’s musical home, I became even more convinced that those gorgeous bass lines sounded far more appropriate on a cylindrical instrument. 
In the summer of 1960 I got my first studio job for the movie SPARTACUS, it was three days of exciting work and it was all orchestrated for contrabasstrombone. Of course, I also used it in the LAPO when we played music from the Wagner Ring Operas and the Gurrelieder by Arnold Schoenberg.
In 1963, during my first year in the Los Angeles Philharmonic, I had an F attachment installed on the instrument, that made the instrument much easier to play and extended the low register into a very functional contrabass range.
After my retirement from playing in 2001 I sold it to a very good friend who was a basstrombonist in one of the major orchestras. He had never told anyone how much he paid for it, so I won’t tell either; I will only say that considering the $450 I paid for it in 1958, it was the best investment of my life. The instrument has now found its way back into the Hollywood studio world and from what I understand it is used frequently; I’m happy about that.
Because I bought it from William Bell, because of the story that came with the horn and because every experience I had with it throughout my career was a happy experience, it was my most treasured possession. I loved that horn.

April 16 2020, Oaxaca, Mexico  

Monday, November 11, 2019

Our Sophisticated Scream

In the mid 1960s my friend Tommy Johnson lent me a number of the components for playing electric tuba. The possibilities with the sounds and effects that were available seemed endless. And I could play loud, it was unbelievable how loud I could play; while using only enough air and energy for a very conservative mezzo forte, I was able to play many times louder than I could ever have played on my own power. I never really tried to play at the maximum forte possible, I was afraid for the windows in the house, I was afraid for the neighbors and I was afraid for my ears. I used this equipment several times in the Hollywood studios. For each component that I used: fuzz tone, octave divider, ring modulator, amplifier etc, I was paid a double; I was making money with this toy, but what a toy it was. However, time soon put this fad to rest, but it was great fun while it lasted. Somehow I was relieved the trend had come to an end, or almost to an end.

Ten years later my good friend Fred Tackett wrote a jazz-rock concerto for tuba and rhythm: electric piano, electric bass, drums and guitar, called Yellowbird. While setting up for the first rehearsal I was surprised when they gave me a mike. Naively, I thought, since I considered myself a powerful symphonic tubist, I wouldn’t need a mike; I learned quickly how wrong I was. When I began to play with the quartet, even though it felt like I was playing I had to admit that I could hear no difference in the sound of the room whether I was playing or not. When I accepted using the mike everything worked.

Is the world making a poco a poco crescendo?

In 1966 I played a radio recital and gave a masterclass in Reykjavík, Iceland. On a free weekend I was invited by the president of the Icelandic Band Association to spend a few days at the home of his in-laws in Reykholtsdalur, a very small village with houses set at great distance apart on the hillsides, overlooking a stream of steamy volcanically heated water that flowed through the center of the sparse community.

My host’s father-in-law was 84 years old and had only been out of Reykholtsdalur once in his life; in 1918 he went to Reykjavík, the capital of Iceland. He left Reykjavík after just a few days to return to Reykholtsdalur because Reykjavík was too hectic for him! To most urbanites in the world, Reykjavík, even today, would appear as a very quiet small town. The old man had never met a foreigner before and even though he had read all the wall-to-wall books in his home in English, French, German and Scandinavian languages, he had never tried to speak anything other than Icelandic until my visit. 

Certainly, Reykholtsdalur is the quietest place I have ever been. When this old man spoke his voice was clear, resonate, full and very verysoft; he had never in his life had to speak at a volume that would cut through any peripheral sounds and he probably never had to shout. I’ve never heard a voice like that before; he simply never needed to speak any louder.

One year later I spent several days on tour with the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra in Sarajevo, which was then a part of the old Yugoslavia. At 4:30 in the afternoons we would hear the powerful and penetrating voices from the minarets of the castrati Muslim sheikhs calling the Muslim community to worship.

It seems mankind will do anything necessary to be heard.

In my conservatory days at the Eastman School of Music the British guitarist Julian Bream came to give a masterclass in the afternoon and a recital in the evening. It was a wonderful masterclass. Not only was Mr. Bream the standard-bearer for the state of the art amongst guitarists, he was also a man of considerable charisma and charm. At the finish of the masterclass several of the Eastman girls asked if I thought Maestro Bream would like to go out after his concert that evening and enjoy a drink or two. “Well, you’ll never know until you ask him”, I said; they did, he seemed very pleased and they made the appointment. Now the girls seemed almost panicked, “Where shall we take him” was the question. After a little conversation they decided to take him to their usual spot, which was called “Al’s Green Tavern”. It was located just on the edge of town and as well as being the frequent “watering hole” for the habitual party people of the Eastman School, it was also the hangout for the tough, pool playing motorcycling types of Rochester; Al’s Green Tavern was a rowdy joint!

Since I had an exam the next day I went home to study for a while and didn’t get to the tavern until a couple of hours later. When I arrived I was a little concerned by the extreme quiet as I walked in; this was not normal. There was no pool playing there was no rowdiness, just an eerie quiet with the attention of the whole pub focused on one corner of the room where Julian Bream sat playing the lute, perhaps the softest and most intimate musical instrument we have. Mr. Bream had calmed the rowdy pub crowd with sonic beauty and musical eloquence; his musical power, stronger than the rock and roll that was normally heard from the jukebox, caused his unique public to make an effort to listen.

I’m not very fond of rock and roll; I try sometimes to understand the text when I can, whether it’s rap, hip-hop or whatever. The social message in the lyrics may be interesting, however, it’s very rare when I can understand them; it’s usually just too loud to discriminate anything subtle…like words. There is one rock and roll group I enjoy very much; Pink Floyd creatively uses dynamic contrasts and consequently becomes a muchmore powerful musical entity than most rock and roll groups, we hear the text and we hear the sonic beauty. 

Dynamic levels also differ among symphony orchestras. Part of this difference is, of course the difference in the concert halls. A great hall, like a great violin, has a certain point in the dynamic where the sound becomes enhanced; it generates a feedback, a luster, to the timbre. In some halls, like the Concertgebouw of Amsterdam this point of enhancement happens at a simple mezzo piano, in other halls like Avery Fisher Hall, the home of the New York Philharmonic or Chicago’s Orchestra Hall, home of the Chicago Symphony, this acoustical enhancement doesn’t happen until well into forte or even fortissimo. The Concertgebouw seats 1750 listeners, Avery Fisher Hall seats 2738. If the members of the Concertgebouw Orchestra were to play at the dynamics used in Avery Fisher Hall it would probably sound quite vulgar. The problem for the larger halls is that by the time that point of enhancement is reached in fortissimo the tone quality often becomes forced. This could partially explain why many players are moving to larger equipment; they believe bigger equipment won’t sound forced in extreme fortissimo. 

Throughout history, music has been reflective of our environment, so it’s not difficult to understand why the dynamic, the decibel level today is chronically rising. With rapid population growth and the resulting traffic and urban chaos, with war and an always present threat of terrorism, and with sociological changes that come so quickly, we hardly have time to adjust before they change again, it’s no wonder that the poco a poco crescendo is approaching a frighteningly painful level.

If the poco a poco crescendo continues it’s inevitable we are going to see an inordinate amount of hearing problems in our future; one has to wonder if the extremely high decibels in our environment and our music will affect the evolution of mankind’s hearing mechanism, thus resulting in a development in our tolerance to loud sounds. If that were to happen would it mean that we would lose our capacity to hear low decibel sounds? In any case it would certainly mean a change in the way we hear.

Is it possible that this high decibel music today for many of us is in reality a sophisticated scream, a visceral reaction to the stresses of our time?

If so, it’s a natural thing. A scream, as well as a call for help can also be a threshold we cross to a clearer state of mind suitable forfinding solutions for life’s problems. Is it possible that the intoxicated, anesthetized high decibel bacchanals, (wild intoxicated revelry) in which many of our young people frequently indulge, is part of that sophisticated scream caused by fear of the future, of the unknown? An occasional bacchanal needn’t be a bad thing; like the scream, it could be the first step toward adjusting to the aspect of solution.

Perhaps Julian Bream showed us an alternative to the poco a poco crescendo fifty years ago when he played the lute in Al’s Green Tavern and tamed the rowdy locals into quiet listeners.

And who shall be the first to leave the monstrous power behind, pull the plug and communicate by beauty, elegance and poetry of sound?

Amsterdam, March 1, 2007

Reposted Oaxaca, Mexico, November 11, 2019