The Spirit of ’76
When I was in the fifth grade, my class was presented with the opportunity to learn an instrument and join the band. I always had a fascination with the painting The Spirit of ’76 by Archibald Willard, and the concept of the snare drummers and fifer marching forward (and presumably playing “Yankee Doodle”) in such a determined manner to inspire victory in the Revolutionary War – and so began my journey with the flute.
Over the next 20 or so years, I had the occasional run-in with various “folk” or “traditional” flutes, such as the $15 plastic fife you can buy at Colonial Williamsburg, or the cheap tin whistle found at your local music shop or on Amazon. Every time I would pick one up and play with it, it felt like some sort of taboo betrayal. Somehow, there was a constant and nagging thought running through my head that if I wanted to be any good at the flute, I should avoid any other instrument. I couldn’t even tell you where it came from, but I can still hear the echoes of “sax/clarinet/piccolo/you-name-it will ruin your embouchure!” when I close my eyes. On top of that, it didn’t feel like there was a way to play the fife or the whistle and be a “serious” musician.
Eventually, I realized that in order to get more work as a musician (especially as a flutist in Boston), I would need to expand my skill set. I was doing a fair amount of theatrical music direction, and I realized that my playing opportunities were severely limited by being a “flute only” player. Eventually, I defied that voice in the back of my head and picked up the clarinet and sax, and the gigs started to multiply.
Meanwhile, there was still another nagging feeling I couldn’t ignore. I had begun this whole journey into the world of music because of a connection I felt to a musician in a painting from hundreds of years ago – a noble depiction of this monumental moment in American history – and there I was, honking away on the bari sax part to “Bend and Snap” in a local community theatre production of Legally Blonde.
I had been seeing occasional social media posts from a Penn State friend who had joined the US Army and was a member of the Old Guard Fife and Drum Corps. I learned that, to this day, they carry on the traditions that are depicted in The Spirit of ’76 and serve as the official escort to the President of the United States. I was blown away to learn that such high profile gigs exist – for the fife. I knew that the military had opportunities for musicians, but I never realized how widespread the world of traditional music was.
After chatting with my friend for a bit and learning how deep his roots in traditional music went, he told me that there were upcoming auditions to join the Old Guard. I had no fife experience, but you could audition on flute, and then learn the fife. For a number of reasons, I was hesitant to consider joining the Army, but I signed up for an audition anyways. Unfortunately, I fell and broke my elbow, so I had to cancel the audition, and I took that as a sign that maybe the Army just wasn’t for me. Nonetheless, my friend helped me get in touch with the fife maker for the Old Guard, and I ordered myself a brand new, custom deluxe Healy 10-hole fife.
When I received the fife, I was as lost as anyone can be. 10 holes? No keywork? A hole for my RIGHT thumb? What the heck do I do with this thing? Did I just waste a ton of money on something I’ll never use? Too stubborn to ask for help, I fought with it on my own for a few months before it ended up on a shelf somewhere in the back of my apartment. I’m pretty sure a couple years went by where I did nothing more than look at it, or take it out and play a few notes before getting frustrated and putting it away again.
On Patriots’ Day in 2017 (a local Massachusetts holiday to remember the battles of Lexington and Concord, the “shot heard ’round the world”, and with it, the start of the American Revolution – and of course, the Boston Marathon), I decided to take in the classic patriotic Boston experience by attending reenactments of the battle at Lexington, the “first shot” at the North Bridge in Concord, MA, and then walking the Freedom Trail in Boston and seeing Paul Revere’s house and the Old North Church (“One if by land, two if by sea…”).
While watching the reenactments in Concord, I was amazed to see an endless stream of reenacting groups parade over the Old North Bridge. There were standard military reenacting groups, but it seemed like every other group was a fife and drum corps. Among them were rag-tag groups of 1770’s farmers and children and people dressed as “regulars”, but the group that stood out to me by far was a highly polished and rehearsed group dressed head-to-toe in military uniforms replicating those of George Washington’s Continental Army. I soon came to learn that this group was the Middlesex County Volunteers Fifes & Drums, or MCV for short.
Within a few days, I was exchanging emails with the director of MCV, and setting up a time to meet. I explained my background as a “classical” flutist and my frustrations with trying to learn the 10-hole fife on my own. A week or two later, I attended my first rehearsal and really began to learn how to play the fife. I was measured for my uniform and powdered wig, and given information about the following year’s trip to play at the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo in Edinburgh, Scotland. A few months later, I played my first official performance with MCV, which happened to be a live collaboration with none other than the Boston Pops, under the direction of Maestro Keith Lockhart. I had somehow found my way into one of America’s premiere fife and drum corps, and I was now, quite literally, The Spirit of ’76.
Going International
In August of 2018, I traveled to Scotland with MCV for a month-long residency to perform at the Tattoo, which was a life-changing experience. I fell in love with Scotland, the culture, the music, the people – and with performing traditional music. I performed every night on the esplanade in front of Edinburgh Castle for more than 8,000 people. Military bands were everywhere, performing a mix of modern tunes and traditional music. Edinburgh pubs were full of session musicians on bodhrán, fiddle, whistle, flute, and accordion. Street performers were everywhere – playing bagpipes. I can still hear the drone.
In early 2019, I learned that the Tattoo was forming its first Stage Band. For previous Tattoos, there was a military band on a stage above the castle moat. This Stage Band would support many of the other bands performing in the show, including the groups from various other countries and the Massed Pipes and Drums – somewhat like a pit orchestra in a Broadway musical. Now, the Tattoo was forming their own in-house group to cover this duty, freeing up the military bands to play on the Esplanade. After sending in an audition reel and playing a live audition (via Facetime), I learned that I had won the chair. I would now be heading back to Edinburgh to experience the Tattoo again, but from a different perspective. This time, instead of playing fife, the plan was that I would be covering flute, piccolo, and whistle. However, to quote the Scottish poet Robert Burns, “the best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft a-gley.”
Of Flutes and Men
My time at the 2019 Tattoo started exactly as planned. I played flute, piccolo, and a few different whistles on a beautiful stage, hovering over the moat of Edinburgh Castle, while military bands from Germany, France, Trinidad and Tobago, Nigeria, New Zealand and the UK performed on the esplanade. There was also a military-style band from China. The Chinese band’s act was centered around two soloists playing traditional Chinese instruments – one on the tanggu (a large ceremonial drum) and another on the dizi (the Chinese bamboo flute). The soloists stood in the center of the esplanade, while a marching band and drill team performed around them.
While all the other bands were there for the full month, for reasons I’m unable to confirm, the Chinese band was only able to stay for two weeks at a time. This meant that halfway through the month of performances, a brand new Chinese band would be arriving and stepping into the same slot, performing the same music and the same show as the first band. The swap-out was due to take place on a Sunday, with the new band having minimal rehearsal time and performing in Monday evening’s show.
Thursday evening (about 60 hours before the new band arrived), while we were on the bus ride to Edinburgh Castle for that evening’s performance, our music director came to sit with me. The organizers had just learned that the incoming Chinese band was not bringing a dizi soloist with them, and asked me if I would be able to learn the instrument and cover the solo by Monday’s performance. Without hesitation, I said “hell yes!” That’s when the panic set in. I don’t even own a Chinese bamboo flute, let alone know how to sound true and authentic on one. I didn’t even know if the fingerings were the same as other simple-system flutes.
We made arrangements with the outgoing Chinese band to borrow their flutes for the rest of the run. I spent the next two days locked in a rehearsal room with the outgoing dizi soloist. Thankfully, he spoke slightly more English than I speak Chinese (which is zero). He worked with me extensively on how to play with an authentic style. With the dizi there’s the added challenge of a very delicate piece of cane membrane that is adhered to a special tone hole, which gives the instrument its characteristic buzzing/rattle. Learning the application and adjustment of this tiny membrane took a significant amount of our one-on-one time.
Sunday Morning, I woke up early to be ready for rehearsal with the new Chinese band, but they had experienced multiple travel delays en route to Edinburgh. After several flight delays, as they were approaching the British Isles, their flight was diverted to Manchester, England, and they had to take a 5 hour bus ride to Edinburgh. They finally arrived around 1:00am on Monday morning, having missed all of our rehearsal time on Sunday.
A few hours later, around 6:00am, I boarded the bus with the Chinese band to go to Edinburgh Castle for a 1-hour rehearsal. Noise ordinances prevented any playing on Castle Hill before 7:00am, and we had to vacate the esplanade by 8:00am to allow for the Castle’s normal tourist operations. While we were rehearsing, there was significant discussion taking place among the Tattoo’s producers, along with producers for the BBC, who were set to begin filming the Tattoo that evening. The debate was specifically about where to place me. The first idea to be discarded was to dress me in authentic Chinese ceremonial attire, like the previous dizi soloist. One of the leading ideas was to put me in a custom kilt, and play off the “East meets West” concept. The logistics and timing of getting me from the stage above the castle moat to the center of the esplanade ultimately prevented all of these suggestions, and it was decided that I would play the dizi solo from my spot, hidden on the moat stage.
After our not-quite-an-hour rehearsal, we left for a short break, and then reconvened later that morning for another short rehearsal at the nearby Army barracks. When time was up, we went our separate ways, and the next time we played together was in that evening’s performance, in front of a live audience of more than 8,000 people plus a full BBC filming crew, recording for the broadcast of the event which is viewed by approximately 250 million people across Europe.
The Takeaway
Since beginning my journey into folk and traditional flutes and music, I’ve had some really incredible experiences. Those experiences do come with the price tag of some frustration as you try to navigate something that’s just different from a “classical” music education, though. We must recognize that the way classically trained musicians learn literally everything about music isn’t (and never has been) the only way to way to approach it. For example:
- Classical flutists use chromatic instruments that have been engineered to play in virtually any key.
- Traditional flutists often carry around numerous cases, each packed with a collection of diatonic instruments. When I went to Edinburgh, planning to play flute, piccolo, and whistle, I brought 24 instruments with me.
- Classical musicians name the key of their instrument for the pitch that is heard when you play a C. (Play a C on the trumpet and you hear a B-flat, so the trumpet is in the kye of B-flat.)
- Traditional flutists usually name the key of their instrument for the pitch that is heard when you close all the holes – which, in the case of most of the flutes I’ll speak of here, is effectively playing a D.
While “classical” music systems “evolved” over time, traditional (or “trad”) systems did not (or did so far more slowly), because that system worked just fine for the people using it (and still does). Acknowledging and understanding this was one of the more difficult hurdles for me to get over when I really began working with traditional flutes. Once you can accept that your system of understanding and making music isn’t the only one, you can then begin to dissect your knowledge into individual topics, and sort which belong in the “classical only” system, which belong in the “traditional only” system, and which topics fit both.
Throughout this guide (which will be a living, breathing document that I will continue to update as I continue to learn), I’ll do my best to guide you and offer advice, specifically from the perspective of a “classical” flutist and trying to understand the “trad” world. The bulk of what I will cover here relates to Irish flute and whistles, but I will also briefly address fife, dizi/qudi, bansuri, pan flute, and recorders. These are the folk/traditional/”exotic” flutes I’ve seen the most call for in my experience.