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The Mark Harvey Group's 2-CD set A Rite for All Souls, released in 2020 by Americas Musicworks, received the following review by Donald Elfman, The New York City Jazz Record, July 2020 (page 19).


A Rite For All Souls
The Mark Harvey Group
(Americas Musicworks)
by Donald Elfman

In the liner notes for John Coltrane’s Live At Birdland album, Amiri Baraka (then Leroi Jones) referred to the “daringly human quality” of his music and suggested that with ears open to it, a listener may think of “weird and wonderful things” and possibly “even become one of them.” This reviewer was reminded of those sensations and sense of becoming upon encountering Mark Harvey’s extraordinary “aural theatre” A Rite For All Souls.

The recording is a complete and unedited performance of a concert at Old West Church in Boston (at which Harvey was an intern minister) on Halloween Night 1971. It embraces explorations of sound, spiritual, social and political direction and activism, poetry, a sense of theater and, certainly, the colors and textures of jazz and improvisational music. The musicians are Harvey (oddly credited on “brasswinds”), Peter Bloom on woodwinds and both Craig Ellis and Michael Standish on percussion (alas, the latter two, so vital to the ultimate power of this music, are now deceased). There is a dazzling array of instruments at work and play here: trumpet, flugelhorn, conch shell, saxophones, clarinet, kazoo, mbira, brake drums, iron cookware ... and so on.

The 90-minute concert opens with “Invocation” and a recitation called “Spel Against Demons” (by poet Gary Snyder). There are mysterious sounds played on flute, a length of pipe and a saxophone mouthpiece. Immediately, Baraka’s words come into play as the resonances are otherworldly, yet, somehow inviting and pointing towards what else may come. Harvey is strange and wonderful on trumpet, punctuated by delicate percussion sounds. There’s a trap drum solo by Ellis and that shepherds in Bloom playing tenor saxophone in a full-throated and enfolding manner. Ellis takes on Snyder’s poem, a sort of anti-violence intonation, and it ends in an actual Sanskrit chant.

In the church, the four return in monk’s robes and blow into organ pipes for a “Fanfare”, which, evolving into a meeting of trumpet and tenor, leads to a recitation of William Butler Yeats’ noted “Second Coming” poem, recited by Standish. Bloom takes off on tenor again, eddying into a more lyrical section by Harvey, who spreads his palette on trumpet and makes intensely intimate use of silence as a kind of outlining device to highlight his distinctive sounds. And so, the first disc concludes.

In the second section, we hear again the deliberate and yet subtle interaction between group and individual. There’s a haunting prelude with cosmically unusual sounds that introduce Ellis reading his own “Napalm: Rice Paper”, which seems like a threnody to the suffering of children, from the Vietnam War and beyond—think of all war and the unique situation in our world at present. Bloom on soprano and Harvey on French horn express sorrow and compassion and then there is a devastating percussion duet seeming to encapsulate the violence and suffering the poem has amassed.

A Rite For All Souls is a deeply engaging series of improvisations, sound worlds and rich musical expression.

For more information, visit

Composer Elizabeth Vercoe's CD titled "Butterfly Effects and Other Works" was released by Navona Records (6196) in November, 2018.  Sheet music for Butterfly Effects is available from Noteworthy Sheet Music in either print or PDF edition.


The following text pertaining to the title tracks has been excerpted from Cinemusical's CD review.  To read the entire CD review published online on December 12, 2018, please visit the Cinemusical website. 

"The album opens with a multi-movement work for flutes and harp, Butterfly Effects (2009). Across the seven movements, Vercoe explores the qualities of different instruments in the flute family: alto flute, bass flute, concert flute, and piccolo. The music has a slight impressionistic quality to it, aided by the harp’s material. Against this is first a rather dreamy, dark opening movement (“Mourningcloak”); a faster-paced flitting “Banded Blue Parrot”; a tango (“Common Jezebel”); intriguing effects like beat-boxing (“Question Mark”) and blues riffs (“Karner Blues”); and a palindromic compositional technique (“Monkey Puzzle”). The flute lines allow for registral exploration and often features some sinuous lines. Some are sultrier than others, but it is as if these are all like watercolor brushstrokes that tend to be somewhat introspective in this often stunningly beautiful work. Recorded a decade earlier, Elegy for viola and piano (1990), is one of the composer’s more acclaimed works. It is one of five introspective solo works and is a perfect counterpart to the early flute and harp work. The music here has a decidedly harsher edge with dark colors and dissonance that add to the devastation of the intense solo line."


"Vercoe has an excellent sense of dramatic shape that comes through in each of these works spanning some 35 years of her creativity. The music maintains a more commonly tonal realm with extended, denser harmonies used for dramatic effect. Each line is shaped in such a way that the color it creates evolves with the accompaniment harmony. It blends aspects of impressionism, modernism, and a touch of new romanticism."


The CD was also reviewed by Nicole Riner in the Flutist Quarterly Spring 2019 edition:

Butterfly Effects and Other Works
Elizabeth Vercoe
©2018 Parma

     Several of composer Elizabeth Vercoe’s chamber works have been gathered together on this recording, including the eponymous Butterfly Effects, written for and performed by Peter H. Bloom and harpist Mary Jane Rupert; This Is My Letter to the World, text by Emily Dickinson, performed by D’Anna Fortunato (mezzo-soprano), Bloom, and Rupert (piano); Elegy for viola and piano; and a collection of songs for soprano, piano, and vibraphone. This review addresses the works that include flute.

     I had the pleasure of reviewing the sheet music for Butterfly Effects for this publication in 2015 and found it to be wonderfully diverse and intriguing. The flutist is required to play C flute, alto, bass, and piccolo, and each brief movement explores different musical styles, like tango, beat boxing, and blues. Bloom and Rupert perform this work deftly and with a great sense of unity. This Is My Letter to the World contains a certain whimsy in the writing that is truly charming. Bloom, Rupert, and Fortunato seem well suited to each other as a chamber ensemble, although I do feel that the flute part gets a bit buried in this recording, which seems to be more likely a recording issue than compositional problem.

     Butterfly Effects and Other Works is a nice introduction to the lovely writing of Elizabeth Vercoe and easily displays her accessibility as a composer.  Listening to this album only strengthens my resolve to learn these charming pieces!

—Nicole Riner

Peter H. Bloom is a regular Visiting Performing Artist (flute) at the annual Snow Pond Composers Workshop co-directed by Richard Nelson and Edward Jacobs. For the 2018 conference, Mr. Bloom presented a lecture on “Effective Writing for Flutes and the Contemporary Flutist”, in which he discussed various topics using four contemporary works published by Noteworthy Sheet Music as examples: Richard Nelson’s Play of Light; Elliott Schwartz’s Soliloquy III; Elizabeth Vercoe’s Butterfly Effects; and Edward Jacobs’ Amuse-Bouche ... click the links to access NSM’s listings for additional information about these pieces and to purchase the full scores. With Mr. Bloom’s permission, we are sharing portions of his lecture (Peter H. Bloom © 2018) here on our website, with associated links to audio clips and additional written materials used as examples during the presentation (click to listen or view).


Effective Writing for Flutes and the Contemporary Flutist

Excerpt from presentation/discussion given by Peter H. Bloom

for participants of the Snow Pond Composers Workshop, June 2018


The topics we could cover here, today are nearly limitless and might include:                                     

     1.  The flute family with rules for transposition and practical ranges;
     2.  Extended techniques for the various flutes;
     3.  Improvisation, its various modes, and ways to include improvisation in your work;  
     4.  Graphic notation;
     5.  Flute(s) and electronics; or flute with fixed media; or flute with mixed media.

          The list goes on.

I believe that we can get the most out of this session by hearing and seeing what, to me, are particularly effective, masterful musical moments in some of the relatively new works in my current repertoire.  And by doing this, we’ll visit in a practical manner a number of the topics I just mentioned.  We’ll consider four brilliant, yet very different, pieces that have proven successful in concerts across the country, with diverse audiences from urban centers to rural outposts.

     1.  Richard Nelson’s Play of Light for flute (doubling piccolo and bass flute) and harp
     2.  Elliott Schwartz’s Soliloquy III for solo flute
     3.  Elizabeth Vercoe’s Butterfly Effects for flute(s) and harp
     4.  Edward Jacobs’ Amuse-Bouche for solo flute

Scores and parts for these pieces are available at Two are published in the Snow Pond Composers Workshop Anthology New Music for Flute 2015, and the other two are available separately.

Let’s begin with Rick Nelson’s Play of Light, wherein “flute” refers to three weapons among the flutist’s arsenal (bass flute, C flute, and piccolo) as one extended instrument.  

Here’s an abridged version of Rick’s program note for Play of Light. He writes:

“Play of Light” is built around spaciousness, transparency, multi-hued shadings and playful chases.  The incorporation of bass flute and piccolo further enhance the inherently rich color possibilities of the flute/harp combination—the three flute instruments in succession form a sort of “super-flute” in the work’s final section … The composition leads the players into a substantial section that they complete through improvisation.  While they follow signposts on intensity, energy and pitch content … the improvisation creates an element of intrigue and unpredictability … (and) insures that each performance … will have a strongly individual profile.”  

We’ll start by seeing (Score p1) the opening gambit of Play of Light.  The unaccompanied flute flourish or arabesque is followed by very effective dynamic writing.  The flute, playing piano in its third octave is subtly assertive—clear, clean and spare.  The single p as opposed to a “three p (ppp)” pianissimo achieves the desired result without constraining the sonority, and without undue stress to the performer.  Now, let’s look at Measure 9.  The economical, spare, lucid harp lines let light show through.  It’s like zinc-white impasto on an impressionist’s canvas.  In Measure 21, notice the spacious tremolos in the flute’s lower range.

Let’s move to our second example (score pages 3-4).  You’ll see the flutter tongue in Measure 28.  In other compositions, the flutter tongue is often used as an aggressive element; here, in Play of Light, it lends a near optical shimmer to the sonic field, along with the grace-note droplets that follow in Measure 31.  Let’s listen (PoL audio 2).  The jagged counterpoint between the flute and harp that follows evokes the open space between subjects depicted in a fine-line sketch by legendary American illustrator Saul Steinberg.  (If you haven’t yet encountered his work, please Google him.)  

Rick sets up the improvisational section with another long “roulade” from the flute at Measure 87.  In the improvisation (beginning in Measure 93), directives are given, including specific pitches that are prescribed, and some that are proscribed (as in “avoid the quality of Eb Major”).  This is one of many techniques of employing what we broadly call improvisation in an otherwise through-composed work.  Let’s listen to a bit of the improvisational section (PoL audio 3).

Rick had referred to the “super flute” in his program note.  The extraordinary range of the “super flute” begins with the bass flute sounding pitches, produced as tongue rams a Major 7 below the bass flute’s practical range.  You’ll see this in Measure 135.  Note that the bass flute sounds an octave below where written.  So, the bass flute tongue ram actually sounds a concert Db below the bass clef (somewhere around 69 Hz)!  Rick has chosen to notate the bass flute voice as the flutist reads (prescriptively) and not as the harpist is hearing.  There are pros and cons to this notational approach.  On one hand, it’s easier for the harpist and flutist to communicate when simply referring to passages as notated.  On the other hand, the harpist might find the octave displacements confusing.  This is a conundrum.  Let’s listen (PoL audio 4).

Moving on to our next examples.  The light now fully in play illuminates the entire chromatic spectra as both the harp and “super flute” are in rhapsodic mode.  From bass flute (PoL audio 5; score page 17), through concert flute (PoL audio 6; score page 20), through piccolo (PoL audio 7; score page 22).  

Last year, we heard the entire Play of Light.  This year, we only have time for excerpts.  Keep an eye out for performances in a concert hall near you, and, check out the full score available at!

The live performance of a musical composition is, of course, a staged theatrical event.  The concert stage is a three-dimensional space.  The event of a musical performance adds two further dimensions: the dimension of time unfolding, and the sonic dimension with its various phenomena.  Improvisational elements add a sixth dimension, a dimension in which the performer may travel, with varying degrees of constraint, among unrevealed areas of the score through “portals of improvisation.”  We touched on the degrees of constraint when we looked at Play of Light.  I argue there’s a seventh dimension in the universe of musical performance, a dimension in which the circumstances of the performance space, itself, become another “instrumental” element of a composition.  I’m aware that this talk of dimensions sounds arcane, or maybe insane!  Allow me to illustrate how we might visit this seventh dimension by using Elliott Schwartz’s Soliloquy III as an example.    

The published score begins with a detailed program note.  Looks simple enough: one performer with three flutes (alto, C flute, piccolo), a gently (or minimally) prepared grand piano; a triangle and striker; and perhaps a mallet for striking the piano.  Notated parts are to be placed into the piano case for when the performer plays into the piano.  But, when we look at the score itself (score p1), we see that the flutist is required to navigate around the piano, depressing keys in one register, plucking strings at the opposite end, and so forth.

Unlike a standard musical score with a list of sonic events to execute, now there are complications that require significant strategizing.  Preparing to perform Soliloquy III, with grace and poise, required that I construct a stage map.  Now, Elliot did not provide a map, and he could get away with this.  He had been writing for 50 years, his music had been performed by top musicians across the globe.  He could envision the stagecraft in his mind.  But for you composers, I recommend, when writing a piece like this: provide a stage map, indicating everything—props, placement, play action, etc.

In addition to the stage map, I prepared a number of sheets with music to be performed while playing inside the piano.  Each sheet included the relevant score with bold markings, tagging my current station, telling me which flute to use, and indicating my next destination and actions.  Following a score is one thing but following a route though the “seventh dimension” in the pressured circumstance of a performance (or even a rehearsal) is fraught.  Again, Elliott did not provide these sheets; I made them myself.  If you are creating a piece like this, provide the sheets and include them in the score!  Do everything possible to keep the performer oriented on stage.

Again, about this seventh dimension: if you’re skeptical, I recommend learning and performing a work like Soliloquy III to experience the initial disorientation and subsequent elation of navigation in this Seventh Dimension.

Elliott was insistent that his score be followed precisely, but wry humor and rascality were never far off.  When I gave the premiere of the piece here at Snow Pond in 2015, he told the audience that he called upon the solo flutist to activate a variety of piano sounds in order to transform the solo player into a virtual chamber ensemble, and to give the flutist something to do while changing flutes. (!!!)

Since then, I’ve performed the piece a number of times from New England to the Deep South.  Rick included the piece in a concert that he presented at U Maine Augusta, where we also performed Play of Light and works by Mostly Maine Composers, with Elliott and all of the composers in attendance.

In November 2016, I performed Soliloquy III at the Ramsey recital hall at the University of Georgia in Athens, with a chamber quartet called The Fortunato Ensemble.  Ramsey is a particularly well-appointed venue.  On stage was a brand new 9’ Steinway D that had just been inaugurated that season.  It was the shiniest large object ever witnessed indoors!  The stage crew happily provided a velvet wrapped sand-bag for weighting the damper pedal.  BUT, when it was revealed that I would be reaching into the piano to pluck and strum on strings, the hall manager indignantly ordered the new D removed.  And before I had the presence of mind to respond, another spectacular, slightly older 1989 Steinway D was rolled into place, with the directive “have at it.”  Ironically, the older piano, having been “played in”, was a far better instrument.

Later that week, when I played Soliloquy III at Georgia College in Milledgeville, a student inquired, after the concert, “What did that piano ever do to you?”

Elliott was adamant that the dramatic role of the performer is key.  For example, one of his works requires the pianist to reach far into the case of the instrument to pluck, strum, and pound on, strings.  In one instance, a diminutive performer enlisted another musician to assist and to execute the athletic “in-the-piano” actions.  This, Elliott, explained, was not acceptable; a breach of protocol!  The “seventh-dimension gestures” (my term) must be attempted by the performer, not by a surrogate.  The performative act is central; it is just as important as the sounds created.

Let’s take a look, now, at a somewhat more conventional score by another composer.

Elizabeth Vercoe’s Butterfly Effects employs harp with C-flute, alto, bass and piccolo flutes.  The score is available on Noteworthy Sheet Music.  The audio examples are taken from a new CD, Butterfly Effects and Other Works by Elizabeth Vercoe, which we recorded at Futura Productions; the disc is slated for release later this year on Navona Records.

The first movement, Mourningcloak, calls for alto flute in its smokiest voice.  If you haven’t written for harp, there are interesting notational and technical items to observe in the score (score p1), including pedal settings and attack indications such as sons étoufée (Measure 4).  Let’s listen to the opening (BE audio 1a).

In the second movement, Banded Blue Pierrot, Elizabeth writes very effective flutter tongues in Measure 4.  Note the harp “buzz” in Measure 12.  It’s notated with a ½ pedal.  Observe the use of tremolos in Measures 15 and 16; notice the pitch bend in Measure 19.

Movement 3, Common Jezebel, exploits a tango groove.  Note the tongue ram in Measure 1, with the harp gesture (a string squeak).  It’s difficult to convey, in a score, the intensity of the tango.  The feeling must be free, but the pulse must be relentless.  Look at Measure 3, where Elizabeth calls for a gritty prés de la table, requiring the harpist to pluck close to the sounding board for enhanced attack.  Note the alto flute portamentos in Measures 10, 11, ff, and the key slaps Measure 25 ff.

The fourth movement, Question Mark, is “beatboxed” (flute part pages 8-9).  This brings up issues of precisely what is meant by this relatively recent extended technique.  As the vocabulary has not yet been established for flute beatboxing, I worked with the composer and publisher to clearly indicate what was required of the performer to deliver what was desired by the composer.  We settled on phonetic notations such as bpuh, kuh, puh, keh, dji, and tchi, to voice articulations—especially the plosives.  Note that the vowels are as important as the consonants in the sonic expression.  Beatboxing in flute performance is easier when a microphone and amplifier are available, but in the chamber music setting of Butterfly Effects, this is impossible.  Note, also, the vocalized flutter tongue (Measure 8 ff).  This is deliberately vague, and the execution depends on the vocal range and vocal quality of the performer (soprano, alto, tenor, bass, etc.).

In Butterfly Effects, we see two excellent examples of what we mean by prescriptive versus descriptive notation.  The articulations (bpuh, kuh, dji, etc) are prescriptive; they indicate precisely what must be done, technically, as indicated by the composer.  Vocalized flutter tongue, on the other hand, is descriptive.  It gives the performer the idea of what’s to be heard.  Looking at Measure 35, we see this descriptive indication, where the harmonics ad lib indicates a sonic gesture.  The ending (Measure 36) is a good example of achieving a theatrical effect by writing beyond the technical extreme of the instrumentalist.  A bass flutist is hard-pressed to make it through the end of Measure 36 playing harmonics at the extreme range of the instrument on a single breath.  You see the composer’s note to repeat 4 notes ad lib.  It’s hyperbole.  Let’s listen to the ending (BE audio 4a).

Monkey Puzzle (movement #5) is beautifully crafted to exploit the color of the alto flute as it ascends from Measure 9 though Measure 12.  The harp writing is spare and elegant.  There’s some exquisite use of retrograde here.  Listen to an audio clip (BE audio 5).

Karner Blue is a subspecies of butterfly first identified by novelist Vladimir Nobakov.  Elizabeth celebrates the bug with a blues, of course (movement #6).  She uses the piccolo, here, in an unusual and perhaps ironic way: in Measure 1, languid and gently but a little sly are hardly qualities that one would associate with the soaring-yet-tense, shimmering, chirping solo voice in John Phillip Sousa’s Stars and Stripes Forever.  The throaty low tessitura piccolo melodic meanderings in Karner Blues are supported by spare, bluesy, guitar-like harp interjections.  Let's listen to a short clip (BE audio 6a).  Low register piccolo tremolos are effective in this sonic context.  Note that the portamento in Measure 22 prefigures the harp’s evoking of country blues-like guitar string-bending in Measure 25.  Portamento on piccolo (and alto flute, for that matter) may not be as available as on a traditional open-hole C flute, but we manage.

The final movement, Psyche, summarizes the suite that preceded it.  It’s an “overture in reverse.”  Note that whereas Rick Nelson’s Play of Light calls on three flutes (bass, concert, piccolo) to create one “super flute,” Psyche engages only the C flute, through quotes, to summon the varied voices of the other flutes in the family. You’ll see in the score that Elizabeth gives cues as we recall the prior movements.

For our last section, I’d like to perform Amuse-Bouche by Dr. Edward Jacobs.  The piece works beautifully on C flute and on Alto flute in G.  That’s an excellent idea—to provide for multiple uses of any given composition.

The term “Amuse-bouche” means to “entertain the mouth” and refers to a small hors d’oeuvre provided free, before a meal, as an example and an expression of a chef’s philosophy of food and culinary technique.

Eddie writes, in his performance notes: “Amuse-bouche was written in 2015…to serve as a brief program opener.  The particular occasion lent itself to exploration of a few of the flute’s extended techniques — jet whistle, slap-tongue, tongue ram, flutter-tongue in several guises — one hears these sounds used as thematic elements within this vignette.  Perhaps this aural amuse-bouche might awaken the ear’s hearing buds to the flute’s colors…”

Consider the jet whistle, an iconic flute extended technique since Villa Lobos’ 1950 duo for flute and ‘cello, Assobio a jato.  In the literature, the jet whistle is explained as a technique wherein the flutist entirely covers the embouchure and expels all air into the tube. In Amuse-Bouche, Eddie sometimes calls for the “traditional” jet whistle, and in other instances, he employs a more nuanced approach with a sustained sound.  This is an excellent example of prescriptive versus descriptive notation.  According to prescription, a sustained sound is unlikely with a “true” jet whistle, but according to description, the writing is very effective.

One could think of Amuse-Bouche as a sort of meditation on the jet whistle, wherein we have sonic moments (the jet whistle), followed by melodic gestures that are like sonic fallout from an explosion.

Slap tongue can be executed a number of ways.  In one approach, the tip of the tongue is placed behind the incisive papilla (with the bottom of the tongue against the palatine folds).  Try it!  Another is performed with the tip of the tongue contacting the incisive papilla.  A third is with tongue in contact with the incisors.  A fourth is with the tongue between the lips.  The first approach is less influenced by the fingered pitch of the flute (the effective length of tube) and is mostly a “mouth sound.”  The other three are more pitch related and are more involved with the sound of the flute.

Tongue rams are like the compression of gunpowder that results in various expressions of the “jet of air.”  The tongue ram is entirely related to the acoustical properties of the flute tube.  The physical explanation has to do with the acoustics of a tube open at one end (as opposed to the regular functioning of the flute which works as a tube open at both ends).  A true tongue ram results in the production of a pitch approximately a Major 7th below what is fingered (and notated).  The longer the flute tube, the better.  A tongue ram is only effective as an artifact of a pitch in the flute’s first octave, as it is a function of the fundamental pitch of the end-closed tube.

In closing, I want to offer a few thoughts about writing extended techniques for flute or, in fact, writing for flute in general—even in common practice.

- When looking to write for flute, consult an experienced flutist and preferably more than one.

- When writing for extended techniques, consider possible ossia options.  In other words, provide alternatives to accommodate performers’ strengths and preferences.

- Notation is limited and highly subjective.  Even something as iconic as the jet whistle can be approached in a number of ways.  In fact, given the limited data provided by musical notation (as opposed to the amount of data contained in even the lowest quality digital recording), every notated musical composition provides performers with freedom that could be construed as “improvisatory.”  As one example: consider the myriad interpretations of Bach’s Goldberg Variations.  If you haven’t heard the piece lately, check out some performances on YouTube.

- Avoid high-risk, low-return choices.

- Write what you hear, what you want to hear.  If you can’t hear it in your mind’s ear, don’t write it.

- Make your compositions fun, interesting, clear and appealing for the performer—we want your music to be played!

Peter H. Bloom © 2018

On April 21, 2013, Flute Focus published the foreword to Noteworthy Sheet Music's transcription of Claude Debussy's Première Rhapsodie for alto flute. This interesting and enlightening foreword, written by flutist Peter H. Bloom, is presented below in it's entirety. 


Transcription of Claude Debussy's Première Rhapsodie For Alto Flute

Foreword to Noteworthy Sheet Music's recent publication of a transcription of Debussy's Première Rhapsodie For Alto Flute by Peter H Bloom


Most flutists, especially those who've become interested in performing on alto flute, are well acquainted with the long and storied tradition of the Morceaux de Concours of the Paris Conservatory. From the early nineteenth-century through the present, candidates for graduation from the conservatory have been required to perform a prescribed examination piece, morceau de concours, before a jury of professors. With rare exceptions, a special morceau was commissioned for each instrument every year.

Often written hastily and with attention to then-current stylistic and technical concerns, the majority of the Morceaux des Concours are undistinguished, derivative, dated, and by definition, mediocre. Sometimes, however, a composer found the constraints of deadline, orchestration, and duration to be inspiring; and occasionally the commission of a Morceau de Concours results in an enduring treasure. Claude Debussy's Première Rhapsodie for clarinet, written for the examination of 1910, is such a gem.

First performed in July of that year by eleven (!) candidates for a jury that included Debussy himself, the Première Rhapsodie was immediately well received by players and auditors alike. Clarinetists, for over a century, have considered it an essential element in the repertoire.

I hadn't, as a flutist, been particularly knowledgeable about the Première Rhapsodie until I received the roster of a masterclass I was preparing to present. Among the participants was a clarinetist who had chosen to perform Debussy's Première Rhapsodie. I decided that the best way to become familiar with the piece was to adapt it, as well as I could, to the flute.

My sense of the Première Rhapsodie progressed quickly from challenging, to charming, to utterly captivating, but adapting it to the concert flute wasn't going to work. The range was wrong, the sonorities didn't work, and the "Debussy-esque" sensibility just didn't translate. While I was considering what a shame it was that we flutists couldn't poach this exquisite item, I returned to practicing the obbligato to Schubert's Der Hirt auf dem Felsen in its alto flute transcription (also published by Noteworthy Sheet Music) and inspiration struck.

Noteworthy Sheet Music editor-in-chief Carol Vater responded to my suggestion with enthusiasm and immediately set to work on this sensitive and beautifully edited transcription, for alto flute, of thePremière Rhapsodie. Purists may argue that such a re-imagining of this piece is sacrilege. Perhaps, but consider that the clarinetist to whom the piece was dedicated, Prosper Mimart (and many of his students), performed with the "reed up" technique and a both-lips-in embouchure that produced a sound unlike that of most clarinetists today.

As we adopt Debussy's Première Rhapsodie, we should be mindful that the composer's instructions to the clarinetist (especially concerning articulations, paired slurrings, and dynamics) will require extra attention and insight from the flutist. Here we have an opportunity to apply Marcel Moyse's principles of artistry through emulation.

P.H. Bloom, December 29, 2012 ©

Flutist Peter H. Bloom performs diverse chamber music from period-instrument performances to new music premieres. He is also a noted jazz artist. He concertizes widely, appears on 35 recordings, and is a winner of the American Musicological Society's Noah Greenberg Award. He has given lectures, workshops and master classes across the globe on such wideranging topics as historical performance, new music, jazz and improvisation. Mr. Bloom serves as Editorial Consultant for Noteworthy Sheet Music, LLC. His own transcriptions of the Bach Chaconne, Schubert Der Hirt auf dem Felsen, and Hatton/Longfellow The Wreck of the Hesperus are available at

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This fascinating and highly informative article (PHB © February 2018) was written by flutist Peter H. Bloom as a foreword to NSM's edition of Salute to New York, A Song for the Flute.  It provides interesting historical details regarding the composer and flutist Louis Drouet, his 1854 U.S. performance of Salute to New York, the New York Crystal Palace venue, and Hall & Son's flutes.


Louis Drouet Salute to New York, a Song for the Flute

“This Song was performed by Mr. Drouet at the Grand reopening of the American Crystal Palace, May 1st (sic) 1854 ...” i

Inspired by the London “Great Exposition (1851),” New York investors imagined their own Exhibition of the Industry of All Nations. In July of 1853 their enormous glass and cast iron “Temple of Industry and Art” was opened for business.ii Despite monumental architecture, magnificent displays, and an enthusiastic public, the Crystal Palace was near financial ruin within months.

Desperate shareholders concurred that their only hope for fiscal salvation was to engage new leadership. After considerable cajoling, legendary showman Phineas T. Barnum reluctantlyiii assumed the presidency of The Exhibition.  Barnum arranged a re-inauguration ceremony (complete with a 3.5-mile-long, 3-hour parade from City Hall to the Crystal Palace at 42nd St. at Sixth Avenueiv) to coincide with his installation as president of the operation.  Following the parade, at 3 PM on Thursday May 4, 1854,v Barnum addressed the multitude assembled for a rededication the Temple.  His impassioned oration exhorted manufacturers, inventors, and merchants and extolled the American virtues of innovation, cooperative competition, and entrepreneurship.  A press account reports: “Mr. Barnum’s speech was followed by the soft music of the flute by M. Drouet, which, notwithstanding the immense space it had to fill, gave the audience extreme delight.”vi Delighted they may have been, but it’s unlikely, given the appalling acoustics of the gargantuan glass greenhouse, that the audience actually heard the performance.vii

Louis-Francois-Philippe Drouet (1792-1873) is one of the most highly esteemed flute virtuosi in history.  Innumerable contemporary press accounts of his concert triumphs throughout Europe attest to his technical brilliance and exquisite musicianship.  He was a prolific and accomplished composer, author, flute theoretician, and pedagogue.  His many etudes are still prescribed as tools for flute mastery. His Method of Flute Playing (1830) and 72 Studies on Style and Taste (1855) provide us with useful information concerning instrumental technique and performance practice in the mid-nineteenth century.

American concert tours by itinerant European virtuosi were not uncommon at the time.  Celebrities such as pianist Henri Herz, violinists Ole Bull and Henri Vieuxtemps, bassist Giovanni Bottesini and many other instrumentalists, as well as countless singers, had concertized in The States before mid-century.  In 1850, soprano Jenny Lind, the “Swedish Nightingale,” made a sensational barnstorming tour across the United States.  The spectacle, produced and managed by P. T. Barnum, established a culture of musical superstardom in America that persists to this day.viii

Drouet, along with his son, undertook their speculative expedition to the New World in 1854.  It’s difficult to imagine that an arduous Atlantic crossing and the uncertainties of an American adventure would appeal to an established celebrity such as Drouet père.  Louis Drouet Jr., on the other hand, was an aspiring concert pianist and former student of Felix Mendelssohn and Mendelssohn’s mentor Ignaz Moscheles.ix  The story of Jenny Lind’s unprecedented windfall via Barnum was likely irresistiblex to an industrious son and a supportive father.

Louis Drouet’s prominent place as the featured performer immediately following Barnum’s address shows a number of things: despite having only recently arrived from Europe, Drouet Sr.’s reputation as a celebrity flute virtuoso had already been established in Manhattan; Barnum believed the general broad audience of The Great Exhibition was sufficiently sophisticated to be attracted to his event by the addition of an instrumental soloist of Drouet’s refinement; and the flute was the instrument of maximum Victorian era “sex appeal.”

“…On a Flute Manufactured by Wm. Hall & Son.” xi

The publisher’s note that Drouet performed Salute to New York on a flute made by the publisher’s own firm is worth considering.  Louis Drouet Sr., as well as having been a performer, composer, and conductor, was also experienced in the design and manufacture of high quality flutes.  Superb specimens attest to the excellence of the few instruments he produced in London in 1819 during his brief collaboration with ingenious London builder Cornelius Ward.xii

William Hall had apprenticed as an instrument builder in Albany before the war of 1812.  He began his professional career working for the esteemed flute-maker (later to become his father-in-law) Edward Riley in Manhattan.  He then formed profitable partnerships with woodwind manufacturers John Firth and Sylvanus Pond.  Leaving Firth and Pond in 1847, Hall partnered with his son, James, in order to expand into the burgeoning American enterprises of piano manufacturing and music publishing.xiii We know, from extant examples, that Hall & Son’s line included some elegantly designed and finely constructed woodwinds.

Although he may have been paid by Hall & Son for his endorsements, Drouet’s enthusiasm for Halls’ instruments is unmistakably authentic.  Shortly after his Crystal Palace performance he wrote:

Gentlemen: - It Affords me much pleasure to give you this testimonial of the superiority of your Flutes. Since my arrival in America I have seen a number of them, and played upon one of them at the opening of the Crystal Palace. During fifty years’ experience I have never found instruments more perfect in tone, tune, and finish, and I feel it due to you before leaving the United States to express the pleasure it has given me to find the Flute brought to such perfection here. Receive my best wishes for the proper appreciation of these excellent instruments by the public, and believe me very truly yours, L. DROUET.xiv

The sentiment expressed in Salute to New York, a Song for the Flute is also unmistakably authentic.

        —Peter H. Bloom, February 2018 ©

i      The performance date was, in fact, May 4 as we’ll see below.
ii      New York Times July 30, 1853 P. 1
iii     Barnum, Phineas T., The autobiography of P.T. Barnum: Clerk, Merchant, Editor, and Showman.
        London: Ward and Lock, 1855.p. 152
iv     New-York Daily Tribune Friday May 5, 1854. P. 5
v     The Brooklyn Daily Eagle Evening Edition, Thursday May 4, 1854.
vi     New-York Daily Tribune Friday May 5, 1854. P. 5
vii    Lawrence, Vera Brodsky, Strong on Music Vol. 2 (Reverberations).
        Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1995. P.460.
viii   Preston, Katherine K., in The Cambridge History of American Music.
        Ed: David Nichols P. Cambridge University Press 1998. P.200ff
ix     Rasch, Rudolf, in the preface to the Facsimile reproduction of: Drouet, Louis, The Method of Flute Playing
        (originally published London by Cocks, 1830), Buren, Netherlands: Frits Knuf Pub., Rien de Reede Ed. 1990. P. IX
x     Barnum contract provided Jenny Lind a per-performance fee of $1000 - equivalent to $30,000 US in January of 2018.
xi    Footnote on the first page of the piano accompaniment of Louis Drouet’s “Salute to New York” A Song for the Flute.
       New York: William Hall & Son, 1854.
xii   Waterhouse, William, New Langwill Index: a Dictionary of Wind-Instrument Makers and Inventors.
       Tony Bingham, London, 1993. P. 95
xiii   Ibid. p. 158:
xiv   The Musical World and New York Musical Times, Vol IX No.7. June 17, 1854.