In my second year of graduate studies at Lee University’s School of Music, I was enrolled in a course called “Flute Pedagogy,” (essentially a class on how to teach the flute). My private flute instructor, Professor Kristen Holritz, also instructed this course. The class was one-on-one and we often went directly from my flute lessons into these classes. One of the most memorable and important lectures from the class was a deep dive Professor Holritz took into what she called her “flute family tree.” I learned that almost all of the techniques utilized by modern flute players (especially in the United States) stem from the Paris Conservatory’s Paul Taffanel and his protégé Philippe Gaubert. Their influence is widely known as the French Flute School. Professor Holritz was able to show me how her own instructors, Juilliard’s Robert Longevin and University of North Carolina’s School for The Arts’ Tadeu Coelho, could be traced directly back to Taffanel. She then tasked me with tracing my own lineage. I now knew about her branch of the tree, but how about the other teachers I studied with? This assignment filled me with curiosity about a part of my identity that I had never actually examined very closely before. Where did my style of playing actually come from? What are the influences that have shaped the fundamental approaches I take to music?
My very first flute teacher was a lovely woman named Deborah Lowe, whom we knew from our church in Virginia Beach, VA. She would play flute as a featured “special music” on occasion, and when I had finally grown to the point I could hold the flute comfortably, I begged my parents to seek out whether Mrs. Lowe would consider teaching me lessons. To my great delight she agreed. Most of my memories of those early days have grown pretty faint over time, but some memories remain vivid. I remember how sweet and patient she was, especially with my struggles to practice consistently. I remember crying many times when I’d get light headed or develop headaches from not being used to the level of breath support playing flute demanded. I remember becoming quickly disillusioned when my early efforts did not produce the results I wanted. Why didn’t I sound just like the flute player from the London Philharmonic, doggone it?! For the first time in my life, I was faced with a huge set of new challenges that were going to take a significant amount of time to improve. I’m thankful that my first instructor was such a tender, encouraging, and patient one. I’ve often wondered if I would have thrown in the towel if I’d had a different teacher. Especially considering how susceptible and vulnerable I was to any level of criticism or disapproval back then.
Eventually, after a couple of years, Mrs. Lowe believed she had taught me as much as she could, and believed that it was time I moved on to a more advanced instructor. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a choice to be made, because she and her husband were about to relocate as part of a church plant. I was gutted to be losing my first instructor, and I also wondered where we would find anyone even remotely like her.
In the intervening time, when I was without an instructor, my family attended a homeschool curriculum fair being held in Hampton Roads. While perusing the seemingly endless aisles of books, we came across a special booth set up for a program called Young Musicians of Virginia (or YMV). A woman with sparkling eyes and an infectious smile manned the booth. Extending a hand she jovially introduced herself. “Hello there, my name is Debbie Hall.” I shyly took the hand and introduced myself in turn. My mother was standing with me, smiling as she looked at the display set up across the booth. Photos of teenage boys and girls in tuxedos and concert dresses were strewn across the white tableclothed table. A small television set was set up on the corner, playing a medley of clips of various concerts being performed by these young performers. I was transfixed and so was my mother. Sensing my deep interest; my mom launched into a series of questions about the program. “So you accept homeschoolers?” “Oh yes! This is an ‘enrichment’ program specifically FOR homeschoolers” Mrs. Hall stressed. “The program was set up so that homeschool students can have some of the same arts experiences, in a Christian environment, as students in public and private schools.” My mother was immediately taken with the idea. My elder brother, Austin, had long desired to learn guitar, and my parents had hoped that they could find some kind of band, orchestra, or choir program that I could also enjoy without having to leave homeschooling behind.
Before I knew it, Austin and I were enrolled at YMV. He would take guitar lessons; I would be part of Intermediate Band and middle school choir. YMV convened every Tuesday and Friday, with the rest of the week reserved for practice and at-home study. To make sure the environment was conducive to homeschooling, YMV had a study hall where students could convene, chaperoned by “hall monitors,” to complete homework, even if their parents were not present and dropped their students off for the day. I remember how terrified I was to be dropped off somewhere without my parents. I had never been separated from them before, and I had almost no sense of independence yet. One day, just a couple weeks into the program, my mother ran just a few minutes late to pick me up and I was so overrun with terror that I sat down in the middle of the room and burst into tears. My friend Maddie approached to make sure I was okay, and embarrassed, I tried to pretend I wasn’t crying while hiding my face from her. “There there, your mom will be here soon, I just know it.” She said, trying to comfort me, though the actual result was that I turned purple with embarrassment and my vision clouded from how humiliated I was (I was 9 years old, after all). As luck would have it, mother walked through the entryway mere moments later, and I quickly grabbed my things to rush out the door, throwing out a harried “thanks” in Maddie’s general direction on my way out.
Since my lessons with Mrs. Lowe had come to an end several months prior, finding my new instructor at YMV seemed to make the most sense. Although YMV didn’t have a private flute instructor during my first year in the program, the following year Mrs. Bonnie Kim came on board as a new private flute instructor, and YMV’s leadership assured my parents and me that she would be a great addition to my education.
At the beginning of each year, YMV hosted a huge Orientation meeting. The YMV leadership would give speeches welcoming back old students, and welcoming brand new students into the fold. They would lay out their goals for the coming year, and the practical vision they would implement to make sure our experience with the organization was consistently better than any year before. As part of the event various private instructors would be asked to perform for the students. Mrs. Kim was one of those tasked with performing. As she ascended the stairs to the stage, it was immediately clear that she was someone of great skill and comportment. She instantly took full command of the stage, filling the entire sanctuary with a golden tone and firecracker technique. At the end of her performance, I felt newly inspired. This was a teacher who could take me to another level of skill.
It became clear from my very first lesson with Mrs. Kim that she took a more hardline approach to teaching than Mrs. Lowe had. No longer could I skate by in my lessons without fully completing my practice for the week. I remember during a particularly poor mid-semester lesson, Mrs. Kim stopped me mid-etude to ask “David… did you practice this week?” Nervously, I replied “Kind of. Not every day.” “Oh? How many days then?” “At least 3.” “Oh. I see. To be frank with you, David, it’s a waste of your time and of mine if you don’t practice. I’ll see you next week.” Feeling stunned, I walked out of the lesson 40 minutes early, feeling deeply ashamed and embarrassed, but I knew she was right. If I didn’t practice, my lessons with Mrs. Kim would be nothing more than another practice session. Rather than working on making real improvements, if I didn’t practice, we would actually spend the whole of our lesson time correcting basics like wrong notes or rhythm errors that should have been ironed out in my own personal time at home.
Going into my lessons with Mrs. Kim, another major issue quickly came to light. My rhythm was atrocious. Mrs. Kim’s solution was to have me carefully clap along to books of various rhythm exercises. She’d clap along with me. If I made a mistake with one of the rhythm exercises we would immediately stop and go back to the beginning to start over. Until I could make it through the entire exercise without an error, we would keep going. I struggled mightily with this assignment in particular, but I couldn’t argue with the results. Within just a few months I was shocked to see how much progress my rhythm was making; how few errors I was allowing to slip by during my practice at home; how much my performance in band was improving.
It was during this time that a friendly and very competitive rivalry began to grow between some of the other flautists in my age group and me. I had never really been competitive with anything in my life, but because I was dedicating such a tremendous amount of time to becoming good at this, and because the practice was starting to pay off and people were taking note, the importance of “being the best” started to really dominate a lot of my thought life. It can be difficult, when you’re young, to establish things in your life in which you feel truly secure. Especially when you are struggling with questions of identity and your role in what seems like an ever-expanding world. For me, auditions for chair placement became a particularly vital and daunting challenge each year (in music ensembles like band or orchestra, chair placement is the hierarchy of the most proficient musician on their instrument in the group being 1st or Principal Chair, to 2nd Chair or Associate or Assistant Principal, 3rd, 4th, etc.). I became highly determined to eventually climb my way up to 1st chair in the advanced band at YMV, but I was not the only flute player.
Mrs. Kim taught me along with most of the other flute player in the band program. Flute players, I would come to learn, tend to be among the most fiercely competitive musicians in the classical music world (a view I still hold). This can be partially attributed to the sheer number of people who play (it can be a crowded field), but I’m also of the belief that flute tends to naturally draw especially competitive people. This has pros and cons. On one hand, the constant competition is a powerful motivator, but on the other, it can be easy to slip into some nasty habits if you allow disappointment at not “winning” to turn into bitterness or allow it to chip away at your self worth. Regrettably, it would be years before I would finally learn how to stop doing the latter.
Mrs. Kim continued to teach at YMV for a couple of years, leaving after Christopher Newport University offered her a position on their faculty. By the time of her departure, I was halfway through middle school. It was around this time that I began to feel a sense of disconnection from flute. My love for music survived because of a tight tether I was holding onto through my participation in choir, but even that was beginning to wear thin. Although I was entirely unaware of it at the time, losing Mrs. Kim as an instructor was a very difficult loss for me to process. It would be a catalyst toward my entering a creative “desert” and would launch me into a string of flute instructors with whom I struggled to make a real connection. By the time I was nearing the end of middle school, I very nearly gave up playing the flute altogether – that is, until I met Ms. Ruth McCarthy…