The village revisited.

Recently I was online looking through a university alumni magazine when I saw some news about a past teacher, Janice Smith. She was my first flute instructor and a very fine teacher. She played in the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and held a music education degree, so she had the teaching chops for dealing effectively with all levels, including beginners. I studied flute with her for only one year as an elective, but learned much about embouchure, tonguing and breathing. Several years ago I bought a flute and was surprised at how much I had retained, although being an early-intermediate flutist at best, my playing still tends to be "senza intonazione."

I contacted Janice via e-mail to express thanks. We did a series of back and forths, catching up on mutual acquaintances. I inquired about Jacob Berg, who for decades had been the principal flutist for the SLSO and had also taught at Washington University in St. Louis. It was sad to learn that he passed away in 2004.

I never studied flute with Berg yet he was one of my most significant teachers. Surprisingly it was from him that I learned how to play baroque music.

As an undergraduate pianist I enjoyed accompanying instrumental and vocal classmates. A flutist and I had been rehearsing two pieces and our ensemble was becoming comfortable, so it was time to play together at her lesson for Berg. First we presented a 20th-century French piece and he had only a few minor suggestions--it was going well.

Then we performed a movement of a Bach flute sonata. After some silence he moved toward me and said, "You imitate her dynamics well, but did it ever occur to you to also imitate her articulations?" His demeanor and slender smile conveyed a peculiar combination of politeness, gentle sarcasm and yet encouragement. My first reaction was defensive as I thought, "What articulations? I played all the 16ths with great legato!" He must have read my mind because he immediately penciled into my part zillions of markings over the first 16th-note phrases: staccatos galore, sprinkled with an occasional two-note slur or random portato or tenuto. Then he had his student demonstrate how she had been playing those motifs all along. I did notice them (apparently for the first time), but I complained about how much harder they made my part! I must have been in shock from such an unfamiliar approach. Fortunately for me, he was a patient man.

We worked through various sections in this way, but I still felt like I was being asked to alter my very being. I finally had either the audacity or good sense to ask, "Where are you getting all these articulations from?" His smile broadened, "If you would like to come by later when I'm done teaching, I'll show you." I did and he generously gave me a lesson in baroque articulation practice. I thanked him, but my head was swimming. In subsequent rehearsals and performances I successfully imitated my partner's articulations, but I still wasn't convinced--it all seemed so fussy.

This new approach lay dormant until several years later when I was repracticing the Two-Part Inventions for teaching purposes. I "inadvertently" started to experiment with articulations and soon heard my Bach playing not only singing (as it always had) but also dancing--what a difference, such fun! Over time I pulled out old suites and "Well-Tempered's, and rediscovered how they worked, starting a delightful process that continues to this day. No wonder I hadn't previously enjoyed playing Bach all that much; it would be like a jazz bassist playing arco all the time--how could the music sparkle that way?

I feel much gratitude for what Berg gave me that day (I wasn't even his "student"). As a teacher I also am reminded of an important lesson firsthand: some instruction takes years to come into fruition. The story also begs a question: In college, what if I hadn't collaborated with so many players--getting exposed to other instrumental dialects and teachers--but instead had just stayed in the practice room working on solo repertoire? When would I have learned all of this? If I may amend a well-known book title: it takes a village to educate a music student.

Bruce Berr is an independent piano and pedagogy teacher in Glenview, Illinois, where he works with children, as weft as other piano teachers. He is a former university professor and is known nationally as a clinician, educational composer and author. He is also associate editor of Clavier Companion magazine.