including > early equipment > flutes > guitars > how to play the flute > amplified flute


My first ownership of a musical instrument was the more than slightly disappointing result of mail-ordering a genuine high grade plastic Elvis Presley ukulele. With imprinted likeness of the great man's autograph and different coloured nylon strings, this wretched piece of tat was just about playable, but failed to stay in tune for more than thirty seconds. It was supplied with pitch pipes to enable tuning the notes of the open strings and a chord chart to songs like The Campdown Races and Yankee Doodle Dandy, which I could not remember Elvis actually having made famous. I was about nine at the time.

At age eleven, I persuaded my father to buy for me a Spanish guitar, spied in a music shop in Edinburgh, where we lived, and suspiciously cheap at £5 ($8). This ferocious beast would not be tamed until fitted with steel strings and pressed into an orgy of three chord strumming with the young John Evan and Jeffery Hammond as reluctant witnesses, some five years later.

A solid electric guitar of nameless and vague origin came and went before the purchase of a true name instrument, the Harmony Stratotone. Harmony and I taught each other the rudiments of Black American blues courtesy of T-Bone Walker, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker et al, whose records were bought by pooling our meagre resources or, more than likely, by just pooling Jeffrey's.

Later came the Burns Black Bison, an elaborately horned devil played through a Burns 30 watt amp and which was soon traded in against a vintage (although then a mere few years old) white Fender Stratocaster. This was purchased from Lemmy, the rhythm guitarist with Reverend Black and The Rocking Vicars for thirty pounds. Lemmy and I probably both wish we had kept the thing to this day, since it would be worth around ten thousand in the condition in which we owned it. Lemmy went on to a lengthy career with Motorhead and a lifelong entanglement with the loudest bass guitar on the planet.

Around this time, I coveted the Shure microphones used by some of the professional bands around the Blackpool area. Trading in the Fender, I acquired the services of a Shure Unidyne Three and, to pad out the part exchange, a shiny Selmer Gold Seal flute, in neat carry case with no playing instructions; not even in Japanese.

No longer playing the guitar, since Mick Abrahams had by then joined the band, I rounded out the musical trio of '68 instruments with a Hohner blues harmonica, the Marine Band single reed version which, as I quickly learned, you had to suck more than blow to get the blues thing happening.

At this time in mid '68, the Tull PA system was a brace of 30 watt Vox AC 30's, wired through a little mixer made by someone called Edwards. It had five inputs and two mono outputs. Since one of the Vox's was a bass model, you didn't want to stand on the left side of the Marquee club when Tull were on if you wanted to hear the vocals.

My instrument line-up increased to include a hot water bottle, alarm clock, tin whistle and the mysterious and almost legendary Claghorn, the resultant bastard offspring of an unlikely midnight pairing of ethnic bamboo flute and a saxophone mouthpiece. At the bottom, was taped the plastic bell end of a child's toy trumpet and the whole thing wrapped in layers of parcel tape to hold it all together. "Dharma for One" soared on the searing strains of the mighty Claghorn, if a little loosely in terms of pitch and reliability.

The only guitar which I had retained, principally for writing songs, was the Harmony, which now resonated uncertainly with knotted strings and missing pick-up. The first songs for the Stand Up album were written with this poor old wreck and the missing pick-up was found and later fitted to a three string Balalaika in time for the recording of "Jeffery Goes To Leicester Square".

My first Tull acoustic guitar was a Yamaha, the cheapest model in their range, and the first mandolin was a bowl-back European-made thing purchased from a little shop in Denmark to annoy Mick with on the return trip by ferry, when I wrote "Fat Man".

Martin Barre kindly gave me a Gibson SG pointy horn electric guitar which I ventured to use on the Benefit album, as occasional rhythm guitarist.

THE FLUTES

With our first trip to America, my French Selmer flute gave out and was replaced with a US made Artley, a basic student model sturdily made for the school band trade. At one time I owned more than twenty Artleys, in various states of repair (or lack of) and each tour in the seventies started with my finding the best bits to put together to make up three playable instruments for the duration. Having given most away to charity auctions over the years, I retain only a couple, now largely unplayable.

For a while I switched to 600 series flutes by Pearl, a Japanese company, and then more recently in the early nineties to Sankyo Silversonics and the US-made 2100 and 3100 Powell flutes. I use the Powells for recording and take a Sankyo and a Powell on tour. The intonation and sonority of the Powell is better, but the Sankyo blows louder and easier, especially when the player's lips are fatigued and thus less articulate. The Powell has a narrower bore and a more demanding Q or P headjoint than the free-blowing Sankyo raised shoulder NSR1 headjoint. My practice, or kitchen, flute is a Yamaha student model, cheapest in the line, and well recommended. I take it on holiday and leave it assembled when at home to pick up and puff on whenever passing. It undoubtedly helped when I gave up smoking, a good few years ago.

THE GUITARS

The guitar with which I am most associated, especially in the seventies, was the US produced Martin 0-16NY, a small bodied so-called "parlour" guitar which I first found in a shop (would you believe it?) in Tokyo during our first visit in 1972. I still own three of these guitars, although they have been reworked with slimmer contoured necks and new bridge pieces to improve intonation. At the time of recording the "Aqualung" album, I was briefly playing an Aria Japanese guitar. By "A Passion Play", I was on the Martin New Yorkers. I also have about twenty classic Martins dating from 1834 to the late 1930's. These are all wall-hangers rather than players but they have featured on some recordings, notably "Too Old To R & R" and other tracks from that period where I used 0-42 and 0-45 models.

During the eighties, I switched to guitars from Andrew Manson, an English luthier, who works in Devon producing hand-made guitars for aficionados of acoustic instruments. Based on traditional designs by the Martin Company as well as on the ideas of Andy and myself, we have come up with modern variations on the theme, giving a compact guitar with the resonance and playability associated previously with the big "jumbo" style guitars favoured by Country artists. The sexy little parlour guitars are not at all common in pop and rock music: indeed, I am probably one of the very few to use them. The instrument currently on tour with me is the smallest ever! It is a 3/4 size parlour guitar based on a French design of 150 years ago. I sent Andrew Manson the drawings and measurements and even he was surprised at how well it played and sounded, especially fitted with one of the Fishman transducer pick-ups which I have been using since the late eighties.

Below are a few more of the instruments which I currently use, together with the more pedantic but equally important electronic counterparts to make them actually heard in concert. Also listed are some details of principal recording equipment in my studio.

I am also testing a new model Martin guitar, both with nylon and steel strings pictured here. More on this guitar (and where you can buy one!) soon.

Concert Flutes by Sankyo (Japan) and Powell (USA)
Alto flutes by Sankyo
Acoustic Guitars by Andrew Manson (UK)
Kitchen practice acoustic guitar by Norman (Canada)
Electric guitars by Schecter (USA)
Acoustic bass guitar by C. F. Martin (USA)
Bamboo flutes by Patrick Olwell (USA)
Tin Whistles by Generation (Ireland?)
Piccolo by Phillip Hammig (Germany)
Harmonicas by Hohner (Germany)
Mandolins by Ozark and Ibanez (Japan) and Fylde (UK)
Mandolas by Andrew Manson and Ozark
Octave Mandolins by Ozark and Paul Hathway
Bouzoukis by Paul Hathway (UK)

Recording equipment:

24 track analogue recorder by Otari
2 track digital recorders by Panasonic and Sony
Mixing desk by Soundcraft (Saffyre)
Monitoring by ATC 100A speakers and Genelec 1030A speakers.
Headphones by Sennheiser (HD480 Classic)
Microphones by Shure Bros.
Various signal processors by Sony, DBX, Alesis, Yamaha, Drawmer
Recording tape by Ampex and HHB.

Live performance electronic equipment:

Flute radio system by Shure
Monitoring by Shure in-ear system
Sound processing by Alesis (Q2)
Microphones, Shure SM Beta 58
and Countryman Hypercardioid headset flute mic
Guitar pre-amp and sound-shaping by Zoom (9030)
Monitor mini-mixer by Mackie (1202)
Standby monitor for keyboards, Turbosound passive low profile 2 x 12
Tuner by Boss (TU-12)

HOW TO PLAY THE FLUTE

I am probably both the first and the last person to ask about learning to play the flute. Not because I don't take seriously the many requests for advice, but because, although fairly widely recognised as an interesting but self-taught fumbler, I have neither the vocabulary nor the skills to be able to pass on what I have discovered for myself. But since you ask…….

I began with the instrument in 1967 when I had just turned twenty, and at a time when my guitar playing had become a bit stale and unfulfilling. Also, we had at that time decided to find a really good guitarist and with the interest shown by Mick Abrahams in joining the group (then the John Evan Band), it seemed like the perfect time for me to learn another instrument as well as concentrate on the not-too-good vocals with which I was stuck since no one else could sing at all!

So, after fiddling around with the Irish tin whistle and the blues harmonica, I took the fateful plunge and part-exchanged my Fender Stratocaster (purchased a couple of years before from a certain hard-up Lemmy, later of Motorhead, but at the time with Reverend Black and the Rocking Vicars).

The choice of a new Shure Bros. professional microphone was easy: what was more difficult was to find another instrument to at least make up the difference in the part-exchange, since the shop owner wasn't too keen on giving me cash. The notion that violin or cello might prove possible was quickly swept away when I confirmed that, having no frets on the fingerboard, both might be a tad tricky to play in tune. The saxophone looked dauntingly big and complicated and anyway, we already had two sax players in the band at the time. Then, my Jackdaw eyes caught sight of a shiny silver flute hanging on the wall. This proved too much to resist. It seemed at once to combine the portability and compactness of the mouth harp but with the greater potential for playing in different keys and all scales.
(I think chromatic is the musical term.)

And so I became the proud owner of a Selmer Gold Seal concert flute in C and joined the other guys in the van to head off to some awful pub gig in the north of England. Sadly, while everybody else, or so it seemed, was able to get a note or two out of the wretched thing, I could not, for the life of me, produce so much as a twitter and put the new acquisition away for the next few weeks in acute embarrassment.

Towards the end of that year, we were due to head south to Luton to meet up with Mick who was set to join the Evan band, but the reality of the commitment was already proving too much for some band members. First the two sax players announced that they would not stay, and then John Evan and Barrie Barlow decided that they too had had enough. That left Glenn Cornick and me to team up with Mick and his regular drummer Clive Bunker in a group which, although calling itself the John Evan Band, merely grasped the opportunity to take advantage of the few gigs which had been arranged by our new London-based agent Chris Wright.

Our first few rehearsals were taking us down the path of blues based improvisation and a repertoire mostly of things which Mick had played for a while, giving me the chance to chime in with some elementary huffing and puffing on the flute which Mick, to his credit but ultimate undoing, encouraged. I figured out (or so I thought) where to put my fingers on the instrument since Theobald Boehm's ergonomic excellence of design left few alternatives. (I found them).

By trial and error I hacked out the riffs and simple improvisations which echoed my limited guitar technique, which earlier had posed no immediate threat to Eric Clapton's burgeoning career. But the major crossroads (O.K., O.K.) was about to loom large.

Jeffrey Hammond, my chum from the early days of the John Evan Band in Blackpool was, by now, also in London studying fine art at the Central College Of Art And Design, and had acquired a liking for Jazz, and a few L.P.'s to go with it. Notable amongst these were an album by Roland Kirk, the sax and flute player, and Ornette Coleman. Of the two, Kirk had the simpler and to me, more useful approach: punchy melodies and gutsy, bluesy, improvisation which sent me walking home from Jeffrey's bed-sit near Archway, North London, one night with the strains of "Serenade to a Cuckoo" ringing in my ears.

The next day, after a few minutes of trying, I managed the first few bars of the verse and found the courage to take the idea to Mick as a fully fledged flute instrumental for me to attempt on stage. The simultaneous singing and playing which Roland Kirk employed had already come naturally to me: I had used this approach before as a guitarist and to an extent on the tin whistle and mouth harp, as well as flute, knowing that such "scat-singing" techniques were legendary in the traditions of both Blues and Jazz.

The reinforcement of my tentative flute tone by singing the note in unison gave me confidence and, ultimately, the bravery to trade phrases with the guitar and drums and to lay down the basis of the style which started to make an impact on our listeners in the early months of 1968 when we gratefully took on a residency at London's famous "Marquee Club" in Wardour Street. John Gee, the manager of the club, was a Jazz buff and saw in me, I suppose, the more sensitive fledgling musician of which he approved; more so than, perhaps, the loud and aggressive guitarists who would rock the Marquee in a fashion less subtle than in its initial days as a Jazz club.

It was to honour his support and encouragement on a personal level that I wrote and recorded the not very good, but well-intentioned "One For John Gee" later that year.

While the double act resulting from Mick and I having a more or less equal role in the early days of Tull proved popular, the impact of the flute, from a media point of view, gave the band an identity which offered something unique in a developing British music scene populated by guitar heroes. From a musical perspective however, it was sometimes an uphill battle, struggling to be heard above the exciting clamour of the blues and rock guitar-driven music which formed the backbone of early Tull.

When Mick left the band in December of '68 to be replaced by Martin Barre, it offered me the chance to broaden my flute playing by moving out of the blues form and towards the use of a more eclectic mix of influences, some half-formed from childhood memories, some, more recently adopted from Classical music, Asian music and the more adventurous peer group progressive pop and rock work of the time.

Curiously, Mick's departure also re-awakened the guitar player in me; not only acoustic and electric guitars but mandolin, bouzouki, balalaika and almost anything with strings (and frets) attached! But that's another story.

The Bach piece "Bouree" became my next flute party piece on stage, after hearing it repeated over and over from the bed-sitbelow mine in Kentish Town where an English student was attempting to learn Classical guitar in his spare time.

Although, as I recall, it was the harmonica playing which prompted my tendency to stand on one leg during solos, the press put the one-legged bit together with the novelty of my flute playing to come up with an "image" for me. Although I self-consciously resisted this to begin with, it soon came to provide an enduring visual focus for the band and I had to remember to dutifully comply, at least when the photographers were snapping.

For the next twenty, or so, years, I continued with my home-grown style of playing. This, unfortunately, embodied many incorrect fingerings and dubious harmonics requiring constant changes to embouchure and angle of breath stream to compensate as far as possible for the tuning discrepancies induced . Playing some passages quietly was a problem: to get the note to sound at all sometimes required brute force and a more subtle performance seemed often beyond my capabilities.
I began to regard my flute-playing reputation as an impediment, rather than an asset, and the chore of integrating my performance with the complex and often forceful band arrangements, tended to become frustrating.

When my daughter, Gael, was coerced (as little girls often are) into taking up an instrument at school, I suggested boldly that the Tuba was too big; Violin and Cello too difficult; Saxophone too expensive and that I might just have a perfectly acceptable old flute which she could borrow, quite cheaply, for the year or two required.

A month or so later, on hearing the customary struggle to play some perfectly easy passage of infantile musical mediocrity, I offered with benign and lordly patience, a few tips on how to perform the said novice piece.

"Oh no, Daddy," came the swift and deflating response: "That's not how you play an E. You have to have your little finger there on that funny key down at the bottom at the same time. And you don't put your first finger on the left hand down for that D in the second octave. Oh, Daddy! Get a life. Or a second job." (Actually, I'm making that last bit up, but you get the drift).

I was off to India on a promo trip the following morning and so, it was a few days later that I called our Production Manager, Kenny Wylie, to get one of the flute specialist shops in London, to send by fax, a fingering chart to my hotel in Bombay.

In between amusing accusations by the usually polite but occasionally contentious Indian media of ripping off the frighteningly similar one-legged stance of Krishna, the flute-playing God of Hindu tradition (Honest to Gods: I never saw his act), it seemed like a prudent idea to retire to my hotel room at every opportunity with the grim realisation that I had some urgent work to do.

The next few weeks, on my return to the UK, were spent in trying the correct, although to me alternative, fingerings which I should have learned in the first place. It was a little like learning to ride a bike with your hands crossed over on the handlebars but, with perseverance, it gradually began to make sense.

At about this same time, I received overtures from Roger Lewis at EMI's Classical Music division, who asked me to consider recording an album of instrumental flute music.

After my saying, "Thanks, but no thanks," a couple of times, Roger didn't give up, so I cranked out a couple of demos which passed the test. Andy Giddings and I began the recording of the album "Divinities", which was the debut of my attempt to redress the errors of wicked, uneducated youth. Since that difficult time, not many hours, let alone days, go by without my picking up the flute to play for both practice and personal enjoyment. The old riffs and solos sound the same: they are just more enjoyable and easier to play. These days, I keep a beginner's student quality flute in the kitchen as a convenient tool for self expression, rehearsal, and song-writing as well as stirring the soup, and a much more expensive and sweet-sounding solid silver conservatory grade model not too far away, in the event that I don't mind cleaning it afterwards.

Therefore, the lessons to learn by example, should you so wish:

If, like my daughter, you are taken by the urge to try a musical instrument, whether by inclination or demand, beg, steal or borrow the object of your tentative affection. Don't, for goodness' sake actually buy one or worse, let your parents buy it for you: (Then you really are going to have to have to play the damn thing, whatever it is). Try whistling or humming Silent Night, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, or the Spice Girls Greatest Hits and if the folks around you are not covering their ears, you may assume that you have something of a musical ear. Then, and this is important, assuming you like the feel of your new friend between your lips, arms, legs or other bits, have a lesson or two from a proficient teacher. This will, at least, get you putting your fingers in the places mine didn't want to go for the first twenty years.

Finally, a word or three about the types of flute you might encounter.

The shiny silver or gold one you see in the Symphony Orchestra, is the modern realisation of a design by Boehm patented in 1850. It was a vast improvement on the earlier efforts of countless others which embodied the use of extra keys to enhance the playing possibilities beyond the limitations of the six finger-hole precursors found throughout the world in many cultures. Indeed, the flute, in whichever of its various guises, is one of the most ancient of musical instruments. Its pure wave form characteristics, combined with an oft-quoted Phallic symbolism, seem to have secured for it a special place in the hearts and minds of many a young female goatherd, not to mention the thousands of young people who take up the instrument each year, making it arguably the most popular "real" instrument both at school and for private lessons.

Assuming that you don't want to take up the six hole bamboo flute, the Irish flute or tin whistle, or any other of the ethnic varieties, you will be looking at one of many makes of metal, fully chromatic concert flutes. It may well be Japanese in origin (fine to excellent), American (excellent to, well, more excellent) or Chinese (check please). Over the years, I have played Pearl, Yamaha, and Sankyo in the Jap camp; Artley and, more recently, Powell amongst US makers.

Roughly speaking, $400 will get you something pretty good if you are willing to pick a used model from a reputable specialist dealer. $1000 and you are getting serious. $15,000 - $20,000 buys you a top quality hand-made platinum or big carat gold professional model. But make sure that the flute comes from a good retail supplier. Don't be tempted by the pawn shop or even the music store which specialises in electric guitars in odd shapes and colours: even new flutes out of the box have been known to be not acceptably set up to play, and the unfortunate student may be left struggling, unaware that the instrument itself, or factory quality control is to blame.

Some concert flutes have "open" holes, making them a little more difficult to cover easily with slim feminine digits such as my own. Some have closed holes which are easier to play, the only disadvantage being that you cannot "bend" notes (glissandi), although that technique is not like to be part of the normal teaching convention, or often applied in classical music. The lowest note on the concert flute is normally C, but an extended length foot joint may be available to take the lowest note down to B but the extra weight and length probably don't justify the extra cost for a beginner, or me!

The traditional "purist" configuration would be an open hole model with "in-line" keys, but the "off-set G" makes for a more natural, less stressful hold with the left hand. A "split-E" mechanism is useful to help with the production of high E.

The "sharp" end of the flute is the section called the headjoint. The lip plate and embouchure hole, (the bit which your quivering, tired lips freeze against in cruel parody of the shark in "Jaws" after dental anaesthetic) can vary in design and sophistication, but the standard version supplied with your flute is probably best to start with. I use headjoints with slightly raised lip plate and deeper "chimney" to the hole giving better projection and ease of playing to the lower notes, but it's all too easy to get caught up in the never-ending search for the unattainable when the problems lie with basic technique rather than with the equipment.

The student range of concert flutes will most likely be of brass or nickel/silver construction, plated with nickel or silver, but solid silver or even gold and platinum can be used, albeit expensively. These metals give, usually, a more mellow, darker tone. The brightest sound comes from silver, plated again with a fine layer of silver and with thin walls to the tube, particularly the headjoint. The headjoint itself contributes most to the identity and quality of tone: even a cheap student flute can be dramatically improved by the purchase of a better headjoint, provided, of course, that the main body of the flute, its key assembly and key pads are in good working order and are well adjusted to prevent leaks or "sticky" keys.

So, there you have the potted guide to the decision-making process of taking up the flute. The fun of playing any musical instrument, even rather badly, should make the effort worthwhile, but if you ultimately prove to be simply not cut out for musical performance, remember that the best and easiest reward of all comes from sitting back, closing your eyes and listening to the liquid dreams which we call music.

The best flute teachers in the history of planet Earth are out there on CD just waiting for you to listen; whether they are playing the works of Bach, Haydn, and Mozart or providing some of the great moments of American Jazz. Consider the work of the Indian Bansari traditionalists like flautist Hariprasad Chaurasia or the wonderful Irish Low Whistle playing of Davy Spillane. Or if your liking is for the rock stuff, then in the best Spinal Tap tradition, "Puff on, Cleveland"!

Ian Anderson, 1998.

THE AMPLIFIED FLUTE

Over the years, I have tried a number of microphones and pickups to attempt the difficult task of making my flute audible above the sound levels generated by a rock band.

I began, when I first took up the instrument, by playing into the same mic as I used for vocals - the Shure model 57. This is one of the most commonly used dynamic mics for a variety of purposes, including micing drums, guitar and vocals where a relatively flat response between 100 hz and 10 Khz is desired.

The close and slightly preferable cousin to this mic is the Shure model 58 which has a slight peak response of around 8 - 10 Khz as opposed to the 6 Khz peak of the 57. This, combined with the greater rejection of the familiar "golf ball" pop shield makes, in my opinion, the 58 the mic of choice to play into for stage use. The two mics are similarly priced and widely available for around $160 if you shop around a little.

I still use my vocal mic (Shure Beta 58) for about a third of the time where I have to make quick changes from voice to flute or am otherwise encumbered with an acoustic guitar or mandolin.

The trick is to get close to the mic (almost touching, say half an inch from actual contact) to reject, relatively speaking, as much noise from the other musicians - particularly drums - on the stage. You would normally get this close with vocals as well for the same reason. The penalties paid are twofold: firstly, you have a greater tendency to "pop" on explosive consonants and to greatly exaggerate wind and breath noise. Secondly there is the "proximity effect" of added bass response which leads the unwary sound engineer to add much more treble or "top end" to compensate. WRONG! This problem should be corrected by putting in the high pass filter on the mixing console (removing progressively the frequencies below, say, 80 hz.) Instead, or in addition, it may be necessary to take out further frequencies from around 180 hz. and below. A little top at about 10 -12 Khz may, however, help articulation.

A peak limiter can be inserted in the signal path to control the loudest notes or better still, a compressor working at about a ratio of 6-1 with a gain reduction of around 4 - 6 dB will smooth out the volume peaks in performance and give a little more apparent volume response in the lower register of the flute (or vocal).

The alternative to the separate mic on a stand (which limits severely the mobility of the performer) is to use a clip-on mic attached to the head joint of the flute just to the left, or above, the lip plate. The make which I have used for several years, is the Countryman Isomax cardioid wireless model made by Countryman Associates Inc., 417 Stanford Avenue, Redwood City, CA 94063. They can be reached by telephone at 800 669 1422 or 650 364 9988. Fax at 650 364 2794. It can be supplied with the manufacturer's own flute clip which snaps over the head joint with almost no wear or tear to the silver or silver-plated surface. It is also available from specialised retailers whose names may be obtained from the manufacturer.

I currently use a new model of microphone from Shure – the WL51 – which is a cardioid pattern lavalier-type mic designed for sound re-inforcement of actors’ voices in live stage work. It does require a top-end boost as well as low-end roll-off to sound natural when positioned close to the embouchure hole.

I position my mic so the active surface of the mic is facing down the length of the flute, in line with the front edge of the embouchure hole. The face of the mic is only about an inch from the hole itself and is rather susceptible to wind noise exhaled from the nose of the player. A supplied pop shield is fitted to reduce breath noise and, for outdoor shows, wind noise.

The Shure WL51 and the Countryman mics are electret mic and requires power from some source to operate. In my case, the lead from the mic goes to a Shure UC system radio transmitter belt pack, which also acts as the power supply to the mic. The signal then goes to a nearby rack-mounted UC system receiver which feeds into a small mixer (I use a Mackie 12 channel) along with the signals from my vocal mic and acoustic guitar.

I add at this stage some echo and reverb to the sound from a rack-mounted multi-effects unit, controlled by a midi foot pedal. I switch off the effects between songs for verbal introductions, or for dry vocals. The flute always sounds sweeter with some degree of reverb or a short (250 ms) stereo repeating delay, or a mixture of both. I use a number of pre-programmed effects on both flute and vocals but, I hope, subtly. Don't overdo it because the varying acoustic ambience of almost any venue will add further reverberations and make for a watery quality to everything you play.

The output from my little mixer, which is positioned a few feet from me on the stage, goes to the main mixer out front in the audience. There, the stereo mix of effects plus flute mic and vocal mic is added to the separate feed from my acoustic guitar as well as all the other musicians' instruments. A further discrete mix from my little on-stage mixer, which includes the acoustic guitar, is fed to a rack-mounted Shure PSM 600 or 700 transmitter which sends the combined signals to my belt receiver pack leading to the tiny Shure in-ear monitors which I wear to hear myself play and sing as well as to cut down the apparent volume of drums guitar and bass etc. on stage. You could send this mix to conventional monitor " wedges" instead.

So, really, there is no great mystery attached to amplification of the flute. Just a powerful mic positioned close to the instrument. Various other types of mic can be used, If you are not playing with a loud group of musicians around you, you might prefer a mic positioned a little further away, say four or five inches, and with omni-directional, rather than cardioid, characteristics. This should give a slightly more open and natural sound but, of course, will pick up more of the other musicians and, to an extent, the audience. It will be more prone to feedback when you try to crank up the sound. But in an orchestral or acoustic band context, it will sound nicer and more natural. There are a number of small powered mics available, but you will still have to pay around $200 - $400 for good quality.

There have been some attempts to manufacture contact mics for the flute, but they suffer from the bugbear of transmitting the considerable mechanical noise of the key mechanism and unevenly "hearing" the different notes in the three octaves of the instrument.

The only way to accurately mic a flute is from about six feet away, with an omnidirectional mic or more than one uni-directional, or cardioid, mic. This is, however, clearly impractical for all but the entirely unaccompanied flute performance.

I hope the information above will be of use to the many people who have asked for advice on amplifying the flute in concert. But don't be afraid to experiment and if you come up with some great new idea, share it with me. Good luck with the unenviable task of working your flute into the world of loud music. Ever wondered why I am about the only reasonably well-known idiot to persevere with it for so long? Hmmmmn…… 'nuff said. Even more good luck!