If personalities were to be assigned to the various musical instruments that make up the modern symphony orchestra, many people would think of the flute as little more than an innocuous warbler.
Not as soulful as the oboe or as penetrating as the trumpet, often the soft, slender voice of the flute is obscured by the general mass of sound. Only when soaring in a brilliant spiral of rapid notes high above the orchestra does it really command attention.
In the hands of a master flutist such as Donald Peck, however, the flute is no chirruping birdbrain, but an instrument blessed with an expressiveness all its own. Lustrous and penetrating, tender and lyrical, charming and sensual, its hues would put a chameleon to shame. It is one of the most distinctive voices in the orchestral choir, blending well with any ensemble even as it serves a key role within the woodwind section.
For his nearly 28 seasons as principal flutist of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, Peck has carried out that role with a combination of technical skill and musical understanding that has earned him widespread admiration. Within the fraternity of the flute he is considered to be without peer. No less a judge than Julius Baker, the longtime principal flutist of the New York Philharmonic, pronounces Peck ”the greatest flutist I`ve ever heard.”
His activities with the Chicago Symphony Chamber Players have made him one of the city`s most valued chamber musicians. His master classes, national and international, have passed on to students the great tradition of flute pedagogy that he inherited from his teacher, the late William Kincaid.
Symphony fans know him as the short, slender man with the silver flute who sits attentively at the head of the woodwind section. At this weekend`s subscription concerts they will witness another side of Peck`s artistry as he performs the world premiere of a flute concerto written for him by American composer Morton Gould, with Georg Solti conducting.
Peck has appeared as soloist on numerous occasions with the orchestra, but this concerto is special to him, not only because he was directly involved in the commission and advised Gould during the composition process but also because he believes that the 20th-Century flute repertory has gained a major new score.
”I`m very excited about it,” he says. ”It`s not avant-garde, but it`s not show music, either.”
In terms of sheer virtuosity, Peck can play rings around any of today`s showmen of the flute. James Galway and Jean-Pierre Rampal do not, after all, hold a monopoly on facile technique. But Peck`s artistry runs far deeper than merely being able to wow the gallery. He is a musician`s musician, an eloquent interpreter, a stylist of rare refinement.
Like Galway, Peck could have given up the routine of orchestra life to pursue a solo career. But the strenuous life of a jet-propelled performer never appealed to him.
”I am unskilled in the ways of PR and BS,” he says, wryly, adding that he is perfectly happy being a ”soloist” within a major symphony orchestra.
His dependability is something Solti and other conductors take as an article of faith. Among the autographed portraits of eminent musicians that cover a wall of his spacious Near North condominium, one of conductor Rafael Kubelik holds a typical inscription: ”With many happy memories of our mutual music-making and your beautiful playing!”
In the best orchestras the woodwinds–flutes, oboes, clarinets and bassoons–form a highly disciplined corporate unit. Each principal player is a concertmaster on his instrument. Of these players, the principal flute is perhaps the most influential. Because it so often carries the melodic line, the flute has been likened to the first violin of a chamber ensemble. Romantic composers such as Brahms favored the instrument with some of their most expressive solos.
”Any woodwind functions as a color instrument in the orchestra, but the flute has the potential for more color and brilliance than the other woodwinds,” Peck says.
”The whole woodwind section can be most exquisite, like glittering jewels. We are much more at the mercy of a conductor than the brass or even the strings. If he doesn`t keep these sections in balance, the woodwinds are at a definite disadvantage. We can`t fight this; if we do, we only destroy our sound.”
Violinists are generally regarded by their symphony colleagues as the prima donnas of the orchestra, clarinetists as the peacemakers and brass players as the boozers. Flutists are generally thought of as the gentlemen of the band: well-dressed, somewhat elegant, temperamental, but not so much as the oboes.
As a breed they are not terribly gregarious. The only time they seek each other out, according to Peck, is during the annual conventions of the National Flute Association, which in recent years have attracted some 1,500 flutists from all over the world.
”It`s strange, but when the symphony is on tour, all the oboe players in the various cities come backstage to chat and compare problems, but very few flutists. I think each one believes he is somebody special, and he`s waiting for you to come up to him.”
Becoming a professional flutist was for Peck basically a matter of
”following the line of least resistance,” as he puts it.
Born in Yakima, Wash., he started piano lessons at age 6 but switched to the flute four years later just before his family moved to Seattle.
”They thought it would be a charming hobby and were horrified when I showed talent,” Peck recalls. ”I worked very hard, but it was never a struggle,” partly because he had heard a great deal of flute chamber music around the house when he was younger.
His first orchestral experience came with playing in a youth orchestra, followed by a stint with the Seattle Symphony, in which he played second flute alongside his teacher, Frank Horsfall.
During his senior year in high school he auditioned for Kincaid, principal flute of the Philadelphia Orchestra, and was one of a select number of students admitted on scholarship the following year to the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia. At that time there was no more celebrated flutist in America than Kincaid. Being chosen to study with him was like a rookie being invited to study baseball with Joe DiMaggio.
Peck did not blossom immediately in the rich musical hothouse that was Curtis because his teacher made him relearn all the basics of playing the flute.
”Kincaid wanted me to make the flute sound like an instrument, instead of tootily-flutily. I would go to hear the Philadelphia Orchestra every week, and he would be playing, and I`d see what he was talking about.”
By the time of his graduation from Curtis, Peck had made up his mind that he was going to play in a major symphony orchestra. Gradually he worked his way up the orchestra ladder, from the National Symphony to the Marine Band to the Kansas City Philharmonic, where he served two seasons as principal flutist.
In 1957 he learned that the position of assistant principal flute had opened with the Chicago Symphony. In those days the audition process was relatively simple. Peck was ushered into a small room in which Fritz Reiner awaited him. The formidable maestro had been known to terrify musicians in similar circumstances, but Peck was unflappable. He glided through the ”Dance of the Seven Veils,” a Reiner specialty. Reiner listened, then left the room without uttering a word.
Presently Peck was told he had the job. He graduated to the first chair three months later when it was vacated by veteran CSO flutist Ernest Liegl.
Since coming to Chicago, Peck has received job offers from other American orchestras, but none more tempting than Eugene Ormandy`s 1961 invitation to come to Philadelphia on Kincaid`s retirement.
Despite his loyalty to the CSO, it long had been Peck`s dream to fill the shoes of his beloved teacher. Newspapers across the country carried the story that he had accepted a two-year contract with the Philadelphia Orchestra–even as the CSO management insisted he was still under contract here.
”I was taken before the musicians union board and threatened with expulsion for violating my contract. It was horrible.”
Peck elected not to fight–and not to switch.
”Since then the management here has treated me very well. I have absolutely no complaints.”
The modern orchestral flute has a tube of metal–most frequently silver, but sometimes gold or platinum–built in three sections. Tone is produced when a player blows across the blow hole, or embouchure, setting a column of air in motion. Because focusing the breath makes heavy demands on cheeks and lip muscles, you can sometimes identify an off-duty flutist by his Mona Lisa-like smile.
Of course, what may seem like a smile may only be an inverted scowl, the product of years of frustrations posed by a most temperamental instrument.
”People tend to think it isn`t temperamental because the flute is fairly easy to play,” Peck says. ”Actually, the flute is easy to sound mediocre on, but it is extremely difficult to sound superior on.
”People don`t realize this, but the flute takes almost as much air to play as the tuba. That is because you have no reed or mouthpiece to give resistance. You fill the lungs with air, creating a cavity of air at the back of the throat; then you have to let the air out as sparingly as you can, keeping lips, stomach muscles and diaphragm tight. It`s terribly crucial where that air goes.”
There are times of the year when, despite all manner of coaxing and cajoling from the most artful master, the flute all but refuses to speak. November and May are generally the worst months, when dryness and humidity drive all flutists to the verge of retirement, or worse.
The flute is extremely sensitive to changes of temperature. Playing at high altitudes can be a nightmare. Peck still winces when he recalls his struggle to sustain the long, languid phrases of Debussy`s ”Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun” at a concert in Salt Lake City, 4,390 feet above sea level.
All great flutists pride themselves on their tone quality, for their
”sound” is their fingerprints. Use the phrase ”Galway sound” or
”Rampal sound” around a flutist and he will know immediately what you mean. Yet no matter how beautiful that tone may be, any good orchestral player almost instinctively will alter it to suit the style and expressive requirements of the music.
For Peck this is a totally unconscious act–”I can`t play Mozart with a Brahms sound.
”Now I`m not congratulating myself, but I feel I have achieved my ideal. I think of my sound as combining the suavity, elegance and color of Kincaid with the big, dramatic, voluptuous sound of Joseph Mariano.” A fellow Kincaid pupil, Mariano is former head of the flute department at the Eastman School of Music.
Those who have studied Peck`s performances over the years would not dispute the accuracy of his description.
Peck has few kind words for Pied Pipers of the flute world such as Galway who have tootled their way to pop stardom via the mass media.
”It makes me rather cynical when flutists who are very musical are not appreciated because either they don`t play shlock or they don`t tell jokes along with their recitals. The sad part of it is that they (Galway and his ilk) are all wonderful flute players. In the guise of popularizing the flute they are debasing the art.”
Peck`s technical discipline and control have been as remarkable as his sense of artistic integrity. Even a serious auto accident in 1968 could not deter him. His car slammed into one that had been straddling two lanes of interstate highway; his neck was thrown against the steering wheel, crushing his voice-box, pushing his Adam`s apple permanently to the side. For five years he lived with the possibility that he never would be able to play the flute again. To this day he must pace himself very carefully, lest fatigue close his throat and mar his silvery-pure tone.
There is scant likelihood of that happening this weekend at Orchestra Hall. The Gould concerto is clearly the capstone of his distinguished career, and Peck intends to give a ”fabulous” performance.
”What happens after the concerts . . . .” The flutist pauses and lets out a hearty laugh. ”Maybe I can quit the next day!”
