 |
 |
 |
|
Fall 2001ARTICLES
COLUMNS
TUNES
ARTICLE EXCERPTS
A Tribute to John Hartford, December 31, 1937 - June 4, 2001Following are a few excerpts from our Tribute to John Hartford, along with one from Marie Hartford, which unfortunately didn't get to us in time for the fall issue. -- There's a picture on our wall of an old fiddler that John met somewhere along the way who has no teeth and just a wisp of hair, and when I asked him why he wanted that picture, he said that he wanted to get that old and still be playing his music. John didn't get to become that old man, but I salute him for the battle that he fought and the courage that it took to face each of the final months which were so hard. He stood and fought to the very end. I salute him for the husband that he has been to me, for the father that he has been for all of his children, for the grandfather that is loved by all his grandchildren, for all the things which I learned from him, and for all the love which he has given us all. If John Hartford was your friend, then you had a real friend. -- Marie Hartford -- John was a very humble person, and although he was probably better known for his banjo playing, he really loved playing the fiddle more. He had a great talent when it came to entertaining audiences; a real one man show, who could get the audience totally involved, humming and dancing along, having a really good time. I loved to see John's shows. John loved music more than probably anyone I've ever known. He was a real music historian, and would sit for hours with the "old timers" and pick their brains to learn more about fiddle tunes, like where they came from and how they were played and how they had changed over time. If you'd ask him about a particular tune, John could tell you all about it. He really knew his music. John seemed to know everything about the music; he'd study it and was one of the few guys who would really know it. One time I was working on "Lovesick Blues," and when I told John, he went and found the original recording for me. I had never heard it played like that, and you just couldn't know that tune unless you heard the original recording. John was like that, and he'd make my playing better by helping me understand the music better. He was such a precious friend. In recent years, John had a particular interest in that old Nashville fiddle sound, and he brought to my attention that it was really a lost art. It was the Tommy Jackson sound which was on all the major country hits from the late '50s to the early '70s. Dale Potter and I would play harmony, and John recognized that nobody was doing that great old twin fiddle sound. He was just crazy about it. In the last ten years or so, John worked to revive it and recorded many of the Nashville fiddle songs. When it came to musicianship, John was a real pro. He was very aware of how the great Nashville musicians like Tommy Jackson and Buddy Emmons got their sound. Buddy's steel guitar sound was another that John simply loved. And that's the way John would play, too. He knew how to lay back behind the beat, which is how you get that, great, sweet sound. He was a true professional and a really precious friend. -- Buddy Spicher -- I have been interviewed many times in the last week about the long-term effect John Hartford will have on our culture. I have always cited his seven-year love affair with the fiddle as central to his impact. John wanted to promote fiddling, in whatever form, to an audience outside of Fiddler Magazine, and was always trying to come up with ways to do that. This involved championing his heroes -- Benny Martin, Ed Haley, Kevin Burke, Gene Goforth, to name but a few -- to anyone that would listen. It included an immersion in "all things fiddle," which resulted in articles, books (the forthcoming SEARCH FOR ED HALEY, VOLUME ONE) and recordings. Hartford devoted half of his stage performances to fiddle tunes. John tried new ways of "selling" fiddling, including restructuring back-up conventions, as well as putting spoken or sung stories to the music. One time, Hartford even staged a fight at a performance to enhance the fiddle story. John Hartford had an insatiable thirst for knowledge, which, when applied to fiddling, often became an obsession. Besides accumulating every book, tape, LP, CD, and article about fiddling, John worked hard on his own playing. Whether on the road or at home, John would spend every waking moment not involved with eating or performing recording and analyzing his fiddling. He would incessantly explore the minutiae of fiddle mechanics, deconstructing and reconstructing the way he held his bow, attached the strings, placed his fingers and so forth. Often, he would call me on the telephone to tell me that he had made a major discovery that day which took his own playing to another level, and, couldn't we rerecord the album we'd just finished? Ted Wilby, a long-term friend to whom John gave the stage name "Ted the Fiddler," related a story of visiting Hartford when he was experimenting with playing "out of scale." Ted wasn't sure what to think when John purposely played everything out of tune. Of course, when Wilby returned a month later, John had decided "out of scale" didn't work and had moved on to some other musical experiment. When the dust of time settles, it will be John Hartford, as much as any musician, who has helped keep fiddle music a part of the American consciousness. Whether it be through extant recordings, his writings, or his inclusion on the soundtrack of "O Brother, Where Are Thou?," John will always be in America's thoughts. -- Bob Carlin -- John Hartford was blessed with a wonderful wife (Marie) and family and as many close, solid friends as anyone I've ever known (this alone speaks volumes about him), and his passing on June 4th has been a mournful and harsh experience for everybody who knew him. While the people who loved him and were loved by him have a real reason to be sad (as do all of his legions of fans), we can all count ourselves fortunate to have known him. John has been one of the most inspirational and important people in my life for the past fifteen years. His unfailing support and encouragement and our continuous exchange of ideas have been some of the primary factors in my being where I am today, and I'm sure that a hundred other musicians around the country would say the same thing. John's intense, uncompromising creativity and commitment to life has been a positive role model for everybody around him. His devotion to truth, honesty, and meaning in his art is contagious, and his passion and pure joy while making music were tangible. While a profound and abiding love of fiddling brought us together (we were introduced to one another by old-time fiddler Frazier Moss, about whom practically everything I can say about John would be true, also), John and I also shared a very similar sense of playfulness and never feeling the need to grow up completely. Thanks, John, for teaching me that it's alright to be an overgrown kid with a fiddle under my chin and a silly grin on my face. Also, thanks for being there for me in all the other ways you were in the rest of my life. Love, Jim Wood
Nibbling at a Greek Salad: Discovering the Richness and Variety of the Music of Greece and CreteBy Peter AnickSometime back in the 6th century BC, the Greek mathematician (and lyre player) Pythagoras noticed that harmonious tones resulted from certain ratios of the lengths of vibrating strings. It was this observation that led to the development of modern music theory with its numeric intervals and modes. Unfortunately, music theory is still "Greek" to many of us, but what about Greek music itself? Have you ever wondered what Greek musicians have been up to since those heady days when Apollo and Dionysus were holding jam sessions in the halls of Mount Olympus? My curiosity was stirred up by a local festival of Greek music and dance that featured some of the top traditional music ensembles from Greece. I spent a weekend enjoying the music -- and getting an unexpected education. One of the groups played mountain music from Epiros on a pair of clarinets, a violin, a long necked laouto and drum. As the concert began, my untrained ear wondered why they were spending so much time tuning up on stage. I eventually came to the realization that they were not tuning up at all, but rather playing their first number. As the concert progressed, my ears gradually adjusted to the unusual harmonic intervals, and I became entranced by their slow meandering orchestrations. A second group presented the dance music of Crete. Vasilis Skoulas, accompanied by guitar, laouto, and mandolin, played the lyra, a pear-shaped fiddle which I learned is the principal traditional instrument of Crete. Alternating his vocals and instrumental breaks in a kind of call and response, Skoulas' music was entirely different -- driving, intense and exhilarating. By the time Maryo and the Tombourlika Ensemble finished their presentation of urban Greek music (rembetika and smyrneika) the next day, my ears and brain were positively overwhelmed by the variety of sounds. Overwhelmed or not, this introductory nibble at the Greek musical salad whetted my appetite for a bigger bite. A full meal, I reckoned, would take longer than Homer's Odyssey to digest! But a 10-day trip to the salad bar -- that I could probably handle. I started my pilgrimage at Delphi, the ancient center of worship for Apollo, the god of music. While the famous oracle of Delphi is long gone, you can still stand in the large outdoor theatre where they used to hold fiddle contests as part of the Pythian Games. What's more, in the nearby museum you can see what is perhaps the world's oldest piece of written music. Carved into a large 2200 year-old block of stone are the lyrics to a poem telling the story of Apollo along with notations indicating the pitch. This is not exactly the kind of sheet music that would fit on a music stand, but perhaps it was suitable for visitors to Delphi that wished to sing a few bars to Apollo before getting their fortunes told. After driving north and taking a few days to experience Byzantine Greece in the eagle's nest monasteries of Meteora, I headed south to Crete, the largest island of Greece. I had arranged to spend a few days at the MAZOXI dance camp to get a dancer's view of the music. I should have known that the dances would be every bit as complex as the music itself. But just as I suspected, trying to understand Greek music without relating it to the dance would have been impossible. Instructor Christos Theologos explained: "The dances show our feelings. It's like a body language. Every dance shows something different. There are religious dances. In these, I communicate with God. In other dances, I have a need to feel sad, because of the words in the song. Other dances are to show happiness or love. Every dance has a different history. For example, in Asia Minor before 1922, there were people who lived there with the Turkish people. In this area, they made the signal of the cross when they danced to show their nationality and to pantomime the sentiment 'from my heart to you.' There is also the influence of nature and the climate. In the mountains, the dance is very strong, because the land is bad and we had to work very hard. But in the islands, we imitate the waves in the dance. In the mountains, the costumes are heavy and wool, so movement is more difficult and the dances are closed. But where clothes are light, the dance is light and free." Over the course of several days, the dances started to make some sense. In spite of two left feet, I experienced occasional moments of joy when my brain stopped trying to count out the time signature and my body just seemed to move with the music. I had heard rumors about panagiri, village festivals held on the name day corresponding to the saint of the village. The MAZOXI directors tipped me off to one to be held in Oros, a mountain village up the road a ways. I joined forces with Marie-Louise, an archaeologist who spoke Greek and didn't mind driving off into the pitch black hills at 11 o'clock at night. We headed into the darkness for what I half suspected to be a wild goose chase. But many labyrinthine turns later, we arrived at a tiny village center to find that things were only just getting started. A band was playing the intense and exciting lyra music that I recalled from the Vasilis Skoulas concert. Tables were filling up with townsfolk settling down for food and drink. We immediately found ourselves invited to join a table by a recently engaged couple from out of town who were likewise enjoying the ambience. Before long, several men had formed a circle in front of the band. As the pace of the dance accelerated, the leader improvised a set of athletic leaps and turns, then passed the lead spot on to the next in line. As the night progressed, the circle grew larger and larger. Most of the dances mixed men and women, but some appeared to be for women or men only. Others, purchased by a small offering to the band, were reserved for specific family and friends. At several points, someone pulled out a pistol and fired shots into the air, all part of the celebration (I hoped). Eventually, the couple at our table convinced us to join them for a dance, so after some practice to the side, we joined in the line. For a short moment, hands joined with my neighbors', caught up in the push and pull of the communal circle, I felt I understood what this music is all about. The next day, the MAZOXI folks had contacted a lyra player for me to interview. Giorgos Mouzourakis, the oldest musician on the island, was reputed to be one of the best players in his time. I again conscripted Marie-Louise to act as interpreter and we headed across the island to the southern coast. Giorgos still played with panache and a sense of humor, and after the interview, the ninety-five year-old proceeded to put on a cassette of his own music and showed he could still dance the intricate Cretan figures as well. On the northern coast of the island lies the city of Rethimnon, one of Crete's main tourist centers. It was there that I tracked down the workshop of George Papalexakis, a lyra maker. His shop opened up right onto the small street. Dozens of lyras hung from the walls of his shop, from simple student models to beautiful orchestral instruments adorned with elaborate inlay and horse head scrolls. George graciously explained how he carves out the rounded back of the instrument from a solid piece of mulberry or walnut, adding as a special touch the outline of a local songbird known for its melodious voice. Like the violin, the lyra has a soundpost that rests below the foot of the bridge. But, instead of f-holes, the top sports two semi-circular sound holes. George estimates it takes him a hundred hours to complete a lyra. His shop is definitely the place to go if you are tempted to purchase a lyra or would like to see one up close. Both George and his son Nicos also play their instruments, so you can get a sample of the sound as well, making it even harder to walk away without one. It would, of course, be ridiculous to visit Crete without exploring the ancient Minoan city of Knossos, site of the legendary labyrinth and the oldest street in Europe. Knossos lies just outside the other major city of modern-day Crete, Iraklion. Some forty-five minutes to the south, not far from the cave where Zeus grew up and Pythagoras may have pondered the beginnings of music theory, lies the town of Anogia. This mountain village was once the lyra-playing center of Crete, and you might be lucky enough to catch the Skoulas orchestra playing for a traditional wedding here at the Delina Taverna. I myself missed the chance by a day. However, I did enjoy the presentation of Greek music and dance at the "Arolythos Village," a hotel complex in nearby Tylissos built in the style of a traditional Cretan village. It was there that I saw my first example of spontaneous "free dancing" in which one dancer at a time expresses his or her feelings to the music, while friends and family kneel and clap their encouragement. I ended up my tour of Greece in Athens, wandering the streets of the charming Plaka area in the shadow of the Parthenon. You can catch street musicians here playing for tips during the day and enjoy live rembetika music in the restaurants at night. But for the musical tourist, perhaps the least advertised gem of Athens is the tiny Museum of Greek Popular Musical Instruments. On display are examples of all the traditional instruments of Greece, each accompanied by a set of head phones so that you can hear the instrument as you admire the workmanship. The museum's gift shop has a large selection of books and CDs relating to traditional music, offering a good opportunity to pick something up for the trip home. [Peter Anick, co-author of Mel Bay's Old Time Fiddling Across America, plays fiddle and mandolin with the Massachusetts-based Acoustic Planet.]
Ireland's Junior Crehan: The Soul of ClareBy Brendan TaaffeAny oral tradition is rich with icons, and each successive generation of Irish musicians has left us with a host of names and stories. The first recordings in the twenties and thirties gave us such giant figures as Michael Coleman, James Morrison, and Paddy Killoran. The next generation gave names like Sean Ryan, Willie Clancy, Seamus Ennis, P.J. Hayes, Micho Russell, and a fiddler from West Clare named Junior Crehan. A lot of people outside of Clare were probably first exposed to the name when Planxty recorded a tune called "Junior Crehan's Favourite" on their 1972 debut album. Liam O'Flynn, the piper with Planxty, is related to Junior on his mother's side and would go on to record a number of other tunes that he learned from Junior. The other thing that people will know about him is that Junior composed "The Mist-Covered Mountain," the popular session jig in A minor. The fellow behind these tunes was a farmer in western Clare, a fiddler, concertina player, and storyteller. Junior was deeply concerned that the heritage of music and story be passed on, and was actively involved with Comhaltas Ceoltoírí Éireann (pronounced, roughly, Kyol-tas Kyol-tori Erin) and the Willie Clancy Summer School. His influence is hard to overestimate; his music has been a big influence on people like O'Flynn, Kevin Burke, and Martin Hayes, to name a few of the influential players of today. Of Junior, Martin has said, "He knew where the heart and soul of music was. If you could understand Junior, you could understand the music." Martin "Junior" Crehan was born in the townland of Bonavilla, Mullagh, County Clare on January 17th, 1908. He passed away on August 3rd, 1998. The town of Mullagh is in West Clare, south of Miltown Malbay. It was a rural, farming community where set-dancing was popular. Junior's first musical influence was his mother, Margaret "Baby" Crehan, who played concertina and came from a musical family. At the age of six, Junior started learning concertina from his mother, and was exposed to the fiddle playing of Paddy Barron, a mendicant dancing master. Barron was in the area for two extended periods from 1914-1918 and again in 1935. Junior learned much from Barron, but his biggest influence was John "Scully" Casey from Annagh, Bobby Casey's father. The way his daughter tells it, Junior would hang outside Scully's door until he would get called in and be showed something on the fiddle. Through Scully Casey and his cousin Thady, a fine dancer and fiddler, Junior began playing for house dances in his teens. The dancer's expectations of the fiddler were high, and it was only when Junior was playing fairly well that he was invited to play. Junior's father, Martin Senior, was a schoolteacher and a strict man who always hoped that Junior would follow in his footsteps, so Junior had to hide the fiddle outside the house in order to sneak off to the dances, and rely upon his supportive mother to cover for him on his return. The house dances at the time, in the way sessions are now, were the core of the tradition and the community. In 1935 the Fianna Fail government enacted the Public Dance Hall Act, declaring that "no placeshall be used for public dancing unless a public dancing license Is in force in respect of such a place." Mostly the law was passed because of the church's moral concerns about dancing, and because of rumors that funds from private dances had been given to the I.R.A. A license was issued only to those whom a district judge considered of "good character" and often licenses were refused to rural communities based on the difficulty of supervision. In some instances, the only person who could obtain a license was the parish priest. Even though the act did not specifically cover house dances and dances at the crossroads, local clergy and gardai (police) used it to ban these as well. Junior was strongly opposed to the act and said that "the Dance Hall Act closed our schools of tradition and left us a poorer people." Many felt that the underlying reason behind the law was that the government wanted a cut of the money if money was to be made. In response to the spurious argument about a lack of "sanitary facilities," Junior is rumored to have said, "You could make your water in the chimney so long as the government got a piece of the money." In a recent conversation, Liam O' Flynn said, "I often heard Junior talk with regret at the loss of the house dance and how the clergy, the church really, were responsible for the demise of the crossroads dances and the house dances. It was the center of their social lives and existences. Those house dances were wonderful, community events. When the dancing moved to the dance hall it had to change, of course." The Dance Hall Act, in forcing dancing to larger, licensed halls, gave rise to the ceilidh bands, and in the 1950s, Junior was a founding member of the Laichtín Naofa Céilidh Band, which included Willie Clancy and Martin Talty from Miltown Malbay. The Laichtín Naofa won the Oireachtas Gold Medal in Dublin in 1956. But Junior was a farmer, by reputation a skilled and meticulous steward, and traveling to competitions was difficult as "no one had yet invented the five-day cow." As the music gained in popularity and people began recording commercially, Junior "felt a mixture of delight and a strange curiosity towards the end of his life," this from Liam O'Flynn, "that the music was becoming so fashionable, where it had been anything but fashionable when he was young. The whole commercialization he would have found difficult, for he was someone who only ever played for the pure love of it, and now there are powerful commercial interests involved, selling celtic this and celtic that. That word celtic had no meaning for Junior. He never would have described his music that way." ... [Brendan Taaffe is a farmer and musician in central Vermont. He plays fiddle, whistle, and guitar and teaches children.]
Last Request: Music and Legends of Condemned FiddlersBy Andrew KuntzFiddlers, fiddle tunes and tragically fatal endings have seemingly been linked from the time of the consolidation of the modern form of the instrument in the early 17th century. At the same time that a mature Antonio Stradivarius was fashioning his most famous instruments in Cremona, the earliest and most famous condemned fiddler legend came into being with the Scots highwayman James MacPherson. The tune which bears the outlaw's name has frequently been printed in collections of Scottish fiddle music, after its first appearance in the Sinkler Manuscript in 1710 under the title "McFarsance's Testament," and has the distinction of being the earliest known fiddle tune in strathspey rhythm. There is no proof that MacPherson, a historical figure, composed the melody usually known as "MacPherson's Rant," but it has been popularly attributed to him for centuries. What led him to his unfortunate demise? MacPherson was born in Banffshire about 1675, the son of a beautiful gypsy woman and a Highland laird, MacPherson of Invershire, in Inverness-shire. He was raised by his father who unfortunately died young, after which MacPherson went to live with his mother (whose good looks he had apparently inherited, though perhaps he acquired his immense physical presence and strength from his father). As he grew to adulthood he developed a fondness for the wild life and became the leader of a "lawless gypsy roving band," establishing a reputation as a freebooter who operated in the Scottish counties of Aberdeen, Banff and Moray. Highwaymen and freebooters were certainly not rare in 17th century Scotland, especially in the Highlands, and once he was captured and executed it is likely he would have been quickly forgotten, but MacPherson insured his lasting fame with a grand gesture on the scaffold at Market Cross in Banff on the cold November morning of his execution. Although several stories of his end differ in details, the main threads relate that MacPherson stepped onto the platform with his fiddle in his hand, took up his bow and proceeded to play his last communication to the world, his rant (sometimes it is said he played three tunes: "MacPherson's Rant," "MacPherson's Pibroch" and "MacPherson's Farewell") at the conclusion of which he offered his violin "to anyone in the crowd who would think well of him." However, either no one was brave enough to take it from the hands of a condemned man, or he had no well-wishers in attendance, or no one wished to implicate themselves by receiving the instrument, and no one came forward. The outlaw looked scornfully about the crowd, then lifted the fiddle and broke it over his knee in a grand gesture of contempt. Some versions say that he dashed the instrument over the head of his executioner and then flung himself headlong off the scaffold into oblivion, and one version claims he threw the pieces of the broken instrument into his awaiting grave. Despite this, the Clan Macpherson Museum at Newtonmore displays today the broken remains of an old fiddle, supposedly the very one the brigand played on the Market Cross gallows. Early broadside ballads about the demise of the freebooter make little mention of any untoward drama regarding his execution, and say nothing at all about fiddling. The Last Words of James Macpherson, Murderer, a sheet printed about 1705, mentions nothing on the topic of fiddling, however, a later version was set to music (as the title is appended "To its own proper tune"). Mary Anne Alburger (Scottish Fiddlers and Their Music) insists it is quite likely that the tune was written after the event to suit the broadside for the melody fits the words perfectly, and could not have been a MacPherson original. She believes it possible that over the years, traditional memory fused MacPherson's story with that of a documented fiddler, Peter Broune, who was a member of MacPherson's gang and on trial at the same time. Broune, she suggests, may have been one of the fiddling Brown family of Kincardine who were early strathspey players and composers and who are credited with developing the strathspey form out of the reel. It is Robert Burns, the Scots national poet, who emerges as the consolidating force for all the MacPherson legends that had been brewing for nearly a century. He wrote his famous song called "MacPherson's Farewell," bringing together the now-famous imagery of the bold unrepentant outlaw. Burns' song begins: Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, The wretch's destinie! MacPherson's time will not be long On yonder gallows-tree. Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dauntingly gaed he, He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round Below the gallows-tree. It is essentially this same song that has been printed and sung ever since. The MacPherson legend has been a part of Scottish lore for centuries and is strongly identified with that country, however, D.K. Wilgus (in his article "Fiddler's Farewell: the Legend of the Hanged Fiddler," 1965) finds evidence of the existence of an earlier MacPherson in Ireland with an almost identical story. He cites a chapbook called The Lives and Actions of the Most Notorioius Irish Highwaymen Tories and Rapparees, from Redmond O'Hanlon to Cahier Na Gappul, printed in Dublin in the early 19th century, that contains a section entitled "Some Passages of the Life of Strong John Macpherson, a notorious Robber." It relates that the Irish highwayman was a strapping man, fond of sports and "accounted in his time the strongest man in the nation." He inherited some money while still in his teens, which he promptly squandered in gambling and sporting, and was reduced to poverty:
... [Andrew Kuntz is the author of a book of old time songs and tunes called Ragged but Right (1987) as well as the on-line tune encyclopedia, "The Fiddler's Companion" (www.ceolas.org/tunes/fc). Currently he spends as much time as possible playing fiddle in Irish music sessions, when not researching fiddle tunes.]
John Jordan's Electric Violins: Minimalist Design, Maximum SoundBy Michael SimmonsCraftsmen like Amati and Stradavari developed the size, shape, and basic proportions of the violin in Cremona in the middle of the 17th century. And even though countless builders have tried over the centuries to improve on the design, a violin made today looks much the same as one made 300 years ago. Unless you are talking about electric violins, that is. Once you decide to get your volume from a combination of a pickup and an amplifier instead of a carved box, you can make a violin in just about any shape and from just about any material. Electric violins come in a bewildering variety of shapes, but perhaps the most radical design has been developed by John Jordan, a luthier who works in Concord, California. In his small garage workshop, Jordan and his assistant Tom Sofield hand craft minimalist instruments that are finding their way into the hands of more and more fiddlers, including Tracy Silverman, Miri Ben-Ari, who has played in Wynton Marsalis' band, and Sue Draheim, the fiddler for Tempest. Jordan, who has been building instruments since he was in high school in the 1970s, came to violin making through a rather circuitous route. "I played guitar in high school," he explains. "I borrowed my sister's nylon string guitar and while I was working out my teenage angst I scratched the heck out of the top of it. I was building solid-body electrics at the time and I figured I could repair the finish, but every time I tried to touch up the top, the problem area got larger." After calling a number of music stores to find out if there was a guitar repairer in the area, they all told him to go to Ervin Somogyi, who was building and repairing acoustic guitars in Oakland. "At the time, the cost to refinish the top was $125, which I didn't have," Jordan continued. "So I offered to pay Ervin half, and to work in his shop to make up the difference. I did stuff like sweep that floors and take out the trash, and since I was building electric guitars at the time, he would help me with things like cutting frets and some of the more complicated things. Over time I began to do some of his repairs as well." After graduating from high school, Jordan went to college to study electrical engineering, but the instrument building bug was in his system. After a year, he dropped out of school and returned to Somogyi's shop to work as a full-time repairman. "I was still single and living at home so I could afford to not make very much money," he says with a laugh. "I spent a year and a half with Ervin, but that ended in the recession of the early '80s. He couldn't afford to pay me so I went to work as an electrical engineer during the day, and built guitars, which by now included acoustics, during the weekends." ... Jordan says that first electric violin differed from his current instruments in that it had a solid body. "My electric violins today are more hollow than solid," he explains. "But that's more for weight reduction than for the acoustic properties. Most of the electric violins I saw at the time were gruesomely heavy, and really poorly balanced. Your chin was supporting an awful lot of weight." To help reduce the weight and to give the instrument a better sense of balance, Jordan decided to make that first violin without a pegbox or traditional friction pegs, opting instead to use guitar tuning machines down by the chinrest. "The violin I made for Hawkins was minimalist like my current instruments, but rather than have all of the tuning keys in a row like I do it now, it had two on the bass side and two on the treble. The problem was that the bass tuning gears were hard to get to. After a couple of design permutations, I decided to put them all in a row." ... The success of that first instrument inspired Jordan to start experimenting with other designs, particularly violins with extra strings. He began by building a five-string violin and eventually a six- and then a seven-string model. The extra strings are tuned in fifths so the fifth string is a C, the sixth is an F, and the seventh is a B-flat. He is contemplating making an eight-string violin. The low string would be tuned to E-flat, giving you an instrument that basically covers the range from a string bass up to a regular violin. "Getting the strings has been the hardest part about building the extra stringed violins," he says. "For the five-strings I can use a short scale viola string, but the low strings for the six- and seven-strings I had to have specially made." Jordan gets the strings for his extended range violins from D'Addario and Super-Sensitive. "The D'Addarios are based on their Heliocore steel-strand string while the Super-Sensitives use a Perlon core. John Cavanaugh of Super-Sensitive is a saint to put up with me. He'll hand wind one-offs himself until he comes up with something that will work. He's currently working on the E-flat string for me. We have a string that sort of works now, but it doesn't perform as well as the B-flat. With the low-pitch strings it's very hard to come up with something that's flexible enough that you can excite it with a bow, but not so flexible that it's pulled out of pitch by the bow." Recently, Jordan has been getting requests from people who want to add a fifth string, but tuned higher rather than lower. "That would be a high B string," he says. "I think the market for that may be for fiddlers who never learned to play in fifth and sixth position. John Cavanaugh and I have been experimenting with various types of high tensile steel, and we have strings that will go up to A and B-flat, but nothing that's made it up to B yet. We just got this string that had a gauge of .007 that was supposedly developed by NASA called rocket wire, but it didn't survive either." ... Most of Jordan's violins are custom ordered, but he tries to keep an assortment of eight to ten violins around just in case someone needs something right away. His standard instruments are based on Stradivarius dimensions with regards to scale length and the position of the volute and heel, but he can build an instrument that duplicates the dimensions of a player's own violin. "A really sensitive violinist will want an instrument that feels just like their acoustic," he explains. "Miri Ben-Ari, who plays with Winton Marsalis, wanted an instrument that replicated hers within half a millimeter in terms of the contact points. So the volute and the heel had to be as much like hers as possible so she wouldn't notice the difference." Jordan is also one of the very few builders who makes fretted violins. "I get requests for them all the time from guitarists who want to play violin," he says. "Before I'll take an order though, I'll explain to them that frets are not the problem; it's the bowing. If you don't know what you're doing with a bow, it's really easy to pull the strings out of tune. A fretted violin gets you past the left-hand thing, but you still have to learn how to bow. I tell them it will probably take them about six months to year until they can do anything musical with a bow, and then I never hear from them again." Although his designs are radical, Jordan tends to use traditional materials. Most of the instruments he makes have maple bodies, and the fingerboards are ebony. He also uses koa, lacewood, walnut, and mahogany. The most unusual wood he uses is royal paulownia, an extremely light wood that is used by the Japanese to build kotos. The wood is so light that an electric violin made out of it, even with the volume control and guitar gears, weighs less than a standard acoustic violin. ... For more information, contact John Jordan at 1173 Linden Drive, Concord, CA 94520; (925) 671-9246; jjordan@jordanmusic.com; www.jordanmusic.com [Michael Simmons, Fiddler Magazine's Review Editor, is a guitar player and writer living in Mountain View, California.] For full versions of these articles, please visit Fiddler Magazine store to order back issues. |
|||||||||
Jesse Cristantiello
