Post by ziman on Dec 3, 2012 5:17:33 GMT
Hi all. Some time ago, while wandering around the China-based xiao forum Xiao Yaji (箫雅集), I came across the transcript of an interview with Master Dai Shuhong (戴树红), a well-known xiao master from China who is noted for his guqin-xiao duets.
I found the interview very inspiring and informative. Because of that, I felt that I should translate the interview so non-Chinese-speaking xiao players can also benefit from it.
Note that in the first part of the interview, he talks about guqin-xiao duets in particular, while the rest of the interview is about general xiao-playing technique.
Below is my translation of the interview. "Zhou" is the interviewer, and "Dai" is Master Dai Shuhong.
(Original author unknown)
Article originally published in: China Guqin magazine (中国古琴)
Edited by: Xu Yuan (徐元)
Zhou: Most of us know you from your work with the dizi and xiao. Can you tell us more about this topic?
Dai: I have loved the xiao since my childhood. I’m from the Tai Zhou region of Jiangsu Province (江苏泰州), which was also the hometown of Mei Lan Fang (梅兰芳). Back then, it was commonly believed that the exertion of playing the xiao was very harmful to the lungs of children. There was a folk saying that if you wish to learn the xiao, you should first take a sunflower at night and keep blowing air at it nonstop. The next morning, you should observe the condensation on the flower: if it is red with your blood, that shows that the exertion of blowing will hurt your lungs, and you should not proceed any further; if there is no blood, you can proceed with learning xiao. I actually believed that and did the test; the condensation remained colorless the next day. At the time, I learned to play the xiao by myself. I did not have a teacher, although I knew a kid who was the son of a music teacher; he told me the notes made by each of the holes of his dizi, but he did not know how to play it himself. I then borrowed his dizi to practice with, and later borrowed a xiao from him as well. During the Cultural Revolution, xiao music was considered weak and decadent, while the sound of the dizi was strong and steadfast, so no one would play the xiao. But I was stubborn, I continued to play [the xiao], and so I stayed in the music room of my house and played it; who could stop me?
Before the Cultural Revolution, I joined the Jin Yu Guqin Society (今虞琴社). At the time, I had a really strong interest in playing the guqin; I’d be happy even if I got to touch a guqin for a moment, but I did not dare to, out of awe. Whenever Master Zhang Ziqian joined our yaji (gatherings), during duets he would not play the guqin, but he would play the xiao instead. So, I played along with him. Through this prolonged exposure, I became familiar with many guqin pieces. At the time, we had people like Mr. Yao Bingyan (姚炳炎) and his eldest daughter Yao Jingzhen (姚静珍), who was the sister of Yao Gongbai (姚公白), and others… and so I, playing the xiao over a long period together with the guqin-playing members of the Jin Yu Guqin Society, became very familiar with guqin pieces, such as Three Variations on a Plum Blossom Theme (梅花三弄, Mei Hua San Nong), The Mantra of Pu An (普安咒, Pu An Zou ), The Fragrance of Flowers Blooming in All Four Seasons Fills the Garden (四季花儿开满园香, Si Ji Hua Er Kai Man Yuan Xiang), and so on.
In 1980 I returned from a teaching post at the University of Tibet. At the time my work schedule was very relaxing. Every week I could spare three and a half days to play guqin-xiao duets with Master Zhang Ziqian. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me to learn guqin music, and so that was when I began learning how to play the guqin. I was 43.
Before playing a guqin piece with the xiao, I usually play it at home on the guqin first. For instance this duet of the piece “Dialogue between a Fisherman and a Woodcutter” (渔樵问答, Yu Qiao Wen Da) I played with Master Gong Yi… I had played that piece countless times on my guqin at home. When I play the xiao in a duet, what I think of is how each piece, each passage, is like when played on the guqin—and because of this, I think it’s very difficult for one to bring out the feel of a guqin piece on the xiao if one only plays by the notation, but does not already have an impression of how the piece is like on the guqin. On guqin, many notes trail off in volume after they are plucked; when that is the case, other instruments playing with the guqin should also decrease their volume gradually, or else they will swamp the sound of the guqin. On the guqin, when you think a note has already faded to silence, if you put your ear to the soundboard, you can still hear some residual reverberations, and they sound heavenly. If you have a high-definition audio recorder, you would be able to capture these subtle nuances in the sound of the guqin. And [when playing the xiao] you could use the sound of the xiao to magnify these subtle nuances, to let others hear them— hear the atmosphere and feel of the guqin’s sound. That’d be great.
One’s xiao-playing must be in accordance with the character of guqin music. How do I find that sort of feeling and perform in accordance with it… well, it’s like taking a long-distance bus ride; you feel it rock and rock and then you find that you’ve settled in snugly in your seat. As for duets, you must be able to capture the pulse of your duet partner’s thoughts, develop a sense of mutual affinity… only then can you work together in unison. I truly believe that guqin music is a rich and profound tradition, but one must have a correct understanding of it and not wax mystical about it at a superficial level. Many people look at guqin music in such a mystical way, saying things like the guqin is an instrument of the Tao or a tool of enlightenment… I often tell these people, well, the guqin as a musical instrument can help refine one’s temperament, but that is all. If you claim that it is some kind of esoteric spiritual instrument… well, why don’t you go ahead and play it, and see how that “Tao” of yours comes out of it? It will never come out.
Zhou : You have been particularly highly regarded for your work with the xiao. Some have even called you the king of xiao in Jiangnan. What do you see as the crucial aspects of your work?
Dai : I work as a dizi teacher, but I’ve always had a special love for the xiao since my childhood. Because of that, I have spent a lot of effort on the xiao. Eventually, I felt that this instrument was rather quiet; if I played it in a large room, for instance, and wanted everyone to be able to hear it, good technique was needed. I once played the song “The Peacock Flies Southeast” (孔雀东南飞, Kong Que Dong Nan Fei) with an orchestra; one section of the composition was for xiao. The orchestra emptied out the section for the first violins and let me play there—it took a great deal of effort to play there, especially since there was no microphone. When I played in that position, the deputy director of the orchestra, Zhang Dunzhi (张敦智), heard me and said, “wow, you’re able to play the xiao really loudly!” In fact, that was because I placed particular importance on the tone quality of the xiao, and strove to achieve a particular kind of tone color. The tone quality I seek is solid, strong and penetrating, with a smooth, bright tone color. These tonal qualities are most likely to captivate listeners.
I once had a student who played the xiao this way (demonstrates). I told him, no, you can’t play it this way; the tone quality you’re making there is hot and ragged, like a gas stove running out of gas and spewing sparks. When a gas stove is running properly, with enough gas, it burns with an almost-invisible blue flame, the combustion point is so high… I told him that when playing the xiao, one should aim for a sound quality that is clean, like that, but that also creates a cool and relaxing feel.
A xiao is narrow and has small tone holes. From such a tiny little thing, one must still squeeze out clear dynamics: the deep tones should be as deep and resonant as the reverberations in a water tank; the light notes should be light and fleeting as I demonstrated just now. The tonal qualities of the guqin are like that as well, although in the subtle light notes, the guqin’s volume would already be so low as to be almost silent.
Zhou : Do you feel that you have particular strengths in terms of breath control?
Dai : I plan my breath usage by myself: for long musical phrases I reserve more breath, for short phrases I reserve less. It’s all a matter of length. It’s like a road map—distant things and close things, depth and shallowness, fleeting tones and solid tones—all of these variations must be present.
How does one create such variations? The first thing we need to pay attention to is the sound quality. There are two key things to keep in mind here: firstly, the sounds we make must be clean, they must be musical, and they must not be airy and unfocused like the student whose playing style I demonstrated earlier. A lot of people play the xiao as if they were playing a Japanese shakuhachi, with lots of airy “fu fu fu fu fu…” sounds. That is very wrong. That is very superficial. When skilled shakuhachi players play lightly, they are in fact just as capable as skilled xiao players in their ability to produce pure, clean, tones as fine as silk. Secondly, the sounds we produce must be solid, firm, and clean. No matter how lightly you blow, the vibrations of the air particles in your xiao must still be tight and coherent. Otherwise, if you play like this… (demonstrates)… then you will still be able to make sounds but the sounds seem leaky, and they will not be audible from afar. The only sounds that can be audible even in the last row of a theater are sounds produced by a very coherent, tightly-packed air column. Apart from that, there must be variations in tone color. The low notes should be deep and resonant; when blowing lightly the tone color must be bright. These requirements are not my inventions; they are passed down from the tradition of my teachers and elders. In the old days there used to be a great xiao master in Shanghai, Mr. Wang Sun Yu (王孙裕), who was a great pipa master as well. He once said, there are two sayings to keep in mind when playing the xiao. The first one is, “when playing the xiao, do not simply add flowery ornaments.” There is an implicit subtext in this saying—if you simply add flowery ornaments here and there, then xiao music would no longer be dignified; it would become clichéd and worldly. The second saying is, “in the sound of the xiao there should be the sound of the dizi, and conversely, in the sound of the dizi there should be the sound of the xiao.”
Once, the Annual Meeting of the Eastern Music Society was held in a school, and they invited me to play a xiao solo there. So, when I went there, I shared the two sayings I quoted above, and commented thus: “for decades, I have striven to realize what was said in these two sayings, and from time to time, I have succeeded. I say from time to time, because I have not succeeded every single time. ‘Do not simply add flowery ornaments’…this I can always keep in mind, but to have the tonal qualities of the dizi, bright and clear, reflected in the sound of the xiao…that’s not easy at all! To have the sound of the xiao reflected in the sound of the dizi, is like Kunqu opera (昆曲): the low notes can be deep and resonant—professional dizi players can achieve that, while amateurs can seldom reach such a level. But even for professional players, it is a challenge to have the sound of the dizi reflected in the sound of the xiao. The point here is to challenge ourselves to go against the usual limits we perceive, to strive for a kind of beauty that seems far beyond what a common person can do. If you can do what a common person cannot, then you will have attained a level a step above the norm.” After I said these words, an American Chinese professor, Prof. Zhao Ru Lan (赵如兰) asked my Dutch students whether they had recorded what I said. The students answered “No! No! No! We’re recording only his performances, not his talk.”
Our discussion here basically revolves around the point that one must bring out variations in tone color. At times, the sounds you produce must be so deep and resonant that they seem to come from deep underwater; at other times, the sounds you produce must be clear, transparent, and bright—I often use the metaphor of a very thin glass teacup that you’re afraid will shatter if you drop it even once. In the ci pai (词牌, traditional lists of melodies that lyric poems can be set to), there is one called “Shattering Jade” (跌破玉), and that metaphor can be used as an introduction to musical aesthetics. This kind of sound must be like the sound of a silver pitcher at the moment of breaking.
Anyway, regardless of whether you play dizi or xiao, the basic principle is that you generate sound through a column of air you set in vibration by blowing at an edge. So, when I teach beginners to start making a sound, I say, you need to have the right blowing angle. This angle must be directly facing the edge of the blowing hole. A basic requirement in xiao-making is that the blowing edge must be exactly at a 45 ° angle at the front of the top end of the xiao, so as long as you blow straight down at that 45 ° angle, your basic sound-generation should be fine. This is like the Chinese idiom that says, “strike as if you are cutting bamboo” (势如破竹). If your strike misses, you will make no sound. And if our breath is like scraping glue—scraping just a little bit into the opening—then that will not work either. Therefore, the blowing angle must be right. Another critical factor is the focusing distance of your airstream. If the sound you generate is airy, as though there are lots of invisible leaks, that is because you have not found the optimal distance to focus your airstream. We call the small opening we make between our lips the “wind-gate” (风门, feng men). The airstream coming out of the wind-gate must traverse a certain distance before reaching the edge of the blowing hole. If this distance is too far, the sound will become fuzzy, so you adjust that distance, move your mouth right up to the hole, right, and while keeping your mouth right at the hole, you part your lips, and see, the xiao doesn’t move around in this process. So when I assume this posture, I will ensure that the distance from my embouchure to the blowing edge is quite close, but my lips do not obstruct the blowing hole entirely, and my upper lip doesn’t extend outwards to cover the hole either. When you part your lips you part them exactly in half—that’s the best way to part your lips. When we play the xiao, the lower lip must not obstruct the blowing hole, and the upper lip must not extend over the blowing hole, and the focusing distance of the airstream must not be too far, because the human body cannot withstand too much backpressure. The shorter the focusing distance of your airstream, the smaller the amount of energy you waste.
Chinese text source: www.xiaoyaji.net/Bbs/viewthread.php?tid=890&extra=&page=1
Original Chinese text:
作者：佚名 来源：中国古琴小周：大家认识您，大多是通过箫或者笛子，您能就这方面再谈谈吗？
戴：箫我从小就喜欢。我是江苏泰州人，就是梅兰芳的故乡人。那个时候常有说，小孩子吹箫很伤肺。民间有传说：想学箫时，头天晚上对着向日葵一直吹，第二天早晨起来看上面的水汽，如果是红的就是你的血，说明会伤肺，不能再吹；如果没有颜色就没问题。我还真的这么做了，到那一看是白的，没红。那时候是自学，没有老师教，有个音乐老师的儿子告诉我他一支笛子六个孔都是什么音，但他不会吹，我就借了根笛子来开始练，后来又借了支箫。文化大革命时，箫是靡靡之音，笛子是强音，所以都不吹箫。可是我很顽固，我还是照吹，然后在家里琴房里吹，谁管得了。
文化大革命以前我参加了今虞琴社，那个时候很想去弹古琴，哪怕摸摸古琴也好，但还是不敢高攀。张子谦老先生每回参加雅集，在合奏时他不弹琴他吹箫，我就跟着他后头一起吹，耳濡目染，对很多琴曲都很熟悉。当时弹琴就有像姚炳炎先生，还有姚先生的大女儿姚静珍（姚公白的姐姐）等人，而我那个时候吹箫，就这样子长期跟今虞琴社的琴友合作，对琴曲就比较熟了，像《梅花三弄》、《普安咒》、《四季花儿开满园香》等琴曲和琴歌都吹。
1980年我援藏（在今之西藏大学从教）归来。那个时期我的工作很轻松，一个星期我可以有三个半天去跟张子谦先生吹琴箫合奏。这是我学习古琴音乐的得天独厚的大好良机，学弹琴就是那时开始的，时年43岁。
在吹奏一首琴曲前，我会在家先用琴弹奏。比如我跟龚一老师合奏的这首《渔樵问答》，我在家里不知道弹多少遍。我吹的时候想到的是琴里头的那个意趣，那么也正是因为这个，如果不是对琴有一定的印象，只是看着谱子视吹，很难吹出琴的意境。琴的好多音是衰减的，这时其它乐器配乐上应该跟着衰减，不然就把琴声湮没了。在觉得琴音已绝时试着把耳朵贴在焦尾上听，它还是有音的，而且很好听。要是有高保真的录音机，就能把古琴的那些微弱信号录下来，通过箫声将它们加以恰当的放大，让听众能听到，听出来是琴的味道，那么，这样子就好。
吹箫的时候跟琴的性格要合，我怎么找到这种感觉并这样去做呢，其实就像长距离乘公共汽车一样，摇啊摇的，然后就找到自己的位置了。至于合奏，这就需要捕捉你合作对象的脉搏、心意，这样子才能心心相印才能息息相通。我认为古琴确实是博大精深，但一定要有正确的认识，不要故弄玄虚，很多人搞玄学，说古琴是道器、法器，我常劝这些人说，“古琴作为乐器对人有陶冶（功能），仅此而已。你要总说法器、道器，那你不弹琴试试看，这个道怎么出来？没办法出来的。”
小周：外界对您的箫评价特别高，有江南箫王之称。您吹箫的窍门在哪里呢？
戴：我的工作是笛子教师，但我从小特别喜欢箫，所以花了不少精力在箫上，后来我感觉到箫这个乐器音量很轻，要让很多人在大厅里听到就要想办法练就一点功夫了。我曾经跟交响乐团合奏过一首《孔雀东南飞》，前面有一个乐章是箫，他们把首席小提琴的位置撤掉让我在那里吹，那就得使点真劲，也没有麦克风。当时我站在首席的位置上吹，我们那个副院长张敦智一听，说“你这个箫吹得很响啊！”，实际上是因为我注重箫的音质，并对音色有特别的追求。我的音质坚实，穿透力强；音色浑圆清亮兼具，易引人入胜。
以前曾有个学生这样吹箫（戴老吹箫模仿演示……），我说你这样吹不行，这个声音是燥热的，好象那煤气不足冒火星的液化气，充足的煤气应该是蓝火，几乎看不见火苗，那个燃点很高，我说箫要吹出的也是那种燃点很高的感觉，但是要给人清凉的感觉，（戴老吹箫示范……《梅花三弄》）。
箫的管子很细，孔也很小，在这么小的里头还要做出对比来。浑厚的之处好像在水缸里头共鸣那么大，很轻的地方好像我刚才这么吹，这方面在古琴里头也是这样的，虽然古琴到这地方几乎没有音了。
小周：不知道您在用气方面有什么感觉特长。
戴：我是自己安排，吹长的我就多加油，吹短的就少加油，就是说的长短距离问题。好比一个路线图，远近沉浮深浅虚实，这些变化要都出来。
那么如何表现这些虚实。首先就是这个音质的问题，这个音质有两层意思，一就是要干净，要是乐音，不要比如像我刚才一开始模仿的学生那样，漏气声音很多，很多人吹箫就好象是在吹日本尺八，“夫夫夫夫夫夫”，这是很不对的。这是很肤浅的。尺八高手吹轻时，也能像我们吹琴箫那样做到细若游丝一般。其次出音要厚实，要实在，要干净。不管你吹多轻，箫管中空气分子还是要很密实的，如果是这种（戴老吹箫示范……）这样子也能出来音但仔细一品，就像里面有很多气孔似的，所以出来的音质，三步以外就听不见了。能传到剧场后排的声音只能是气柱非常密实的音。然后呢音色要有变化。低的时候浑厚，轻的时候要明亮，这个不是我的创造，是继承老先生的传统。昔日上海有一位洞箫大王孙裕德先生，他也是琵琶大家，他曾说，吹箫有两句话，第一句“吹箫不要随便加花”，这底下其实有潜台词，加花就不雅了，就俗气了；第二句就是“箫里头要有笛子的声音，反过来笛子里头要有箫的声音”。
有一年东方音乐学会年会在学校召开，安排我吹洞箫独奏，我就把上面这两句话搬出来了，并说，“这句话我已经追求几十年，时有所得。就是说不是什么时候都能做到。‘吹箫不要随便加花’这个我能谨记，但是在箫声里有笛子的声音，清亮，谈何容易！笛子里头要有箫的声音，就像昆曲，低音可以吹得很浑厚很深沉，专业笛手是可以做到的，业余的一般很难做到。可是专业笛手吹箫要能吹出有笛子声音来的，也就不那么容易了。这是要人们向事物的反面去追求一种常人所难以做到的美。常人做不到，你能做到，你就高人一等了。”美籍华人赵如兰教授听后，当时问我的荷兰学生“他讲话录音了没有？”学生说：“No!No!No!我们只录表演，不录讲话。”
以上是说的音色要有变化。时而要浑厚就像沉到水底一样，时而要透明的，明亮的，我把它比喻成好象很薄的玻璃茶杯，生怕掉在地下一跌就破的，词牌里有一个就叫“跌破玉”，最初也可能是对声学的一种形容。这个声音要像银瓶乍破。
箫也好笛子也好，这个发音原理是靠你吹出的气柱，对准吹孔边棱劈开振动来发音的。所以我教初学的人，这个发音的练习，你要有个角度，角度要正对吹孔边棱，箫的制作法本身就要求它的吹口必须是向后上方45o，你把你的气集中起来向前下方四十五度“对着干”，那么箫的发音就有保障了。就好像一个成语里头讲，“势如破竹”。如果你劈偏了，没有声音。我们的气如果像刮浆糊，刮这么一点进去，就不行了。所以这个角度要调正，当然还有一个是焦距，好多像漏气的声音怎么出来的，就是焦距没调好，我们把双唇间的小孔叫风门，风门吹出来的气，到吹孔边棱有个距离，这个距离如果很远声音就会发毛，调整让它贴紧，堵住了，好，那么又要贴紧又要把这个嘴唇（肌肉）赶到两边去，你看，箫不动，赶出去以后我又恢复原状，就是有一定的近距离但是不要堵住它，上唇也不要伸出来覆盖它，劈开就意味着二分之一劈开，是最佳劈开。我们吹箫就是下唇不要堵住吹孔，上唇不要覆盖吹孔，焦距不能太远，因为你人体的气不能抗衡一个大气压，焦距越短越消耗少。
(徐元 整理)
I found the interview very inspiring and informative. Because of that, I felt that I should translate the interview so non-Chinese-speaking xiao players can also benefit from it.
Note that in the first part of the interview, he talks about guqin-xiao duets in particular, while the rest of the interview is about general xiao-playing technique.
Below is my translation of the interview. "Zhou" is the interviewer, and "Dai" is Master Dai Shuhong.
(Original author unknown)
Article originally published in: China Guqin magazine (中国古琴)
Edited by: Xu Yuan (徐元)
Zhou: Most of us know you from your work with the dizi and xiao. Can you tell us more about this topic?
Dai: I have loved the xiao since my childhood. I’m from the Tai Zhou region of Jiangsu Province (江苏泰州), which was also the hometown of Mei Lan Fang (梅兰芳). Back then, it was commonly believed that the exertion of playing the xiao was very harmful to the lungs of children. There was a folk saying that if you wish to learn the xiao, you should first take a sunflower at night and keep blowing air at it nonstop. The next morning, you should observe the condensation on the flower: if it is red with your blood, that shows that the exertion of blowing will hurt your lungs, and you should not proceed any further; if there is no blood, you can proceed with learning xiao. I actually believed that and did the test; the condensation remained colorless the next day. At the time, I learned to play the xiao by myself. I did not have a teacher, although I knew a kid who was the son of a music teacher; he told me the notes made by each of the holes of his dizi, but he did not know how to play it himself. I then borrowed his dizi to practice with, and later borrowed a xiao from him as well. During the Cultural Revolution, xiao music was considered weak and decadent, while the sound of the dizi was strong and steadfast, so no one would play the xiao. But I was stubborn, I continued to play [the xiao], and so I stayed in the music room of my house and played it; who could stop me?
Before the Cultural Revolution, I joined the Jin Yu Guqin Society (今虞琴社). At the time, I had a really strong interest in playing the guqin; I’d be happy even if I got to touch a guqin for a moment, but I did not dare to, out of awe. Whenever Master Zhang Ziqian joined our yaji (gatherings), during duets he would not play the guqin, but he would play the xiao instead. So, I played along with him. Through this prolonged exposure, I became familiar with many guqin pieces. At the time, we had people like Mr. Yao Bingyan (姚炳炎) and his eldest daughter Yao Jingzhen (姚静珍), who was the sister of Yao Gongbai (姚公白), and others… and so I, playing the xiao over a long period together with the guqin-playing members of the Jin Yu Guqin Society, became very familiar with guqin pieces, such as Three Variations on a Plum Blossom Theme (梅花三弄, Mei Hua San Nong), The Mantra of Pu An (普安咒, Pu An Zou ), The Fragrance of Flowers Blooming in All Four Seasons Fills the Garden (四季花儿开满园香, Si Ji Hua Er Kai Man Yuan Xiang), and so on.
In 1980 I returned from a teaching post at the University of Tibet. At the time my work schedule was very relaxing. Every week I could spare three and a half days to play guqin-xiao duets with Master Zhang Ziqian. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me to learn guqin music, and so that was when I began learning how to play the guqin. I was 43.
Before playing a guqin piece with the xiao, I usually play it at home on the guqin first. For instance this duet of the piece “Dialogue between a Fisherman and a Woodcutter” (渔樵问答, Yu Qiao Wen Da) I played with Master Gong Yi… I had played that piece countless times on my guqin at home. When I play the xiao in a duet, what I think of is how each piece, each passage, is like when played on the guqin—and because of this, I think it’s very difficult for one to bring out the feel of a guqin piece on the xiao if one only plays by the notation, but does not already have an impression of how the piece is like on the guqin. On guqin, many notes trail off in volume after they are plucked; when that is the case, other instruments playing with the guqin should also decrease their volume gradually, or else they will swamp the sound of the guqin. On the guqin, when you think a note has already faded to silence, if you put your ear to the soundboard, you can still hear some residual reverberations, and they sound heavenly. If you have a high-definition audio recorder, you would be able to capture these subtle nuances in the sound of the guqin. And [when playing the xiao] you could use the sound of the xiao to magnify these subtle nuances, to let others hear them— hear the atmosphere and feel of the guqin’s sound. That’d be great.
One’s xiao-playing must be in accordance with the character of guqin music. How do I find that sort of feeling and perform in accordance with it… well, it’s like taking a long-distance bus ride; you feel it rock and rock and then you find that you’ve settled in snugly in your seat. As for duets, you must be able to capture the pulse of your duet partner’s thoughts, develop a sense of mutual affinity… only then can you work together in unison. I truly believe that guqin music is a rich and profound tradition, but one must have a correct understanding of it and not wax mystical about it at a superficial level. Many people look at guqin music in such a mystical way, saying things like the guqin is an instrument of the Tao or a tool of enlightenment… I often tell these people, well, the guqin as a musical instrument can help refine one’s temperament, but that is all. If you claim that it is some kind of esoteric spiritual instrument… well, why don’t you go ahead and play it, and see how that “Tao” of yours comes out of it? It will never come out.
Zhou : You have been particularly highly regarded for your work with the xiao. Some have even called you the king of xiao in Jiangnan. What do you see as the crucial aspects of your work?
Dai : I work as a dizi teacher, but I’ve always had a special love for the xiao since my childhood. Because of that, I have spent a lot of effort on the xiao. Eventually, I felt that this instrument was rather quiet; if I played it in a large room, for instance, and wanted everyone to be able to hear it, good technique was needed. I once played the song “The Peacock Flies Southeast” (孔雀东南飞, Kong Que Dong Nan Fei) with an orchestra; one section of the composition was for xiao. The orchestra emptied out the section for the first violins and let me play there—it took a great deal of effort to play there, especially since there was no microphone. When I played in that position, the deputy director of the orchestra, Zhang Dunzhi (张敦智), heard me and said, “wow, you’re able to play the xiao really loudly!” In fact, that was because I placed particular importance on the tone quality of the xiao, and strove to achieve a particular kind of tone color. The tone quality I seek is solid, strong and penetrating, with a smooth, bright tone color. These tonal qualities are most likely to captivate listeners.
I once had a student who played the xiao this way (demonstrates). I told him, no, you can’t play it this way; the tone quality you’re making there is hot and ragged, like a gas stove running out of gas and spewing sparks. When a gas stove is running properly, with enough gas, it burns with an almost-invisible blue flame, the combustion point is so high… I told him that when playing the xiao, one should aim for a sound quality that is clean, like that, but that also creates a cool and relaxing feel.
A xiao is narrow and has small tone holes. From such a tiny little thing, one must still squeeze out clear dynamics: the deep tones should be as deep and resonant as the reverberations in a water tank; the light notes should be light and fleeting as I demonstrated just now. The tonal qualities of the guqin are like that as well, although in the subtle light notes, the guqin’s volume would already be so low as to be almost silent.
Zhou : Do you feel that you have particular strengths in terms of breath control?
Dai : I plan my breath usage by myself: for long musical phrases I reserve more breath, for short phrases I reserve less. It’s all a matter of length. It’s like a road map—distant things and close things, depth and shallowness, fleeting tones and solid tones—all of these variations must be present.
How does one create such variations? The first thing we need to pay attention to is the sound quality. There are two key things to keep in mind here: firstly, the sounds we make must be clean, they must be musical, and they must not be airy and unfocused like the student whose playing style I demonstrated earlier. A lot of people play the xiao as if they were playing a Japanese shakuhachi, with lots of airy “fu fu fu fu fu…” sounds. That is very wrong. That is very superficial. When skilled shakuhachi players play lightly, they are in fact just as capable as skilled xiao players in their ability to produce pure, clean, tones as fine as silk. Secondly, the sounds we produce must be solid, firm, and clean. No matter how lightly you blow, the vibrations of the air particles in your xiao must still be tight and coherent. Otherwise, if you play like this… (demonstrates)… then you will still be able to make sounds but the sounds seem leaky, and they will not be audible from afar. The only sounds that can be audible even in the last row of a theater are sounds produced by a very coherent, tightly-packed air column. Apart from that, there must be variations in tone color. The low notes should be deep and resonant; when blowing lightly the tone color must be bright. These requirements are not my inventions; they are passed down from the tradition of my teachers and elders. In the old days there used to be a great xiao master in Shanghai, Mr. Wang Sun Yu (王孙裕), who was a great pipa master as well. He once said, there are two sayings to keep in mind when playing the xiao. The first one is, “when playing the xiao, do not simply add flowery ornaments.” There is an implicit subtext in this saying—if you simply add flowery ornaments here and there, then xiao music would no longer be dignified; it would become clichéd and worldly. The second saying is, “in the sound of the xiao there should be the sound of the dizi, and conversely, in the sound of the dizi there should be the sound of the xiao.”
Once, the Annual Meeting of the Eastern Music Society was held in a school, and they invited me to play a xiao solo there. So, when I went there, I shared the two sayings I quoted above, and commented thus: “for decades, I have striven to realize what was said in these two sayings, and from time to time, I have succeeded. I say from time to time, because I have not succeeded every single time. ‘Do not simply add flowery ornaments’…this I can always keep in mind, but to have the tonal qualities of the dizi, bright and clear, reflected in the sound of the xiao…that’s not easy at all! To have the sound of the xiao reflected in the sound of the dizi, is like Kunqu opera (昆曲): the low notes can be deep and resonant—professional dizi players can achieve that, while amateurs can seldom reach such a level. But even for professional players, it is a challenge to have the sound of the dizi reflected in the sound of the xiao. The point here is to challenge ourselves to go against the usual limits we perceive, to strive for a kind of beauty that seems far beyond what a common person can do. If you can do what a common person cannot, then you will have attained a level a step above the norm.” After I said these words, an American Chinese professor, Prof. Zhao Ru Lan (赵如兰) asked my Dutch students whether they had recorded what I said. The students answered “No! No! No! We’re recording only his performances, not his talk.”
Our discussion here basically revolves around the point that one must bring out variations in tone color. At times, the sounds you produce must be so deep and resonant that they seem to come from deep underwater; at other times, the sounds you produce must be clear, transparent, and bright—I often use the metaphor of a very thin glass teacup that you’re afraid will shatter if you drop it even once. In the ci pai (词牌, traditional lists of melodies that lyric poems can be set to), there is one called “Shattering Jade” (跌破玉), and that metaphor can be used as an introduction to musical aesthetics. This kind of sound must be like the sound of a silver pitcher at the moment of breaking.
Anyway, regardless of whether you play dizi or xiao, the basic principle is that you generate sound through a column of air you set in vibration by blowing at an edge. So, when I teach beginners to start making a sound, I say, you need to have the right blowing angle. This angle must be directly facing the edge of the blowing hole. A basic requirement in xiao-making is that the blowing edge must be exactly at a 45 ° angle at the front of the top end of the xiao, so as long as you blow straight down at that 45 ° angle, your basic sound-generation should be fine. This is like the Chinese idiom that says, “strike as if you are cutting bamboo” (势如破竹). If your strike misses, you will make no sound. And if our breath is like scraping glue—scraping just a little bit into the opening—then that will not work either. Therefore, the blowing angle must be right. Another critical factor is the focusing distance of your airstream. If the sound you generate is airy, as though there are lots of invisible leaks, that is because you have not found the optimal distance to focus your airstream. We call the small opening we make between our lips the “wind-gate” (风门, feng men). The airstream coming out of the wind-gate must traverse a certain distance before reaching the edge of the blowing hole. If this distance is too far, the sound will become fuzzy, so you adjust that distance, move your mouth right up to the hole, right, and while keeping your mouth right at the hole, you part your lips, and see, the xiao doesn’t move around in this process. So when I assume this posture, I will ensure that the distance from my embouchure to the blowing edge is quite close, but my lips do not obstruct the blowing hole entirely, and my upper lip doesn’t extend outwards to cover the hole either. When you part your lips you part them exactly in half—that’s the best way to part your lips. When we play the xiao, the lower lip must not obstruct the blowing hole, and the upper lip must not extend over the blowing hole, and the focusing distance of the airstream must not be too far, because the human body cannot withstand too much backpressure. The shorter the focusing distance of your airstream, the smaller the amount of energy you waste.
Chinese text source: www.xiaoyaji.net/Bbs/viewthread.php?tid=890&extra=&page=1
Original Chinese text:
作者：佚名 来源：中国古琴小周：大家认识您，大多是通过箫或者笛子，您能就这方面再谈谈吗？
戴：箫我从小就喜欢。我是江苏泰州人，就是梅兰芳的故乡人。那个时候常有说，小孩子吹箫很伤肺。民间有传说：想学箫时，头天晚上对着向日葵一直吹，第二天早晨起来看上面的水汽，如果是红的就是你的血，说明会伤肺，不能再吹；如果没有颜色就没问题。我还真的这么做了，到那一看是白的，没红。那时候是自学，没有老师教，有个音乐老师的儿子告诉我他一支笛子六个孔都是什么音，但他不会吹，我就借了根笛子来开始练，后来又借了支箫。文化大革命时，箫是靡靡之音，笛子是强音，所以都不吹箫。可是我很顽固，我还是照吹，然后在家里琴房里吹，谁管得了。
文化大革命以前我参加了今虞琴社，那个时候很想去弹古琴，哪怕摸摸古琴也好，但还是不敢高攀。张子谦老先生每回参加雅集，在合奏时他不弹琴他吹箫，我就跟着他后头一起吹，耳濡目染，对很多琴曲都很熟悉。当时弹琴就有像姚炳炎先生，还有姚先生的大女儿姚静珍（姚公白的姐姐）等人，而我那个时候吹箫，就这样子长期跟今虞琴社的琴友合作，对琴曲就比较熟了，像《梅花三弄》、《普安咒》、《四季花儿开满园香》等琴曲和琴歌都吹。
1980年我援藏（在今之西藏大学从教）归来。那个时期我的工作很轻松，一个星期我可以有三个半天去跟张子谦先生吹琴箫合奏。这是我学习古琴音乐的得天独厚的大好良机，学弹琴就是那时开始的，时年43岁。
在吹奏一首琴曲前，我会在家先用琴弹奏。比如我跟龚一老师合奏的这首《渔樵问答》，我在家里不知道弹多少遍。我吹的时候想到的是琴里头的那个意趣，那么也正是因为这个，如果不是对琴有一定的印象，只是看着谱子视吹，很难吹出琴的意境。琴的好多音是衰减的，这时其它乐器配乐上应该跟着衰减，不然就把琴声湮没了。在觉得琴音已绝时试着把耳朵贴在焦尾上听，它还是有音的，而且很好听。要是有高保真的录音机，就能把古琴的那些微弱信号录下来，通过箫声将它们加以恰当的放大，让听众能听到，听出来是琴的味道，那么，这样子就好。
吹箫的时候跟琴的性格要合，我怎么找到这种感觉并这样去做呢，其实就像长距离乘公共汽车一样，摇啊摇的，然后就找到自己的位置了。至于合奏，这就需要捕捉你合作对象的脉搏、心意，这样子才能心心相印才能息息相通。我认为古琴确实是博大精深，但一定要有正确的认识，不要故弄玄虚，很多人搞玄学，说古琴是道器、法器，我常劝这些人说，“古琴作为乐器对人有陶冶（功能），仅此而已。你要总说法器、道器，那你不弹琴试试看，这个道怎么出来？没办法出来的。”
小周：外界对您的箫评价特别高，有江南箫王之称。您吹箫的窍门在哪里呢？
戴：我的工作是笛子教师，但我从小特别喜欢箫，所以花了不少精力在箫上，后来我感觉到箫这个乐器音量很轻，要让很多人在大厅里听到就要想办法练就一点功夫了。我曾经跟交响乐团合奏过一首《孔雀东南飞》，前面有一个乐章是箫，他们把首席小提琴的位置撤掉让我在那里吹，那就得使点真劲，也没有麦克风。当时我站在首席的位置上吹，我们那个副院长张敦智一听，说“你这个箫吹得很响啊！”，实际上是因为我注重箫的音质，并对音色有特别的追求。我的音质坚实，穿透力强；音色浑圆清亮兼具，易引人入胜。
以前曾有个学生这样吹箫（戴老吹箫模仿演示……），我说你这样吹不行，这个声音是燥热的，好象那煤气不足冒火星的液化气，充足的煤气应该是蓝火，几乎看不见火苗，那个燃点很高，我说箫要吹出的也是那种燃点很高的感觉，但是要给人清凉的感觉，（戴老吹箫示范……《梅花三弄》）。
箫的管子很细，孔也很小，在这么小的里头还要做出对比来。浑厚的之处好像在水缸里头共鸣那么大，很轻的地方好像我刚才这么吹，这方面在古琴里头也是这样的，虽然古琴到这地方几乎没有音了。
小周：不知道您在用气方面有什么感觉特长。
戴：我是自己安排，吹长的我就多加油，吹短的就少加油，就是说的长短距离问题。好比一个路线图，远近沉浮深浅虚实，这些变化要都出来。
那么如何表现这些虚实。首先就是这个音质的问题，这个音质有两层意思，一就是要干净，要是乐音，不要比如像我刚才一开始模仿的学生那样，漏气声音很多，很多人吹箫就好象是在吹日本尺八，“夫夫夫夫夫夫”，这是很不对的。这是很肤浅的。尺八高手吹轻时，也能像我们吹琴箫那样做到细若游丝一般。其次出音要厚实，要实在，要干净。不管你吹多轻，箫管中空气分子还是要很密实的，如果是这种（戴老吹箫示范……）这样子也能出来音但仔细一品，就像里面有很多气孔似的，所以出来的音质，三步以外就听不见了。能传到剧场后排的声音只能是气柱非常密实的音。然后呢音色要有变化。低的时候浑厚，轻的时候要明亮，这个不是我的创造，是继承老先生的传统。昔日上海有一位洞箫大王孙裕德先生，他也是琵琶大家，他曾说，吹箫有两句话，第一句“吹箫不要随便加花”，这底下其实有潜台词，加花就不雅了，就俗气了；第二句就是“箫里头要有笛子的声音，反过来笛子里头要有箫的声音”。
有一年东方音乐学会年会在学校召开，安排我吹洞箫独奏，我就把上面这两句话搬出来了，并说，“这句话我已经追求几十年，时有所得。就是说不是什么时候都能做到。‘吹箫不要随便加花’这个我能谨记，但是在箫声里有笛子的声音，清亮，谈何容易！笛子里头要有箫的声音，就像昆曲，低音可以吹得很浑厚很深沉，专业笛手是可以做到的，业余的一般很难做到。可是专业笛手吹箫要能吹出有笛子声音来的，也就不那么容易了。这是要人们向事物的反面去追求一种常人所难以做到的美。常人做不到，你能做到，你就高人一等了。”美籍华人赵如兰教授听后，当时问我的荷兰学生“他讲话录音了没有？”学生说：“No!No!No!我们只录表演，不录讲话。”
以上是说的音色要有变化。时而要浑厚就像沉到水底一样，时而要透明的，明亮的，我把它比喻成好象很薄的玻璃茶杯，生怕掉在地下一跌就破的，词牌里有一个就叫“跌破玉”，最初也可能是对声学的一种形容。这个声音要像银瓶乍破。
箫也好笛子也好，这个发音原理是靠你吹出的气柱，对准吹孔边棱劈开振动来发音的。所以我教初学的人，这个发音的练习，你要有个角度，角度要正对吹孔边棱，箫的制作法本身就要求它的吹口必须是向后上方45o，你把你的气集中起来向前下方四十五度“对着干”，那么箫的发音就有保障了。就好像一个成语里头讲，“势如破竹”。如果你劈偏了，没有声音。我们的气如果像刮浆糊，刮这么一点进去，就不行了。所以这个角度要调正，当然还有一个是焦距，好多像漏气的声音怎么出来的，就是焦距没调好，我们把双唇间的小孔叫风门，风门吹出来的气，到吹孔边棱有个距离，这个距离如果很远声音就会发毛，调整让它贴紧，堵住了，好，那么又要贴紧又要把这个嘴唇（肌肉）赶到两边去，你看，箫不动，赶出去以后我又恢复原状，就是有一定的近距离但是不要堵住它，上唇也不要伸出来覆盖它，劈开就意味着二分之一劈开，是最佳劈开。我们吹箫就是下唇不要堵住吹孔，上唇不要覆盖吹孔，焦距不能太远，因为你人体的气不能抗衡一个大气压，焦距越短越消耗少。
(徐元 整理)
