Famous people who payed flute
- Terry McGee
- Posts: 3338
- Joined: Sun Dec 12, 2004 4:12 pm
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 1
- Location: Malua Bay, on the NSW Nature Coast
- Contact:
Famous people who payed flute
Preparing for a talk I have to give and thought it would be fun to mention some famous people who played the flute (but were not necessarily famous for their flute playing). So far came up with:
Oliver Goldsmith, writer
Charles Nicholson (who *was* famous for flute)
Frederick the Great, Prussia
John Quincy Adams, American President
Matthew Flinders, explorer
George Eastman, founder of Kodak
Noah Webster of Webster's Dictionary
Nicholas II, Czar of Russia
Francis (Chief ) O'Neill, Irish music collector
Other nominees?
Terry
Oliver Goldsmith, writer
Charles Nicholson (who *was* famous for flute)
Frederick the Great, Prussia
John Quincy Adams, American President
Matthew Flinders, explorer
George Eastman, founder of Kodak
Noah Webster of Webster's Dictionary
Nicholas II, Czar of Russia
Francis (Chief ) O'Neill, Irish music collector
Other nominees?
Terry
- NicoMoreno
- Posts: 2100
- Joined: Tue Jun 26, 2001 6:00 pm
- antispam: No
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 8
- Tell us something.: I just wanted to update my location... 100 characters is a lot and I don't really want to type so much just to edit my profile...
- Location: St. Louis, MO
I know a retired professor who told me that Georg Ohm (known for his 2nd law, more commonly referred to simply as Ohm's Law, which is V=IR) was a flute player.
In fact, apparently he got (one of) his professor's position for studying the physics of the flute.
Another of his researches resulted in the proof that a musical note can be divided into a fundamental and harmonics. You can thank Ohm for all the talk about pipes sounding better because the harmonics line up....
In fact, apparently he got (one of) his professor's position for studying the physics of the flute.
Another of his researches resulted in the proof that a musical note can be divided into a fundamental and harmonics. You can thank Ohm for all the talk about pipes sounding better because the harmonics line up....
- RudallRose
- Posts: 2404
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2001 6:00 pm
actually, Napoleon owned 3 flutes by Claude Laurent.
The first he presented to Drouet
The second I don't recall
The third was taken from his carriages at Waterloo.
I had the distinct pleasure of playing the third one during a trip back east not long ago. It's in the hands of a private collector. A marvelous (if not hefty) flute!
Add Thomas Jefferson to the list of players.
The first he presented to Drouet
The second I don't recall
The third was taken from his carriages at Waterloo.
I had the distinct pleasure of playing the third one during a trip back east not long ago. It's in the hands of a private collector. A marvelous (if not hefty) flute!
Add Thomas Jefferson to the list of players.
-
- Posts: 2926
- Joined: Mon Jul 21, 2003 2:20 am
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 1
- Location: Cascadia
Says here in Ardal Powell's The Flute that Drouët, a famous travelling flautist, was presented with crystal flutes by both the King of the Netherlands, and the King's brother - Napoleon.
What about Moe Howard?
Also - incidentally - I wrote Rick Wilson about a scene from some old movie that was re-used in the early 80s film noir comedy Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid, with a small combo featuring a kid playing a wooden flute. Mentioning Moe jogged my memory, perhaps some of you'd like to check it out. The scene comes towards the end of the movie, the original movie has Charles Laughton and Vincent Price. I haven't heard from Rick, he's on the road I think.
What about Moe Howard?
Also - incidentally - I wrote Rick Wilson about a scene from some old movie that was re-used in the early 80s film noir comedy Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid, with a small combo featuring a kid playing a wooden flute. Mentioning Moe jogged my memory, perhaps some of you'd like to check it out. The scene comes towards the end of the movie, the original movie has Charles Laughton and Vincent Price. I haven't heard from Rick, he's on the road I think.
- JS
- Posts: 532
- Joined: Wed Sep 22, 2004 7:06 pm
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 1
- Location: upstate NY
- Contact:
Thanks to the searchable on-line edition of "Walden"
at http://www.online-literature.com/thoreau/walden,
here's a bit of Thoreau:
John Farmer sat at his door one September evening, after a hard
day's work, his mind still running on his labor more or less.
Having bathed, he sat down to re-create his intellectual man. It
was a rather cool evening, and some of his neighbors were
apprehending a frost. He had not attended to the train of his
thoughts long when he heard some one playing on a flute, and that
sound harmonized with his mood. Still he thought of his work; but
the burden of his thought was, that though this kept running in his
head, and he found himself planning and contriving it against his
will, yet it concerned him very little. It was no more than the
scurf of his skin, which was constantly shuffled off. But the notes
of the flute came home to his ears out of a different sphere from
that he worked in, and suggested work for certain faculties which
slumbered in him. They gently did away with the street, and the
village, and the state in which he lived. A voice said to him --
Why do you stay here and live this mean moiling life, when a
glorious existence is possible for you? Those same stars twinkle
over other fields than these. -- But how to come out of this
condition and actually migrate thither? All that he could think of
was to practise some new austerity, to let his mind descend into his
body and redeem it, and treat himself with ever increasing respect
at http://www.online-literature.com/thoreau/walden,
here's a bit of Thoreau:
John Farmer sat at his door one September evening, after a hard
day's work, his mind still running on his labor more or less.
Having bathed, he sat down to re-create his intellectual man. It
was a rather cool evening, and some of his neighbors were
apprehending a frost. He had not attended to the train of his
thoughts long when he heard some one playing on a flute, and that
sound harmonized with his mood. Still he thought of his work; but
the burden of his thought was, that though this kept running in his
head, and he found himself planning and contriving it against his
will, yet it concerned him very little. It was no more than the
scurf of his skin, which was constantly shuffled off. But the notes
of the flute came home to his ears out of a different sphere from
that he worked in, and suggested work for certain faculties which
slumbered in him. They gently did away with the street, and the
village, and the state in which he lived. A voice said to him --
Why do you stay here and live this mean moiling life, when a
glorious existence is possible for you? Those same stars twinkle
over other fields than these. -- But how to come out of this
condition and actually migrate thither? All that he could think of
was to practise some new austerity, to let his mind descend into his
body and redeem it, and treat himself with ever increasing respect
- fluti31415
- Posts: 283
- Joined: Wed Dec 15, 2004 12:11 pm
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 1
- Location: USA
This is sort of lame because it's a musician, but Stephen Foster, a 19th century American songwriter. He wrote Shennendoah (spelling?), Oh, Susannah, stuff like that.
http://www.bobjanuary.com/foster/sf7.htm
http://www.pdmusic.org/foster.html
http://www.bobjanuary.com/foster/sf7.htm
http://www.pdmusic.org/foster.html
Shannon
(aka fluti31415)
(aka fluti31415)
- bradhurley
- Posts: 2330
- Joined: Wed Oct 09, 2002 6:00 pm
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 1
- Location: Montreal
- Contact:
Louisa May Alcott wrote a poem entitled "Thoreau's Flute."
Here 'tis:
We, sighing, said, "Our Pan is dead;
His pipe hangs mute beside the river;
Around it wistful sunbeams quiver,
But Music's airy voice is fled.
Spring mourns as for untimely frost;
The bluebird chants a requiem;
The willow-blossom waits for him: --
The Genius of the wood is lost."
Then from the flute, untouched by hands,
There came a low, harmonious breath:
"For such as he there is no death;
His life the eternal life commands;
Above man's aims his nature rose:
The wisdom of a just content
Made one small spot a continent,
And turned to poetry Life's prose.
"Haunting the hills, the stream, the wild,
Swallow and aster, lake and pine,
To him grew human or divine, --
Fit mates for this large-hearted child.
Such homage Nature ne'er forgets,
And yearly on the coverlid
'Neath which her darling lieth hid
Will write his name in violets.
"To him no vain regrets belong,
Whose soul, that finer instrument,
Gave to the world no poor lament,
But wood-notes ever sweet and strong.
O lonely friend! he still will be
A potent presence, though unseen, --
Steadfast, sagacious, and serene:
Seek not for him, -- he is with thee."
Louisa May Alcott
Here 'tis:
We, sighing, said, "Our Pan is dead;
His pipe hangs mute beside the river;
Around it wistful sunbeams quiver,
But Music's airy voice is fled.
Spring mourns as for untimely frost;
The bluebird chants a requiem;
The willow-blossom waits for him: --
The Genius of the wood is lost."
Then from the flute, untouched by hands,
There came a low, harmonious breath:
"For such as he there is no death;
His life the eternal life commands;
Above man's aims his nature rose:
The wisdom of a just content
Made one small spot a continent,
And turned to poetry Life's prose.
"Haunting the hills, the stream, the wild,
Swallow and aster, lake and pine,
To him grew human or divine, --
Fit mates for this large-hearted child.
Such homage Nature ne'er forgets,
And yearly on the coverlid
'Neath which her darling lieth hid
Will write his name in violets.
"To him no vain regrets belong,
Whose soul, that finer instrument,
Gave to the world no poor lament,
But wood-notes ever sweet and strong.
O lonely friend! he still will be
A potent presence, though unseen, --
Steadfast, sagacious, and serene:
Seek not for him, -- he is with thee."
Louisa May Alcott
- fiddlinzombie
- Posts: 41
- Joined: Tue Jun 08, 2004 12:26 pm
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 1
- Location: Highlands, Scotland
- Contact:
- Unseen122
- Posts: 3542
- Joined: Tue May 04, 2004 7:21 pm
- antispam: No
- Please enter the next number in sequence: 8
- Tell us something.: Of course I'm not a bot; I've been here for years... Apparently that isn't enough to pass muster though!
- Location: Los Angeles, CA
- Contact:
I like that poem.bradhurley wrote:Louisa May Alcott wrote a poem entitled "Thoreau's Flute."
Here 'tis:
We, sighing, said, "Our Pan is dead;
His pipe hangs mute beside the river;
Around it wistful sunbeams quiver,
But Music's airy voice is fled.
Spring mourns as for untimely frost;
The bluebird chants a requiem;
The willow-blossom waits for him: --
The Genius of the wood is lost."
Then from the flute, untouched by hands,
There came a low, harmonious breath:
"For such as he there is no death;
His life the eternal life commands;
Above man's aims his nature rose:
The wisdom of a just content
Made one small spot a continent,
And turned to poetry Life's prose.
"Haunting the hills, the stream, the wild,
Swallow and aster, lake and pine,
To him grew human or divine, --
Fit mates for this large-hearted child.
Such homage Nature ne'er forgets,
And yearly on the coverlid
'Neath which her darling lieth hid
Will write his name in violets.
"To him no vain regrets belong,
Whose soul, that finer instrument,
Gave to the world no poor lament,
But wood-notes ever sweet and strong.
O lonely friend! he still will be
A potent presence, though unseen, --
Steadfast, sagacious, and serene:
Seek not for him, -- he is with thee."
Louisa May Alcott