York Waits, photographed by A Garrod, 2006 ©Wikimedia Common
It was an innocent question, I thought: Why is a cello cello-shaped?
Dmitri Atapine, co-Artistic Director for the Friends of Chamber Music Kansas City, didn’t miss a beat: “Because if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be a cello.”
No wonder he has a PhD. He went on to describe the various parts of his fine instrument—the neck, the lovely curves, the bridge and the f-shaped holes that allow magic to escape.
Of course, to this percussionist of ill-repute, all that fancy musical stuff blew right past me. I can bang on things with the best of ’em. But when it comes to making wood and catgut sing, I’m out of my league.
It did get me wondering about instruments in general. They’ve come a long way since some guy blew into a hollow bone and discovered disco. Even the Lyre of Ur (c. 2500 BCE) is a mere baby compared to those first rock-banging rockers.
But some of the newer oldies—we’re still talking really old—are so interesting (especially their names).
From the Medieval Period:
- Nakers: Small paired kettle drums used in military and ceremonial contexts
- Gemshorn: A flutelike instrument made from an animal horn
- Shawm: A loud, reedy, outdoor instrument; the predecessor to the oboe
And then the Renaissance arrived, bringing instruments with even better monickers (huzzah!):
- Crumhorn: A capped reed instrument that sounds like a goose complaining about taxes
- Racket: A compact, surprisingly lowpitched reed instrument
- Claviorganum: A hybrid of organ and harpsichord; a Renaissance flex piece?
We get to hear some of them—plus wonderful choral works— through the Friends’ Early Music Series each season. “Early,” in this case, stretches back maybe to the 1400s, but most of it is a couple of centuries newer. The Tallis Scholars, one of the world’s premiere vocal ensembles, will cover a good 500 years’ worth of tunes when the Friends present them here on April 18.
Then there’s the sackbutt, that Renaissance-era ancestor of the trombone. I’m not particularly fond of trombones, but anything named “sackbutt” gets a nod—at least from my inner 12-year-old. I heard one live as part of a Renaissance ensemble last year presented by the Friends. Smooth sound. Even smoother name.
I have no idea how it came up, but I casually mentioned one to my tablemates at the Ballet’s Nutcracker Ball in early December—a glittery black-tie affair. This wasn’t just any group of partygoers. We had a pianist who’s played at Carnegie Hall. A former principal ballerina with New York City Ballet. A respected sculptress, a research scientist, a TV-movie and book author, an entrepreneur—and even a Micosay Chieftain. Not a slouch in the bunch.
“I love saying sackbutt,” I told them.
The looks. Oh, the looks.
I explained: “That’s sack-butt,” spelling out the final syllable. I giggled. They stared.
“No such thing,” the pianist said. “Really?” the sculptress asked. “Yeah,” I declared. “Let me look it up.”
I found a set of pictures online—the instrument comes in various sizes—and passed my phone around. They seemed impressed. Until I discovered the “but” in sackbut only has one “t.” Kinda ruined the moment.
So now I know the truth. The sackbut is real and the name is glorious. Even if the only butt involved is the one I made of myself at a very fancy table.
Still worth it. Some instruments just demand to be said out loud.
P.S. Turns out, the name comes from the French saquerbouter, “to pull and push.” Sackbutt’s still funnier.
–Ron Fredman
