William Street

Art has the provinces in its blood. Art is provincial in principle, preserving for itself a naive, external, astonished, and envious outlook.

Andrei Sinyavsky, In Gogol’s Shadow

“The final round of the competition is in Edmonton.” I said.

“Then you should get in touch with my saxophone professor.” said Andriy.

Thus began my western odyssey and apprenticeship under William H. Street, human repository of everything saxophone.

L’Américain

Arriving from Montréal, I was a fish-out-of-water. So was Bill, I happened to notice. American by birth, and by now thoroughly cosmopolitan, his openness to the world attracted students from afar: Taiwan, Mexico, Llodyminster. (Laughing? You fabulous Albertan, you!)

I wouldn’t have been able to articulate it at the time, but it was a comfort that he understood and accepted my outsider status. I wasn’t the only one. Although happy to assimilate, (when in Rome…)his patience was gratefully received by many of us in the saxophone studio. Students would bring him gifts from the home country or be sure to introduce him to visiting parents.

He was comfortable wearing all-black. I never once saw him in shorts. Expensive watch. Distinctive cologne. In a word, smooth.

But underneath his polished demeanour lay clues to his earliest influences. Bill embodied some of the most admired American attributes: He was optimistic, unguarded, practical and playful. He appreciated clarity and simplicity. His professionalism was warm. Unlike some professors who present as emotionless, I could tell when he was exasperated, hurt or elated.

I loved how real he could be.

As with all lives well-lived, one could sense the struggle in his backstory, full of unique opportunities but also disappointments and setbacks. He had become an insider the honest way, through hard work and intellectual curiosity.

And, unusually, unlike many musicians, he was savvy about business matters.

Ensemble

O sacred private lesson, how thou art revered as the ultimate learning medium.

Not at the University of Alberta!

Maybe it was the Prairie sky; Bill thought BIG.

He obtained grants to provide the saxophone studio with professional grade instruments, including a rare and coveted bass saxophone. Every year he purchased a new Selmer saxophone in France, selling last year’s model to a deserving student. He hosted guest artists, planned conferences and attended our performances.

Once, thrilled to bits with my performance of the Harbison Sonata, I looked up to see an audience of two: The old man snoring in the back, and, with eyes and ears wide open, my professor, Bill Street.

None of the above, I should point out, were officially mandated tasks tied to a job description. Bill did these things for free, knowing them to be the true markers of a successful program.

But all that pales to what he really did to ignite the prospects of the saxophone studio.

First, a little background…

Bill was not at home on the weekends washing the car, mowing the lawn and mending the curtains. Put another way, daily routines didn’t get in the way of Art. Since early adulthood, Bill had been so totally engaged that quite often, saxophone history was unfolding right before his eyes!

He was there, in Bordeaux, when Noda arrived late but outplayed everyone else.

He was there, at Northwestern, as Hemke defined the American sound.

He was there, at the Concert d’Adieu when Londeix performed his final recital of four concertos—by memory.

Bill had immersed himself in the events that came to define an era. He made a point of being where the action was, as witness, participant and observer.

And he kept going.

Relentlessly, he kept up with new repertoire and trends, refusing to let his initial training dictate his modus operandi. Staying current was di rigueur, and we followed his example.

He understood that people feed people and that deep learning inevitably requires multiple platforms. He tapped into the energy and enthusiasm of teaching assistants, master and doctoral candidates AND the best players to boost the overall level of the saxophone class.

By encouraging us to be together, to aim high, to be involved, the amount of learning by osmosis was staggering. Especially for a sponge like me. It was through hundreds of unscripted moments, outside of regular classes, and yes, private lessons, that I absorbed what it meant to think like a saxophonist.

The Weaker Sex

(                               ) (Allotted time for incredulous laughter.)

As-if!

Was there ever a professor who wanted his female students to succeed more?

I think Bill knew how easy it was for us to bail; to look at the scene and decide that being a professional saxophonist was a man’s game. Bill liked, no loved what we brought to the stage, and made sure we had a spotlight.

In true Alberta style, the idea of staying on the sidelines was frowned upon. The learning atmosphere was decidedly punchy and ambitious. We were expected to be bold. More warrior princess à la Chrystia Freeland, less wallflower.

Bill’s doctoral dissertation (1983) celebrated the important contributions of Elise Boyer Hall, high society lady and amateur saxophonist. She had used her wealth to fund the composition of some of our greatest early 20th century pieces, including Debussy’s Rhapsodie pour orchestre et saxophone (1919).

Performers live and die. Recordings face technological oblivion. But the repertoire—the good stuff—lives on, with those magical sounds transcending the physical reality. If an instrument is truly defined by its repertoire, then Elise Boyer Hall, having commissioned 25 pieces, was a superstar.

Bill chose to recognize the almost-forgotten contributions of a woman who didn’t play at a particularly high level. This is all the more notable, because then, as now, performance ability is the benchmark for achievement.

Elise wasn’t even interested in self-aggrandizing concertos—she just wanted some good sax parts!

Now who hasn’t been there?

Bill wrote his thesis on Elise Boyer Hall.

He Saw Her Value.

When (almost) No One Else Did.

So it’s no surprise that we trailblazing women graduates of the University of Alberta have punched above our weight, shaping the field. We had a good start. Because Bill,

Believed In Us.

Trivia Treats

I learned his middle name was Henry.

He had had reconstructive surgery on his elbow.

He never ate before performances.

Once, he tried hypnosis.

Yes. Hypnotism.

The thing I love the most about Bill? He’s still willing to be amazed. If that doesn’t define a great teacher, then I don’t know what does.

On this 5th of October, 2022, for UNESCO World Teachers’ Day, I salute you, William Street, for making Edmonton Canada’s best saxophone city and for maintaining an infectious enthusiasm for the saxophone, for Art, and for life.

Simply put,

You’re The Best.