Osmosis and F4

A Tribute to Julius Baker
Former Principal Flute, NY Philharmonic
Faculty The Juilliard School

by Don Bailey

Excerpted from Remembrances
compiled by the Juilliard School
March 11, 2004

As a postgraduate student of George Morey at the University of North Texas in the late 1970s and early ’80s, I had the remarkable opportunity to study with Julius Baker—renowned flutist of the New York Philharmonic and legendary Juilliard professor—for five summers. These studies took place in his Dallas master classes and in private lessons at his home in Brewster, New York.

Dr. Morey, Mr. Baker, and two of my other teachers, Albert Tipton and Harold Bennett,had all been classmates at the Curtis Institute of Music under the great William Kincaid. Imagine! I was fortunate to learn from this historic generation of American flute pedagogy.

What struck me most was how distinctly individual each of these teachers was, despite their shared lineage. Morey approached technique with scientific precision. Tipton was poetic and attuned to pitch, difference tones, and improvisation. Bennett taught etudes with unrelenting rigor—always at tempo with the metronome, as if run by a machine. Baker, by contrast, taught me solo repertoire using what I came to think of as the osmotic approach. While he offered verbal guidance, the real magic happened when he simply played—and then you played. Somehow, through proximity and example, you just absorbed it.

I learned volumes simply by standing beside him—watching his fingers, listening, and mimicking his sound. His relaxed, slightly “cheeky” embouchure revealed the secret to his resonant vibrato and shimmering tone colors. He seemed to play the most difficult passages with lazy, limpid ease—yet behind it, you could see his mind working, locking in key notes that anchored everything else. I still see him clea

rly: head tilted to the right, black-framed glasses sliding down his nose, flute drooping ever so slightly, thinking his way through the music with calm, impeccable accuracy.

It all seemed effortless. Baker’s deep knowledge of the repertoire allowed him to distill entire lessons into a single well-placed demonstration—one that spoke louder than any explanation. His influence on my playing was profound, and I remain deeply grateful to have studied with him and to carry forward a piece of his legacy.

He always wore running shoes to class. Once, a student finished the Ibert Concerto’s final high A (if memory serves), and Mr. Baker—unintentionally squeaking his sneaker on the tile floor—noticed the pitch matched a high F. With a smile, he picked up his flute, nodded to Martha Rearick at the piano, and replayed the ending himself—this time finishing with an F4 from the floor. Perfect pitch, flawless timing, and a sense of humor. That was Mr. Baker.

Fare thee well, Mr. Baker—and thank you.