Opus 2: Confession 1, Inside the Mind of a Musician

     People seem to think that when playing music, a musician is in some sort of trance.  That couldn't be further from the truth.  Granted, when I am in some kind of musical "groove", the music flows almost automatically.  But even that has different connotations.  At it's best, I suppose, playing music in an orchestra can be like a sort of meditation, in that the mind is focused on the music and nothing else.  But then again, it depends on the music.  And the state of my mind.  At any rate, when the down beat comes, I am in Hyper-Alert Mode, ready for anything!  But let's start at the beginning.

     Even before the concert begins, there is a specific ritual of events that takes place.  Instruments are being taken out out of cases, or as in my "case," out of my locker.  I have two basses: one at the hall, and one at home.  That is because I am simply too darned lazy to carry a bass back and forth.  That and because my 1930's house is a bit drafty.  Not a good environment for a 200+ year  old, wooden instrument (English, William Forster, or so I'm told--I don't have any official papers, like many of my colleagues).  Though it is, at times, a bit too hot on stage, for my taste, the climate at Davies Symphony Hall is fairly controlled.  I do take my bow home, and practice with it.   I am very fond of my bow, made in the 1920's by Victor Fetique, for those of you interested in that sort of thing, and play  nothing else.  I carry it in a leather case with a shoulder-strap.  People sometimes think it's a flute, or a pool cue.  Now THAT would be cool.  I tell them that I don't play pool, but classical music.

     "Can you make a living doing that?" they ask.  

     "It's a full-time job." 

     Most people don't know that we usually have four, two-and-a-half hour rehearsals per week.  We usually play four, sometimes five concerts a week.  Now that doesn't add up to a 40-hour work week.  But add in all the hours we spend at home, practicing alone, and you get a full-time job.  On Wednesday and Saturdays, we make two trips to the hall in one day.  And many of us volunteer our time for the numerous committees that help run things at the Symphony.  Now that we've settled that, back to the pre-concert doings.

     With the bow out of its case, I place it, length-wise, under the strings.  It's a good way to carry the bow, since I need both hands to carry the big, old fiddle.  There is a leather "apron" around the bass to protect  it  from belt-buckle scratches, and it has a pocket for my glasses, pencil, and rosin.  I walk about 50 feet to the stage door, which is on the same level as the lockers.  I do have to go up a few steps to get to my spot on the correct riser.  

     Once there, I let out and tightly fasten the end-pin.  That's the sharply-pointed, metal shaft on which the bass rests while being played.  We have black wooden boxes, on which we set our "stuff:"  rosin, glasses cases, rags, tuners, and the bass, when not in use.  At this point, I tighten the bow;  that is, I tighten the hair from the tails of special Mongolian horses, and coat it with rosin.  All string players use rosin, boiled down resin from pine trees.  But we bass players use REALLY sticky rosin because the strings we play on are the size of knitting needles!  (At this point, I just have to say how much I like that we, as orchestral musicians in the 21st century, are still doing things pretty much the same as they did in the 18th Century!)  Our bows, though about the same length  as violin bows, are much more massive, and have  much thicker shanks of hair.  One of my fellow bass players likes to tell how his teacher would point out that if violinists used bows the same ratio to their instruments as bassists, they'd be playing with bows the size of pencils!  At any rate, everything about the bass is huge.  And we bass players love it that way!

     Now that my bow is tightened and rosined ("Rosin up for Safety!" we like to say), I then get out my electronic tuner, and "pre-tune" my bass to A-441.  This way, I am in the correct ball-park (how 'bout those Giants?!!) before the formal tuning takes place.  After I am satisfied with my tuning, I take the opportunity to play a few scales and review some of the trickier passages in the music we are about to play.  It's not unlike an athlete warming up before the game; we just use smaller muscle groups, for the most part. 

     At 8:oo, the concertmaster walks on stage and tunes the orchestra: the Principal Oboe plays two A's,  one for the strings, and the second, for the winds, brass, timpani, and harp.  The conductor then walks out, takes his bow with the Orchestra, lifts his baton, and the concert begins.

     See tomorrow's blog entry for the conclusion!