Tuba Lesson

I return to Carnegie to find bassist Sarah Hogan blowing a relaxed bubble-gum bubble as she waits for the conductor. Today is an open rehearsal for Carnegie members, with quite a few people in the audience to observe an orchestra at work. I must admit I sometimes enjoy rehearsals more than performances – the behind-the-scenes maintenance aspect.

*****

Trumpet player Mike Walk, as musicians will, mentions a few technical glitches he felt about last night, but then he tells me, “It was amazing how the audience responded.”

I think the experience of last night is finally settling into the musicians. After the show many of them were caught in the hubbub of contacting friends on their cells and making the late-night dinner plans. But today, when I mention last night, I see these beaming, happy faces. Musicians need time to absorb the experience, since they are so caught up in the minutiae. It reminds me of one of my pet peeves about so-called sports journalism. Immediately after the big game you see a reporter collar the guy who just hit the home run or caught the game-winning touchdown, and the reporter asks, “How does it feel?” It’s absolutely the stupidest question in the world. The athlete doesn’t even know how he feels at that moment; he’s too engaged in the act of feeling. Likewise with musicians after a concert such as last night – it may take them days to fully realize the fantastic human machine of which they were a part.

But today the musicians appear lighter, energized, ready to make it all happen again. Lighting, as has been proven statistically, often strikes twice.

Jeremy Geffen welcomes the audience and tells them of “the spectacular performance of the Turangalila-symphonie” last night. He means it too, as we chatted before rehearsal and he expressed the same to me – and Jeremy’s a tough critic.

“We’re doing ‘tops and tails’ as the British say,” David Robertson says, taking the stage, which means the afternoon is for touchups of various parts in the program.

David makes an audible intake of breath before he gives the downbeat to Brahms’ Tragic Overture.

*****

“Oboes -- play as if when the rest of society has agreed to play triplets and that triplets are great, you can’t do it, as if it goes against your moral fiber.”

*****

For the finale, David turns to Greek tragedy, the Oresteia, “where Orestes thinks everything is OK – and then they tear him to shreds.” And that’s just how the orchestra plays it.

“Now that feels tragic – doesn’t it?” says David, turning to Berg’s Violin Concerto and Christian Tetzlaff.

Meanwhile, a little furniture arranging goes on. Just as with the piano yesterday, today, some of the basses aren’t in the right position. Principal Erik Harris turns to the players behind him, David DeRiso and Sarah Hogan, and says “This setup just isn’t working for me.” He’s not getting a clear sightline to the conductor. He and Carolyn White move left. David and Sarah move right. Voila. It’s the little things that make a performance.

There’s sometimes a lot of such business going on in rehearsal. As David Robertson addresses the brass, Christian Tetzlaff is communicating to David Halen and Heidi Harris, who then turn to the other members of the first violins and tell them what Tetzlaff said.

David’s directions for the Berg are often about the lyric aspects of the work, finding the song and the swing. “More resonance in the basses, very lightly on the strings so the flute line can be heard.”

*****

David does this brief shuffle with his left leg, sometimes, when he’s excited or anticipating something, seemingly involuntary, kind of like the old “Ali shuffle” way back when.

*****

As the cellos play a phrase, David says, “Play it like it reminds you of something.” They continue the phrase, “Oh yeah, now I remember….”

*****

When David asks the musicians to move to the letter “R” in the score, the guys in the back row let out the call of the pirate: “Arrrr, arrrr, arrrr.”

*****

After the Adams receives its polish, the rehearsal over, Principal Tuba Mike Sanders walks over to me and says, “Come here and I’ll teach you some things about the tuba.”

We walk over to his corner of the stage, where there are two tubas. One golden, a size smaller than the other – although by no means petite -- which is silver and the size and sound you think of when you think of tubas.

The larger is the contrabass tuba, Mike explains, in C, which is what he plays most of the tuba repertoire with, including the Berg. “I use the big tuba 80 percent of the time." He plays that big, low, vibrating sound for me.

The other tuba is in F, “a fourth higher,” Mike says. He uses both tubas in Doctor Atomic Symphony. “The big, vibrating sound – I use it in the first part of Doctor Atomic. See,” he points to his sheet music, “it’s five notes below the lowest C on the piano.”

John Adams has written a stellar tuba solo for the Doctor Atomic Symphony, for which Mike plays the higher tuba, which he plays for me, producing a high, sweet sound. “Eric Gaston told me the tuba solo takes the place of the contralto, who is Native American, in the opera. It goes up to fortissimo. I try to really make it shock the audience when they hear it.” He plays a phrase that sounds like a startlingly mournful cry.