Gambapalooza

Some people have normal midlife crises. They buy cars, go back to school, change careers, or have a disastrous affair with some tyke. I, on the other hand, decided to learn how to play the viola da gamba.

I am blogging from the Viola da Gamba Society’s annual Conclave -- essentially a music camp / workshop devoted to the viola da gamba. I did not know this before I came here, but the VDGSA has been in existence for 45 years (!), which means over a decade before early music became fashionable for Baby Boomers in Birkenstocks. And yes, there are a lot of Boomers here like myself and my slightly older colleagues, but there are also a fairly respectable number of players who are half that age – very encouraging, since one of the most frequent laments in the early music world is the preponderance of grey heads both onstage and in the audience. (Actually, that’s happening in this country with a number of different kinds of music; a topic for another blog post.) There is also a huge range of participants here in terms of playing level: professionals (most of these are the teachers), semi- and “pre” professionals (such as advanced students), extremely proficient avocational players, amateurs at various levels, absolute newbies, and the occasional person like myself who is accomplished at some other kinds of music-making but tabula rasa on the viol. As a pretty limited player, I’m finding it to be extremely intense work, but quite enjoyable as well; and since my brain is fried at this point, I have put down the bow and picked up the laptop to muse on the different factors that brought me here.

First of all, I have this job, you see, part of which entails directing a university early music group. Quite a few of them are instrumentalists, and although I can play several instruments with varying degrees of skill, most of my formal training has been in the singing department. About 15 years ago I did take some gamba lessons from Wendy Gillespie, a highly-acclaimed virtuoso on the instrument who teaches at IU. I don’t remember much, but it was a beginning. At Big Flat Place University, we have several viola da gambas (or viols, as the English call them), and willing players to take them on; but there is no viol teacher at our school and, unless there is a seismic shift or some Texas oil tycoon suddenly becomes obsessed with early music, hell is likely to freeze over before we get one. So I must get these folks started on the rudiments of the instrument, and it would be very nice if I could demonstrate the rudiments instead of just yakking about them. It would also be nice if I could explain to them – most of them are cellists and string bass players – some of the details of bowing, phrasing, and performance practice, and get them started, so that when I get the money to have a pro come in to do a workshop, they get the maximum benefit out of it. So why not learn the rudiments myself? I mean, really, despite being an Irish music fellow-traveler with a DADGAD guitar, I think I am supposed to be an Early Music Person.

So why haven’t I done it until now, especially since I actually have “practical” reasons? Well, it was partly the expense and partly the commitment of time, but there’s also a little Calvinist devil, courtesy of about 8 generations of ancestors, who has been renting a room in my head since I was about 2. The following dialogue has been looping:

Little Calvinist Devil: Why do you want to screw around with some new instrument? Every moment you spend practicing an instrument is one step farther from finishing your doctoral work. And if you do persist in this folly, why not just get better at the instruments you already play, since you’re not particularly virtuosic on any of them?

Dharmo: Puhleeze, Devil, that’s not a midlife crisis pursuit. That’s sensible, like jogging and putting skim milk in coffee. Instruments we already play have Baggage – and I don’t mean the airplane kind, I mean the therapy kind. Don’t you remember? You packed about 5 of the bags yourself.

Little Calvinist Devil: You have no discipline and you will always suck. The Incubus who rents the room next to me agrees, and he’s a Catholic for God’s sake.

I’ve decided that my ultimate response to this dialogue is “there is no virtuosity, neither is there lack of virtuosity; neither is there a gamba, nor is there the absence of a gamba.” The best way to get rid of demons is to confuse the crap out of them. The truth is, I’ve wanted to play this instrument for a long time. When I was at the Early Music Institute I used to joke around with my colleagues and say that “in my next life” I would play the viola da gamba. (Indian classical music and uilleann pipes are also fairly appealing, but appear to require more than one lifetime.) You’d think that a good Buddhist would just let it go at that. The problem is, there is no guarantee that the next life will include opposable thumbs. So, in the event that my next life might be spent as a Formless Energy Being or an otter (hang on – I believe otters may have opposable thumbs), I decided what the hell, why wait? If I want to learn something new, let’s learn it now, or at least put some imprints on my mental continuum so that I can learn it faster if I find myself with human hands again.

There is nothing like a virtuosic consort of bass, tenor and treble viols; and the solo viol repertoire is also gorgeous. If you have never heard a viol consort or music for viola da gamba, I refer you to any recording by Fretwork, Hesperion XX (or XXI), Jordi Savall, Phantasm…there are many more, but that’s a place to start. Also check out the soundtrack to the film Tous les matins du mond.

Another appealing aspect of the viol is the people who play it. There are a good number of people here who obviously have known each other for years, and yet they also seem extremely willing to reach out to the new people they see. The first night, a former president of the organization came over to my table at dinner and invited me to join his table because “no one at Conclave has to eat by themselves.” It may seem like a ridiculous generalization, but when I started the Early Music Immersion part of my life, I noticed within a fairly short amount of time that I really, really liked virtually all the gamba players I met. Seriously folks, there’s a reason why there are stereotypes associated with certain instruments, and the viol seems to attract a large number of highly intelligent, literate, multi-talented, musical, capable, good-natured, mostly-level-headed and witty people. This last one is especially noticeable – they are all pretty good- humored, and a surprising number of the gamba players I have known are just plain funny and entertaining people. I just spent the evening at a fundraising auction with over a hundred of them, while they auctioned off donated items ranging from a stuffed toy rabbit made of fabric with musical notes all over it, to a two-week stay at someone’s lovely house in London, and they somehow raised almost five thousand bucks while everyone laughed their asses off for two hours. This just does not happen in all organizations (of course, not all fund-raising auctions place their coffee urn next to six bottles of alcoholic flavor-enhancements, either… but my point still stands.) I have always found that the viol players were a blast to hang around with. And I think I know why: although there is a certain amount of solo repertoire for the instrument, it was conceived as a consort instrument – it needs other people to play with. In other words, it’s community music, best appreciated while playing in community with other players. It doesn’t require a conductor, and while there are virtuosic pieces for the super-accomplished players and soloists, most pieces are written for several players to play together for their own edification.

So here I am. There’s lots of great music being played here every day, including wonderful faculty mini-concerts. The Early Music world being relatively small, there are a number of people here whom I know, many of whom I haven’t seen for some time. My classes are being taught by incredible players who also have excellent pedagogical skills and are generous enough to still be willing to spend time with relative beginners. And all of the classes I’m taking are going to greatly help me communicate with the viol players in my own Collegium, even the classes that spend time on rather specialized technical issues that are a little beyond my present ability. I can’t really do much in the way of subtle articulations when I am still trying to figure out where to poot mah wee fenghers, but I now know how to ask my Collegium viol players to match their articulations with the singer’s consonants, for example, even if I can’t do it myself.

I am also getting an excellent lesson in killing the Big Ego and swallowing one’s pride; I would recommend that all music teachers try something like this every couple of decades. It is very odd to look at a single line of music that you could sight-sing with one eye closed or instantly dash off on the piano, and listen to yourself making clam chowder out of it because your left hand is going Where the Hell is Middle C, your eyes are reading Alto Clef, and your right bow-hand is sending memos to the brain such as What Is This Diabolical Implement and Why Am I Holding It.

It’s also wonderful, once in awhile, for a professional musician to undertake some musical activity purely for the love of it. That’s why I climbed up on the piano at age 3 and plonked out “Silent Night” by ear; and ultimately, despite all the above practical rationalizations, I think it’s the real reason why I am plonking out the alto part of “Innsbruck Ich Muss Dich Lassen” by ear 50 years later. An instrument with no “baggage” – what a concept: music with no expectation of specific results, no pressure to get Really Good, or be fashionable, or get some blasted PhD in it, but music that’s played just because of some ineffable heart-connection that leads you to want to play it. And I played it today. I got through a piece in my “How to Practice” class, and during my “Viola da Gamba Dojo” class I actually (one time anyhow) got all the way through the alto part of Innsbruck on a tenor gamba with 7 other people, and no one cared if my tone sucked or if I was a beginner. Gassho!