As I’ve mentioned before, I joined an orchestra last year.

Before I really get into that, I want a share a small piece of my background.

I started playing in 6th grade. Now, in my city, sixth graders went to their own school because we were considered to be a bit too old for elementary school but we weren’t quite ready for Jr. High. So, off we went to sixth-grade school. (It might have been called a Sixth Grade Center. Who knows? A few years have passed between then and now. Also, beyond this being a fun/random Austin factoid, it has nothing to do with my story. You’re welcome, world.) However, it was during my stint at this little sixth-grade island school that we had the opportunity to choose some electives. Now, if you were into music, those choices were: choir, band, or orchestra.

No one had to ask me twice, I knew what I wanted to do.

Choir.

My grandfather sang opera. He’d once been evaluated by an instructor who taught the acclaimed Italian tenor Enrico Caruso. (I have the news article since it was a huge deal for his small community – local farm boy sings!) My grandmother sang. My Dad and all of my aunts sang. Plus, I’d been in choir in elementary school. A LEGACY! I had this. I was an alto waiting to harmonize and the audition was a done deal before it even happened… until it actually happened. That’s when I learned about stage fright.

The choir teacher played a simple single octave scale that she invited me to sing back. A scale. Eight notes. That’s all I had to do – do-re-me up and doe-ti-la down – and my vocal cords froze. I let out one sound – a very quiet “meep”; the only sound I could force out. She played the scale again and I meeped. She played the scale one final time, and I meeped a final time, and then I was dismissed. Tears fell down my cheeks. I felt ashamed and embarrassed. I didn’t understand what had just happened. All I knew is that I couldn’t sing.

I’d let down my family. (Pre-teen girl brains are fun!)

As a last-ditch attempt at redemption, I decided to play an instrument?? My other grandfather could play well over 10 or 12 proficiently. My Mom and my other grandmother could both play piano. And the grandmother who sang, well she used to be in a group where she played guitar and double bass.

Legacy??

Thankfully for the orchestra, there were no auditions. You simply had to pick your instrument. And I knew what I was going to choose. I would follow my grandmother’s lead.

Double Bass. A no-brainer.

I came home excited and proudly proclaimed my intentions. “Just like Grandma!” That’s when my Mom informed me that we weren’t the kind of people who had bass money. We were the sorts who had that flashy tin whistle/kazoo kind of money. I could choose something else. Anything smaller than a bass.

0 for 2

That left me with cello (nope), violin (big nope), or viola (I suppose?). I liked the richer sound of the viola; it was much fuller than a violin (it’s a fifth lower and larger, which gives it a slightly deeper/more mellow tone) and bonus, I didn’t have to play it between my legs.

That’s how I chose viola and that’s also how I became the only kid in 6th grade to play it.

I was considered talented.

There are a lot of stories between then and now, including a whole short piece I could write about “talent vs. drive/dedication.” However, I’m not going to bore you with other than to say I played through my sophomore year in college, dabbled a bit here and there, and then stopped playing until I joined this current orchestra. At one point, I’d been on track to go to a music magnet before we moved to a place where that wasn’t offered, and I used to spend Saturdays in music history, composition, and performance classes.

Now that part of the story does serve a purpose (unlike the mention of Sixth Grade Centers), and that is to highlight that I wasn’t just an average kid doing the “orchestra thing” to please my parents. I once lived and breathed this instrument. That brings us to present day.

Present Day (Called out in case you missed the end of the previous sentence.)

I wasn’t naive. I knew going in that not having played in decades would present challenges. The physical part would definitely be hard: from my delicate little un-calloused fingertips – to my posture – to holding my instrument properly for long periods of time. I was right. Things hurt. Things hurt a lot. Heck, I did things my former instructors and conductors would find just downright cringe-worthy. I even asked my principal violist if it was ok if I came back, bracing myself for a “please don’t, Beth” which he never said. (He’s a great guy, a good section leader, and a very good violist.)

What I didn’t anticipate is how much I’d forgotten: from music theory to playing in an orchestra to following a conductor, to… y’know… music symbols. Are you kidding me? Music symbols? Codas, volta brackets, da capo, dal segno, simile marks… the things I thought were so ingrained that surely they were would into my DNA. I’d forgotten key things about bowings (which can be dependent on the time period the music was written in – ex. staccato isn’t always the same staccato), and don’t get me started get me started on positions. When the principal violist turned around and said, “Beth, play that in 1/2 position,” my immediate thought was, “I’m landing what safely on the Moon?” because, with a simple sentence, he’d completely short-circuited my brain.

But with practice, I’ve improved a ton …

… and I still have a ways to go.

So, with that said – let me fast forward to our concert from this past May where we played with a phenomenal community choir. (I don’t expect you to listen to the whole thing, but I hope you’ll enjoy a minute or two of it before browsing to your next internet stop.)