The Bass Desires - Pt. 2

Dear jo, 

Beethoven Op. 131. Four people bowing sixteen strings, strings singing voices whose sound the maestro never heard, deafness being a well-known culprit, but also it was never performed while he lived, only some nine years after he was in the ground. And what does it mean to get inside of such a work, to let being mesmerized happen, to let it bow the strings of my soul? Listening deeply, my arms reflexively take up motion, at the shoulder joints, or-and the fingers and wrists, they dance themselves and are happy for it. I feel sixteen or so again, goading the full imaginary symphony, solitary and in the otherwise stillness of my father’s one-bedroom apartment. There was life orchestrated through me in that teenage discovery of conductorial command and surrender. And I think the visceral impulse to reclaim, or recover that vitality for the present work of healing the diseased parts of me—this is how I’ve revived my erstwhile dormant relationship with Beethoven. 

In high school, most of the time I was the only double bass player in the orchestra. I was used to being the only one, and comfortable with it, and especially because it left me unencumbered to flirt with the two cute cellists seated in front of me. I could softly pluck “Stand By Me” or “The Joker” and reliably get a side glance and a smile from the girls. Playing bass afforded me an early sense of mastery. This was an instrument whose musical power I could use to control what was happening around me—stir curiosity, invite praise, prompt laughter. This was a refuge, and a coach, and a friend. 

I wish I could remember which piece it was where we were first acquainted. The reasonable guess would be Moonlight, or perhaps just as likely it was Schicksalssinfonie. My teenage interest was most captivated by the epic and sublime Symphony No. 9, and the fascinating tangle of the Grosse Fugue. Of course, that was the pre-streaming age when I only had a small handful of recordings. Meeting him again through the almost infinitude of streaming, somehow being able to connect with his every work, how does it make him feel almost untouchable, a god who yet withholds through overabundance?