In July, 2010, my dear friend JMR was in town, preparing for the Viola da Gamba Society of America (aka VdGSA) annual Conclave. It was to be held in Forest Grove, at Pacific University, and local beginners were allowed to come for free, with viols supplied by friendly Seattle gambists. I was in a deep funk at that time: exhausted and weepy, visiting doctors both naturopathic and allopathic, with no solution in sight. I desperately needed a break. So, JMR found me a room at the dorm, a gent loaned me his lovely tenor viol, and I spent a glorious week immersed in all things gamba.
You'd think 40+ years playing the violin would make this an easy endeavor, but it was surprisingly difficult. Everything was different, so the only things I had going for me were knowing how to read music and understanding the concept of a bowed instrument. Otherwise, my violin know-how was more of a hindrance than a help. The gamba is more like a guitar than a violin. It has 6 strings instead of 4. It's fretted, with each finger a half-note apart, instead of each finger moving around to cover accidentals. String intervals are 4ths, with one 3rd in the middle, instead of 5ths. The 4th finger in 1st position does not double the string above. The bow is held like chopsticks, and the heavy, emphasis bow is the push bow, exactly opposite of what the violin family does. Because of the extra strings, my muscle memory did me no good in moving from string to string: I had no sense of where the bow was or where my fingers went. I bowed on the wrong string, or bowed two strings simultaneously. I could not translate the notes from the page to the viol. By the end of each day, I was putting down the bow and plucking, so I could at least have a fighting chance to play the right notes.
However, the music was wonderful, and my fellow conclavists were beyond kind. They seemed delighted to welcome me into their midst, and they didn't seem thrown by my fumbling.
Above all, it was a delight to focus on one thing, to the exclusion of the mundane responsibilities of normal life. I'd forgotten what a joy college was: the food and housing are all dealt with by someone else, and all I have to do is concentrate on getting myself clothed and over to class to learn something. In this case, there were 4 sessions in the course of the day, each 90 minutes long. The beginning class came first, and then I sat in on the more advanced classes. One was especially interesting: it was for people who wanted to sing and play at the same time. What a concept! Of course, since the gamba is held between the knees instead of under the chin, singing should be possible. But I wasn't able to concentrate on sight-reading viol and voice together, so I ended up taking a viol break and just singing. Several other people did the same.
Each evening had a concert or an event, and impromptu sight-reading parties were hosted in various dorm rooms and suites. I joined one of the latter, but spent most of it sketching the players, as my brain couldn't manage a 24/7 experience with the viol.
Unfortunately, the week was soon over, and I was back at the 40-hour work week. And then I was laid off. So all my plans to rent a viol from VdGSA went south. When my aunt decided several months later to start viol lessons, it was one of those strange exercises in serendipity. I envied, but could not emulate her.
Still, I remained on numerous mailing lists, and last month I received notice that the Pacific Northwest Viols were meeting in Portland (instead of the usual Seattle venue) for a Play Day. Tim Scott, local gambist (and, coincidently, one of my teachers at the Conclave), was the lead teacher for the day. I checked with the President, and he assured me that my lack of experience would not be a problem. He also arranged for Tim to loan me a tenor viol. I decided to give it another shot, and I invited my aunt to join me. Tim let me pick up his tenor ahead of time, so I could try to bring back some of the hard-won skills from a year and a half ago.
Unfortunately, I was busy the rest of the week and had no time to practise. I arrived at Trinity at 9:30 am on Saturday, worn out from a persistent cold and too many activities, and worried about the home tasks that I was leaving for D to take care of.
There was an artisan craft fair in Kemper Hall, which was where I expected to find the group. But a woman was on the lookout for people carrying viols, and she directed me to a room at the top of the stairs. There I discovered my aunt, sitting on a bench outside the room, waiting for me. She had taken the Max in from Hillsboro, and had decided to not bring her rented viol on the train. Partly, she was worried that the viol might be damaged, and partly she thought the music would be way over her head.
We walked into the room. Chairs were set in loose semi-circles, 3 rows deep, facing the east wall. Tim was already set up in the center focal point, and other people were putting stands together, opening cases, talking to friends, milling around to find the perfect place. Basses were at the right, facing Tim, so I settled in the back towards the middle right. L sat next to me and we talked while I looked through my old folder and tried to find a cheat sheet for interpreting the clef. I checked the tuning (415!), and L said, "you're holding the bow like a violinist." aaargh!
A vaguely familiar form settled next to me: a tall man with squarish glasses, dark hair, well-marked eyebrows, slightly olive skin. I introduced myself, and he turned out to be my contact, Lee Inman, and the president of PNV. I thanked him again for his assistance and asked about logistics. It was all very informal: the signup sheets were on a long table by the door, and there was also a large manilla envelope for our $20 fee. I signed up for the afternoon beginner class and coached session and took a copy of the newsletter and resource list. Then I settled in for some Palestrina.
Tim took some time to set the context of the music and his reasons for choosing it. I jotted down a few notes, which are now cryptic: "Falop, Palestrina 1526-94, you'll never run out of music to play." The group of 20 or so musicians starts in on a madrigal. B asks if it wasn't the rule to only have one person on a part, and Tim explains that new research indicates otherwise. It's clear that many of the players are both knowledgeable and obsessive about the details of the music, but I'm just struggling for the notes. It's nice to have Lee next to me, playing my part and gracious about my many mistakes, "you're doing quite well, really."
We go through the madrigal (cosi la fama seriva) several times. The others are working on style and musicality. I am learning the notes. Then we play the Alma Redemptis Mater, and finally several movements of the Missa Papae Marcelli. I am having increasing difficulties managing my bow and keeping the viol propped in place, and I find myself curling awkwardly to support it and watch my bow. This is clearly wrong, but I can't remember what to do about it. The music is wonderful though, and I am frustrated by the knowledge that it's really pretty easy. If I had my violin, I would be breezing through it.
By this time it's past 11:30, and time for lunch. L and I walk up to Pizza Oasis, an old favorite of both of ours. The day is cold and overcast, but NW is enchanting with its old buildings and autumn-colored trees. We are enjoying our time together, away from our husbands, focused on beauty and art.
We stop by the craft fair for 10 minutes and then go upstairs again. The beginner class is in the children's chapel. We sit by the altar, with the short little benches facing us. There are 4 of us, one to a part, and Lee is our teacher. We spend some time on basic techniques. I ask for tips on holding the viol and managing string crossings. The first: sit so you can stand up without leaning forward. Feet are hip width apart, facing forward. Now turn your heels in together until they touch, and rest the viol on your calves. Adjust as necessary so the bow can clear your knees, but try to keep the viol fairly straight in front of you. It's actually a very natural position, unlike the contorted violin posture, but it feels awkward to me. And I can't watch the strings at all!
The bass player to my left asks about hand position for the fingering hand: Hold your arm out, easily, and then pull it straight back. Your fingers are flat against the finger board, not curved like the violin. And the bow arm? There are differences in opinion about the hand position, but I like his advice to pretend that I am writing something on the floor with the tip of the bow: it helps me get the bow nicely balanced.
Now for my second question. Oy, I have to practise! The problem is that I need to use my ears to figure out where to place the bow. The official distance is 3 fingers above the bridge, but you can't look to see where the bow is, and you can't measure, so you have to hear when the sound is right and get used to the feel of it. Then, for crossing the strings, I need to get my muscle memory engaged. So it's play the bottom string, then the top, then the bottom, then the top. Over and over and over. Then play the bottom string, then the next string. Repeat. Again. And again. Then the bottom string and the 3rd string. Etc.
This could get boring.
We have further discussion about bowing technique. Lee says to ignore the rule about playing parallel to the bridge. He demonstrates the graceful throwing motion, developed by early Homo Sapiens to kill from a distance and now just right for playing the viol. He advises us to watch a great player and see how the bow tip dances. Finally we start playing the Redemptor again. And then we are through with the 1st afternoon session.
L has been sitting next to me, asking questions and listening intently. She talks with one of the students, and gets some information about his teacher. She has enjoyed the day, but she is going to skip the last session, do a little shopping and try to get back home before her husband so she can be domestic in peace. We hug and promise to be in touch after Thanksgiving to discuss Christmas. I wish her a happy birthday, and she's gone.
By this time, my brain is starting to overload, and my muscles are fatiguing. But, I don't want to miss out on the coached session. I share the tenor part with another gracious musician, and Tim leads us through several sight reading sessions, ending with Scottish music which is quite delightful. There are only 8 of us, so I get a bit more of his attention than I can absorb, and my bow is flailing around the strings. It's time to pluck: just like the Conclave.
I return the viol with thanks, and gather up my possessions, thinking I really need to do this more than once a year.
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