Learning to play bass
Place: Junior High Orchestra Room. Big room, shelves,People: Mr. Watson, Rachel, Isaac Bradford, Mom. (What do they look like, what do they say?)
Smell: Rosin, wood, faint hint of brass, smell of the car, expo marker
How will I present myself? Initially a little annoying, a little unsure. Show growth. Become more determined, more confident, more outgoing. Feel different, learned that I want to stand out, and be a good example. Tall, Bass player, example. Learned about how much I love music.
Plot: Be more character driven, but still needs a plot. Focus on subtle details and actions, show how I responded
Crisis: What is the crisis or conflict? How did I see things differently afterward?
Scenes: going to class, playing violin. Feeling frustrated, lost, left out. Watching Anna play Czardas, feeling super jealous.
Kelsey Schwartz
Personal Narrative Draft
The air resonated with music as the entire orchestra watched for the cue to cut off. A pleasant, slightly woody smell of rosin and sweat on instruments was barely detectable. Rows of black chairs specifically designed to help with musician’s posture were arranged in a semi-circle, all surrounding the most influential person in the room: our wiry, middle-aged powerhouse of a conductor, Mr. Watson. When he swiftly and enthusiastically drew his hand in a loop, the junior high band room was filled with a magical quiet for one fraction of a second. The spell was quickly banished, however. A group of second violins in the back, including me, cut off late and shattered the silence. Instead of a beautiful chord, we hit an assortment of dissonant and poorly timed “open As.” A wave of giggles and groans swept through the small ensemble, consisting mostly of eighth and ninth graders.
“Okay people, we’re gonna run that again. Remember to cut off on four! Not three, not five!” Mr. Watson paused, speaking deliberately and looking mildly bewildered. “Four. Got it? Let’s go!”
We ran the piece again from the top, and practiced the ending again and again. Eventually it got to the point where Watson had each person play the note individually to make sure they were in tune. I hadn’t realized, but my finger was just a millimeter too high on the string, so I got called out. My cheeks were hot and probably flushed pink with embarrassment, but I finally got it right. I could hear some of the first violins groan, “Finally!” I slouched a little lower in my chair, trying to become just a drop of water in the sea of violinists. Small scrolls and bows filled nearly half the room; I could just hide among my peers.
After a couple more run throughs, our teacher launched into one of his classic “Watson stories.” Anyone who knew Watson knew that he loved to talk, evidenced every year at Parent Teacher Conferences when his line stretched halfway around the cafeteria. I absentmindedly fiddled with my violin while Watson’s voice echoed down the open door and into the hallway. “Music is more than just learning an instrument. It will help you with your school work. It will make you more confident. It’s a skill that everyone…” He rambled on, but I wasn’t really paying attention. From across the room, I could see the two bass players leaning against their giant instruments as they gently dozed off. I pressed my fingers into the cool, coiled strings and then watched the little white indent that formed in my finger slowly turn pink again.
Suddenly, Watson clapped his hands together, abruptly ending his words of wisdom. “So, we’re pretty much done for the day. I only have one more announcement before you pack up.” He looked right at me, and I instantly sat up a little straighter. “Class, we need more bass players for next year. If any of you violinists would be willing to switch, I bet you could have a really fun time learning a new instrument.” He continued, “You would have to be fairly decent at your current instrument, and probably don’t switch if you’re super short. Oh yeah, and we only have boys right now. A female bassist would be pretty epic.” For a moment it felt like Watson’s bright blue eyes were boring into my forehead. A tall, girl, violinist. It was like he was specifically choosing me, for a special mission. Something that could be different, something I could excel at! I slowly raised my hand.
“I’ll try it.”
“Great! Fantastic! Come in after school today and we’ll talk!”
And with that, the bell brightly chimed and the class disbanded, quickly scrambling to put instruments in cases, and music folders in backpacks. I wiped rosin dust off my instrument as my best friend Rachel came up beside me, viola in hand. “Isn’t Watson the greatest?” she asked, her dark brown bob bouncing. “He’s like the cool uncle that everyone wishes they have.” I laughed at the description, but it was actually pretty spot on.
We hummed our favorite part from the Tchaikovsky piece we had been working on, the melody drilled into our brains after so many repetitions. Her low alto voice was perfect for singing the viola line, and my high range could almost hit the violin notes. “How are we gonna harmonize if you switch to bass?” she inquired, brushing her bangs out of her face. “There’s no way you can sing those low notes. Plus bass parts are so boring! They practically play the same note the whole time!” I played with my hands and looked down. She had a point. I had never really thought about the bass part before. It was so low, it kind of just slid unnoticeably under the rest of the orchestra. I stole a glance at the bass players putting their gargantuan instruments away. A tall boy with calloused fingers and a plaid shirt wrapped his arms all the way around the scratched school instrument and easily carried it across the room. My arms were like undercooked spaghetti noodles; was it even possible for me to lift the thing? In my chest, I could feel my heart pounding. I wasn’t the type of person to try new things. I knew how to play violin, it was safe, and I could blend in. But something about those deep frequencies and rich wood was calling me. Maybe I could be a new me, maybe I could be a bassist.
After school, I nervously tugged on my backpack straps as I walked into the orchestra room to talk to Mr. Watson. The only sound came from the dull murmur of conversation in the hallway, and a ninth-grader’s trumpet blurting as he emptied out the spit valve. Watson clapped me on the shoulder and steered me towards the basses. I hadn’t ever really been on that side of the room before, and it seemed more open. Window light poured in, and an air conditioning vent circulated cool air.
Watson pulled out a bass and handed it to me. “Why don’t you just try one out, see if you like it. If you want to play bass next year, I’ll let you take one home for the summer so you can become familiar with it.” I stared at Watson, incredulous. “You would let me take one home?” “Yeah, absolutely! Anything you need to learn.” I rested my hand on the gently sloping shoulders of a deep mahogany bass. The neck cradled perfectly in my hand. The giant scroll twisted exactly like a violin, but about five times the size. It was like a giant conch shell, promising sounds of the ocean and a mysterious past. Not quite completely sure how to produce sound, I simply plucked the lowest string. The sound was electric. Shockingly low, buttery, rich, and so incredibly deep. The vibration sent a small earthquake through my hand and into my soul. I plucked another string and heard a thunderstorm. I laughed out loud and looked at Watson, who’s bright blue eyes were smiling. “Yeah, I think I’d really like to be a bass player!”
***
My fingers were flying faster than ever before, barely acknowledging the string for only a fleeting second before moving on to the next note. The entire orchestra swelled on a crescendo, then crashed to a hushed pianissimo. To my left and right were gray haired professionals, confidently cruising through the complicated pathway of notes. The basses lined the outside circle of the orchestra, almost hidden in the back. But that didn’t mean we weren’t important. The lower registers supported, lifted, and carried the higher notes. Almost as one, every single musician hit the final note of Dvorak’s masterpiece. I pulled my bow across the strings with everything I had, my right arm aching but my heart full of joy. The cut-off was perfect, and the silence that followed was complete.
I looked out to the audience, and only saw the chandeliers barely twinkling from the reflections of the spotlights. The sparkly auditorium was filled with an almost tangible, reverent hush. Suddenly, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause and rose like an ocean wave. I thought back to when I had first tentatively plucked a single note in Mr. Watson’s classroom. That one note and the roar of the crowd were like water to a plant. Giving me confidence, giving me life. I had grown so much since I started my journey of learning bass. My face hurt from smiling as I turned towards the audience and bowed.
Rachel: Big blue eyes, long eyelashes, freckles, short brown bob, in love with Benji, viola player, my best friend. Pushy, a little bossy, very talented musician
Mr. Watson: Bright blue eyes, receding hairline, blond, tan, athletic, passionate, hilarious. Tells bad jokes and gives life advice, “cool uncle,” been teaching for years. People took the class just because of him. Trombone player, very kind man, father, teacher, loved music, strict but good
Mom: Brown hair, blue eyes. Looks like me. Loving sceptic, approaches life with caution. Carpool driver, music major, supports education, busy mom of five kids
Isaac: Cute boy playing bass. Didn’t notice him until I crossed the room. Really good, tall, brown hair, big eyes, glasses, strong
Make the room divided: Violin side, bass side, to show conflict
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