LJ Idol Week 11 - Recency Bias
Jun. 9th, 2014 01:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jexiaI hate practicing this piece. It has such a stereotypical tuba part; 68 bars of careful counting, and then a fortissimo blat of low B flat. The second half is better; it swings into a marching om-pah-om-pah, with lots of interesting bom-bom-bom-bom runs between phrases. That's what a tuba player likes to see.
We're not divas. If we were divas, we'd be twittering away on endless curlicues of hemi-demi-semiquavers, or smouldering on sax solos. Nope; being the bass base is what suits me.
The counting gets a tad tedious sometimes, though.
It's not so bad once you know the piece. Then you can just listen out for cues, so long as you trust your band members. Triple timpani thump? Bar 14. Trumpets coming in with the melody, that's bar 32. The bassoon quacks, and we're halfway there.
There's not much point counting the start of this piece, anyway. We've never made it past bar 60 without stopping for the clarinets to sort out their triplet quaver runs. The conductor will raise an eyebrow and repeat the accented rhythm, DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH. She'll ask them to clap the rhythm, then sing it, then play it before she goes back to bar 60 yet again. I'll count from there; we might make it to bar 83 and my blat.
Here we go again. The beginning ticks past; a trumpet fanfare, a piccolo scale, soaring chords from the French horns. I empty condensation out of my slides and clear out the spit valve. There's the timpani, and the trumpet solo, and the bassoon. Bar 60, here we come.
DAH-dah DAH-dah DAH-dah DAH-dah-DAH... doh.
We stop. The clarinets practice, yet again. Our conductor repeats: DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH. OK. Good? OK.
She starts in bar 60. DAH-dah DAH-DAH-dah DAH-dah DAH-DAH-dah-DAH. Arrrgh. My tuba is going cold, and I'm rapidly losing focus. I mindlessly wiggle my fingers up and down, checking that all the valves are moving freely.
She's working again with the clarinets, clapping and singing rhythms. I share a silent look with the euphonium player on my right. She suppresses an amused twitch of her mouth and looks away.
DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH... surely they have it by now? Our conductor is obviously feeling confident; she's taking it from the top. Timpani, trumpets, bassoon... and coming up to the clarinets.
DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH.
They nail it. I'm so surprised that I completely forget to count, and lose my place in the music. I frantically listen, trying to work out where to come in... is it there? There? Arrrgh, too late.
The conductor stops the band with a wave of her hands. "Tuba missed it," she says. "Go back to bar 60."
The trombone player on my left glares at me. "Sixty-nine bloody bars rest," she mutters. "And we nearly made it that time."
We're not divas. If we were divas, we'd be twittering away on endless curlicues of hemi-demi-semiquavers, or smouldering on sax solos. Nope; being the bass base is what suits me.
The counting gets a tad tedious sometimes, though.
It's not so bad once you know the piece. Then you can just listen out for cues, so long as you trust your band members. Triple timpani thump? Bar 14. Trumpets coming in with the melody, that's bar 32. The bassoon quacks, and we're halfway there.
There's not much point counting the start of this piece, anyway. We've never made it past bar 60 without stopping for the clarinets to sort out their triplet quaver runs. The conductor will raise an eyebrow and repeat the accented rhythm, DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH. She'll ask them to clap the rhythm, then sing it, then play it before she goes back to bar 60 yet again. I'll count from there; we might make it to bar 83 and my blat.
Here we go again. The beginning ticks past; a trumpet fanfare, a piccolo scale, soaring chords from the French horns. I empty condensation out of my slides and clear out the spit valve. There's the timpani, and the trumpet solo, and the bassoon. Bar 60, here we come.
DAH-dah DAH-dah DAH-dah DAH-dah-DAH... doh.
We stop. The clarinets practice, yet again. Our conductor repeats: DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH. OK. Good? OK.
She starts in bar 60. DAH-dah DAH-DAH-dah DAH-dah DAH-DAH-dah-DAH. Arrrgh. My tuba is going cold, and I'm rapidly losing focus. I mindlessly wiggle my fingers up and down, checking that all the valves are moving freely.
She's working again with the clarinets, clapping and singing rhythms. I share a silent look with the euphonium player on my right. She suppresses an amused twitch of her mouth and looks away.
DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH... surely they have it by now? Our conductor is obviously feeling confident; she's taking it from the top. Timpani, trumpets, bassoon... and coming up to the clarinets.
DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH-dah-dah DAH.
They nail it. I'm so surprised that I completely forget to count, and lose my place in the music. I frantically listen, trying to work out where to come in... is it there? There? Arrrgh, too late.
The conductor stops the band with a wave of her hands. "Tuba missed it," she says. "Go back to bar 60."
The trombone player on my left glares at me. "Sixty-nine bloody bars rest," she mutters. "And we nearly made it that time."