Faulkner: A view from the bottom

“I’ll bet you wish you played the piccolo!” Anyone who has played or, more specifically, carried a string bass in public eventually hears this from some exceedingly clever person who thinks himself the first person to utter these words. My instrument is one of the most misunderstood in music. Because of its size, many assume that to play it one must be a giant and that its sound will at best be that of a buffalo in heat or a couch being pushed across the floor. These assumptions are not true. While some bassists are indeed large, and the instrument is capable of slaughterhouse sounds, it is also able to sing with rich, chocolaty beauty, even if played by someone of diminutive stature. Today’s installment is dedicated to dispelling some of the myths and misconceptions about the bass.

First, the name. It has several. Whether referred to as the bass, string bass, double bass, contrabass/kontrabass, standup bass, upright bass, bass fiddle or doghouse bass, all refer to the same instrument. The largest member of the string family, it is endowed by the laws of acoustical physics with the ability to play lower, deeper tones than any other string instrument. Because of this, it provides the base (which rhymes with bass) of harmony for ensembles of all kinds. The instrument is equally at home in an orchestra, a jazz combo or a rockabilly band.

For people who relate to sports metaphors, we are the offensive linemen of the music world. Just like linemen who protect the quarterback and block for running backs, our job is usually to help other people do their jobs better. If ensembles were museums, we would be the floor. Without us, you would be unable to stand and adore the framed violin solo on the wall.

As the foundation, bassists play relatively few solos. I am the principal, or first-chair, bassist of the Reno Chamber Orchestra and Reno Phil. As such, when a solo is called for in our section, I’m the one who gets to play it. In the standard orchestral repertoire, there are about four or five well-known double bass solos. That’s fewer than a principal oboist has in a typical concert, but nevermind. I’m not bitter. Because our solos are so rare, bassists don’t often practice fighting the jitters of standing alone in the spotlight. Our solos also tend to occur in a range an octave or two higher than we usually play. What could possibly go wrong? Just last month, the Reno Phil performed Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 1. The third movement of that piece opens with one of the most famous bass solos in the literature. The two bars of quiet timpani accompaniment, which precede the naked bass solo, give other orchestra members just enough time to snap their necks around to see how it will go this time. It is something akin to rubbernecking gawkers driving past a car accident. Bassists find this support from our colleagues terribly helpful and comforting.

The basses are usually positioned at the back of the orchestra. First-chair bass is last chair cello. In an orchestra pit, we are often put in or near the doorway. Since we arrive early to set up, every tardy orchestra member interrupts our warm-up to climb over us. No matter where we are on a stage, we are in someone’s path. If a bassist set up in the middle of a meadow, four people would interrupt her playing to pass by too closely, but nevermind. We’re not bitter.

Honestly, we don’t mind our lot in life. Bassists take pride in the fundamental role we play. We just ask that the next time you go to a concert, please appreciate the low, beautiful, rock solid foundation the basses provides. And, no, we don’t wish we played the piccolo.

Scott Faulkner is principal bassist of the Reno Philharmonic and Reno Chamber Orchestra.