A Walker in the Suburbs

The players were beginners, but they were not. Beginners at music, but not at life. And so the music they made, while tentative, was full of life and experience. It was brave and it was beautiful.

There was the violinist who tackled a duet with Latin flair. A clarinetist who brought Mozart to life. The cellist who played “The Swan.” Two pianists, one who played simple notes, the other more complex ones. “I just don’t want to have to start over,” the latter admitted before she began. She didn’t have to.

Tonight is the first fall rehearsal of the Reston Community Orchestra — the sessions I attended this summer were open to all — so this will be a beginner night for me. I’ve tuned and practiced and hope that I’m ready.

But as the players this weekend showed me, sometimes you’re as ready as you’ll ever be. The only thing left … is to play.

At last night’s rehearsal we played Brahms’ “Academic Festival Overture.” It’s an expansive piece of music, a war horse, often played, and one of my faves. It ends with the tune known as “Gaudeamus Igitur.”

I looked it up this morning and learned that in addition to an academic processional, Gaudeamus is also a rowdy drinking song with a “carpe diem” flavor. It’s also known as “De Brevitate Vitae,” or “On the Shortness of Life.”


Here’s an English translation of the Latin:

While we’re young, let us rejoice,
Singing out in gleeful tones;
After youth’s delightful frolic,
And old age (so melancholic!),
Earth will cover our bones.

I like to think that while I was sawing away at those eighth notes and dotted quarters, the hair rising on the back of my neck as it does when I play, a chorus of ghosts was hovering around us, chanting these words.

It was 15 minutes to starting time when I hauled my string bass through the doors of the Sunrise Valley Montessori School, the first of four summer reading sessions of the Reston Community Orchestra. The first piece of music on my stand was Brahms’ “Tragic Overture.” I hoped it wasn’t a sign.

I’d signed up for this local orchestra’s “summer camp” when I was still high on my youth orchestra’s reunion performance in May. It was another chance to be part of a big symphonic sound … even though I barely knew where the notes were, even though my biceps ached from hauling a bass around in Lexington, I thought it was time to try this again.

But standing there Monday night I wasn’t so sure. The Tragic Overture wasn’t the only omen. The room was filling up with musicians — violinists, flautists, brass players and half a dozen cellists (including one who doubled as a French horn player). But no one was walking over to my little corner of the orchestral universe.  And no one did. I was the lone bass player Monday night.

And … it wasn’t as tragic as I thought it would be. The notes came back into my fingers again, the lower C, the high D. The string bass part often doubled the cellos, so I mimicked my fellow lower strings as much as I could.

We played the first movement of Schubert’s Symphony Number 9 in C Major, the Brahms’ overture and a lovely waltz-like piece by a local composer who was there to hear us rehearse. The thrill was back. The tragedy … nowhere to be found.

Spending one’s birthday evening at the symphony may not seem the hippest thing to do, but for feeling young, it can’t be beat. At the symphony the hair color is decidedly white and the movement style decidedly shuffle. Average age — average! — can’t be less than 75.

While this makes me fear for the state of classical music, it does just the opposite for the state of my health and energy level.

Ride the elevator? Of course not. Let’s take the stairs. Hum out loud during the Schumann? Maybe in the car but never in public.

But what the audience lacked in vigor, the orchestra more than made up for. During one challenging set of runs, the violin section stood up and finished the passage with a flourish. And for the encore — one of Brahms’ “Hungarian Dances” — the entire orchestra leapt to their feet. Except for the cellists, of course.

So thank you, Baltimore Symphony. Last night you made me feel forever young.