paying attention.

Had two lessons this weekend, one last night, one this morning.  David came to town with his son Adrian (say it with a French accent, of course), who is 9, and who makes very excellent drawings of cars while waiting for Dad to finish up with all the teaching.  I cooked dinner for them last night, and in exchange got a drawing of my own.  Note the vaguely Czech-sounding car name, and the price tag.  Well, a girl can dream.

So, no surprise, I have a few entirely thoughtless habits acquired over the years of playing bass (19 already) and they're hard to shake.  A small example is this thing I do with my bow, a kind of detache accent that makes the overall thing I'm playing inappropriately punchy, and accents notes that are unimportant.  With a good deal of attention and control I'll be able to phase this out in the next couple months or so, I hope.  That bow thing is only a symptom of a bigger problem, though; it is my general attitude towards playing, and has its roots in a generous mix of overconfidence, thoughtlessness, and possibly even laziness (shocking, I know).  I am extremely unaccustomed to paying attention to each note with the depth and breadth required for it to be played truly well and thoughtfully.  Left hand, right hand, finger contact, intonation, bow contact (those two words cannot express how complicated this subject is), length, volume, place in phrase, all of this simultaneously, and constantly.  SO MUCH THINKING!  How is it even possible?  I don't know, but I need to do it.  Maybe once I get used to applying this level of focus to the the things I play I'll be able to relax about it a little, but for now?  Sheeeeeit.

It can be a little overwhelming, but it's not the volume of information that needs to be remembered that is crucial, I think.  Instead it's an overall technique, a more general thoughtfulness.

Of course I think about this stuff now, but in a, let's say, casual way.  Oooh, that note was in tune, hooray!  Hmmm, I'd like it to get louder here.  Gosh, I should practice this scale until it sounds better.  I'm joking, a little.  It makes me think of when my parents came to Interlochen for the family week in the fall, and I took them to meet the weathered, serious, gravel-voiced Professor Bozanic, who taught my Bible as Literature class.  What was it he said about me?  I think it was that I joked around too much.  I can remember my dad vaguely cheering as we walked out of building (his daughter! she has a sense of humor!) but in a way, Mr. Bozanic was on to something.  I still don't care about the Bible as literature, of course.  But it doesn't hurt to apply myself every once in a while.