Back Again at the Back of the Orchestra

The Setting. North Hall, Peabody Conservatory of Music, Baltimore, MD. 2:30 P.M. Rehearsal for Stravinsky’s Firebird. The complete ballet. No short and “suite” for us. And it’s one of the first rehearsals (translation: string and woodwind sectional, slow progress). Tacet City for the low brass. Let’s take a closer look at this rag-tag little section, shall we?

Holly. Her trombone sits on its stand while she examines her fingernails. A bomb could go off and she wouldn’t notice.

Gary. His trombone is on the floor, the mute in the bell. He’s looking at the ceiling. It’s very interesting. No matter what you said to him right now – statement, question, hostile command – his response would be the same: “Hmmm?”

Karl. His mouthpiece is out of his horn, and he’s putting it into his mouth, taking it out, looking at it, and putting it back in his mouth again. His gaze wanders around the room absently.

Eric. His tuba is on the floor, upside-down. The low brass are the jocks of the orchestra, and Eric is perhaps the most die-hard low-brass player in the group. He’s reading, of all things. He’s not even moving his lips. How boring. Let’s move on.

Eli. Last in the row. As 2^nd tuba, he has less to do than anybody, which is saying something. He’s slouching in his chair, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Is he thinking hard or not at all? It’s hard to tell…

Gary: (flipping his music) We don’t play till 102.

Holly: Really? (flips her music) We’ve got an eighth note at 98.

Gary: Hey, waddaya know, we do. Where are we now?

Holly: Probably around 6.

Conductor: (to orchestra) Can we have the flutes at 4?

Holly: We’re at 4.

Gary: Oh, joy.

Eric: You know, we should all get whistles, and play whenever the flutes play. No one would know.

Karl: They’ve got those whistling lollipop things in the cafeteria.

Gary: Those things are cool.

Eric: Hey, you all wanna switch parts?

(General assent)

Holly: Eli, can you read tenor clef?

Eli: No.

Holly: Do you care?

Eli: (shrugs)

Holly: Here. We won’t get to where we have to play.

(They all switch parts. The paper shuffling is the most noise they’ve gotten to make so far. They sit happily for a minute or so, pleased at the thought of how funny it will sound to all play the wrong parts.)

Conductor: OK, let’s take it at 17, a little under tempo.

(A few eyes roll, someone sighs, and there’s a general shifting in their seats as everyone gets comfortable again, eventually falling back into their original positions.)