I’ve been practicing my euphonium mostly in my office at work. Practicing music in the law building is complicated. I do not want to disturb students or colleagues, so I use a mute, check that no one is in the nearby offices, and play at lower volumes.
However, I have found that after 7:00 p.m. the building is mostly empty, especially on the weekends. I still keep my door closed, but take out the mute. Muted practice is better than no practice, but it changes everything. The tone is not an honest reflection of my ability. Even though my colleague down the hall can faintly hear me, he said it was kind of nice, like a far away trumpet.
I was willing to overlook the trumpet comment, especially in light of his otherwise positive words.
I was practicing in my office on the last Friday night of winter vacation when I went out in the hall to get some water. The building felt especially dark, empty and quiet, so I decided to try something a little outside of my comfort zone. I took my euphonium out into the hallway and played a few notes. It was fun to hear the echoes, but felt like breaking a rule. I blew a few more notes, then waited quietly for a door to open, or footsteps to approach.
Nothing but silence.
I headed for the central stairwell.
My office building has two wings with a large central stairwell that is open to both wings on all five floors and the basement below. My office is on the fifth floor, so the stairwell goes up just one more floor. In other words, a large sound in the stairwell could be heard throughout the building. During work hours I like to hum or sing in this stairwell, but try to restrain myself. It feels like easily excused behavior if it is not loud enough to disturb nearby classes.
I have long wondered what it would be like to go into that stairwell and make a sound that could not be easily excused. This would be the day to find out. How would it sound to play my euphonium in there? Would I get in trouble? Surely not, especially during vacation with no one around.
So I played. Instinct told me to start with a single note. I decided to play the F below middle C, the most relaxed note in the scale for me: all valves open, lips so relaxed it feels more like play than work. No need to hunt for this one. Starts as clear as a bell every time. Except when I’m nervous.
My first note in the stairwell did not start as clear as a bell. But after a second or two my lips and lungs remembered what they were doing, and we settled into the kind of note that I can hold without wavering for a surprisingly long time. Which I did.
I had to. I had to hold that note because I was joined by a host of angels, all playing the same horn around a thousand corners from a thousand different dimensions. They all followed my slightest wavering, but not at precisely the same time. They all played the same note, but not exactly the same pitch. When I let my volume swell, they followed me the same way that a flock of birds follows itself. When I let my volume drop, they too got quieter.
I am pretty good at playing quietly. The euphonium does not look like a subtle instrument, being shaped like a small tuba, but it can whisper with the best.
I could not play under the sound of those echoing angels. When I stopped, the slowest of them took two or three seconds to fade out.
It was sublime. I listened as the echoes faded, my ears grasping for the last few waves finding their way back to me. Somehow the silence felt richer than before, now that this chorus had performed.
I took a few breaths, then played the F again, dropped to the C below, went back to the F, then up to the A, then repeated them over and over. The echoes held the whole chord as I moved between notes, but they also reflected every missed tone, every rough start. It is both the most rewarding and least forgiving performance hall ever.
I wanted to offer a song, and found the old hymn “How Great Thou Art” right there in that F chord, so I played it. The song lifted me even as I lifted it. I slowed down on the descending lines, giving each note a chance to inhabit the hallways.
I wanted to soar through the chorus, and I mostly did. Even the notes I flubbed couldn’t bring me down. It was hard to believe that these amazing sounds were coming from me and my euphonium!
I will not give up practicing in my office to only play in the stairwell. For starters, the windows of opportunity for stairwell practice are limited, especially during the semester. I don’t want to get a reputation as the Low Budget Low Brass Phantom of the Law Building Professor.
More importantly, there is room for mistakes. The loaded bookshelves lining my office not only hold ideas, but grab the sound--including mistakes--out of the air. I still hear them, just not echoed back by a thousand angels in a thousand ways. The angels offer no judgement, just honesty, but that much honesty can be overwhelming.
The office is a forgiving place to practice. I think that it suits my needs most of the time. But when I really need to hear the truth, and the building is empty, I will return to the stairwell.
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