A
lot of people say that if music were a meal, the viola would be the
salt, but I don't think that's completely true. Of course, it is in
the sense that it adds a subtle bit of extra “flavor” to a piece,
or that while it is not always recognized it is totally crucial, but
I'd like to think my beloved instrument can be defined by more than a
few grains of salt. After all, if the viola is merely table salt, how
can it compete as a solo performer? Everyone knows that a
main course like a first violinist can surely stand alone, but does
that mean the viola is just a bitter taste in your mouth?
I started out playing viola in sixth grade through the public school music program. I had a mediocre rental with the finger board all taped up so I knew where my fingers were supposed to go, a funny shaped purple sponge for a shoulder rest, and a vague notion of how to hold the thing. I was thrilled. The viola was a mean of making music, that I controlled. It was unique, because it was NOT a violin, and it was NOT a cello, but in a way, it could be both. It was a pair of wings driven by a gliding white bow, because playing felt like flying. It was anything but table salt, and I knew that from the start.
So what exactly is the viola? Technically, it is an instrument played on the shoulder with four strings (A, D, G, and C) and the sound is drawn out with a bow. Metaphorically speaking, however, is where its definition becomes less clear. How I see it though, is as if the viola lives a double life. Peter Parker is to SpiderMan as an ensemble violist is to a soloist. In a group, the viola part tends to fly under the radar, blending in with the rest of the orchestra, but still contributing to the general sound. Sometimes the viola section will carry a few bars of melody, or march through a piece accompanying some of the cellos' phrases, or even carry a conversation with the violins, but for the most part, you could not pick a violist's part out of a piece without being a violist yourself or focusing your mind completely on that particular section. However, when a viola is played solo, it's like listening to the Grand Canyon.
The viola is an instrument of both sunsets and table salt. Playing it can make you feel like a bird and a metronome. Listening to it can be like sitting in a bubble bath and feeling a single cool drop of rain on your cheek. The viola could never be defined by a single image or phrase, because no matter how mundane, how table salt, how Peter Parker it may be, there is always an and.
I started out playing viola in sixth grade through the public school music program. I had a mediocre rental with the finger board all taped up so I knew where my fingers were supposed to go, a funny shaped purple sponge for a shoulder rest, and a vague notion of how to hold the thing. I was thrilled. The viola was a mean of making music, that I controlled. It was unique, because it was NOT a violin, and it was NOT a cello, but in a way, it could be both. It was a pair of wings driven by a gliding white bow, because playing felt like flying. It was anything but table salt, and I knew that from the start.
So what exactly is the viola? Technically, it is an instrument played on the shoulder with four strings (A, D, G, and C) and the sound is drawn out with a bow. Metaphorically speaking, however, is where its definition becomes less clear. How I see it though, is as if the viola lives a double life. Peter Parker is to SpiderMan as an ensemble violist is to a soloist. In a group, the viola part tends to fly under the radar, blending in with the rest of the orchestra, but still contributing to the general sound. Sometimes the viola section will carry a few bars of melody, or march through a piece accompanying some of the cellos' phrases, or even carry a conversation with the violins, but for the most part, you could not pick a violist's part out of a piece without being a violist yourself or focusing your mind completely on that particular section. However, when a viola is played solo, it's like listening to the Grand Canyon.
The viola is an instrument of both sunsets and table salt. Playing it can make you feel like a bird and a metronome. Listening to it can be like sitting in a bubble bath and feeling a single cool drop of rain on your cheek. The viola could never be defined by a single image or phrase, because no matter how mundane, how table salt, how Peter Parker it may be, there is always an and.
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