Some weeks the best strategy is to
close one's eyes and to think, if not of England, at least about
double bass fingerings.
On background, and for those unfamiliar
with the peculiarities of the instrument, apart from its size, the
most distinctive difference between the double bass and the other
stringed instruments of the orchestra is that, where the violin,
viola, and cello tune in fifths, their larger relative tunes in
fourths. This seemingly picayune difference actually represents a
broad chasm, for although both are classified as 'perfect' intervals,
fourths are actually a bit less pure than their 'goody-two-shoes'
inversion, the fifth, which can almost do no wrong, harmonically
speaking. On the other hand, the so-called 'perfect' fourth, with
its checkered past, is actually considered dissonant in some cases.
Imagine the dilemma suffered by bassists as they awake each morning
wondering whether or not their strings are tuned consonantly or
dissonantly! There are a number of reasons that the tuning in
fourths became standard for the double bass. Certainly the longer
string length made keeping the open strings closer together in pitch
an attractive option. The smaller interval between strings makes for
less shifting in step-wise passages; unfortunately, in this scheme
larger intervals become farther apart. Tradition, or ancestry, might
have played an even more important role, as the double bass inherited
the tuning, along with some of its physical characteristics, from its
forefathers in the Viol family. In fact, the modern double bass owes
so much to its ancestors, the gentle, largely forgotten Viols, that
while the violin, viola, and cello might truly be considered
siblings, the double bass is, at best, a distant cousin. Now that
modern science has revealed the persistence of Neanderthal DNA in
modern humans, it is interesting to surreptitiously glance at
passers-by in search of echoes from our prehistoric past. Prominent
brow? Weak chin? Elongated skull? Concert goers might avail
themselves of a similar opportunity and glance over at the double
basses, making note of the sloped shoulders, flat backs (I'm
referring to the instruments here, not the players.), smooth C bouts,
and so on, relics from a bygone era, eking out an existence on the
fringes of the modern orchestra.
Discussion of Double Bass technique and
pedagogy can have all the fun and fascination of comparing the
hairstyles of Byzantine emperors. So, for the purpose at hand here,
it is probably sufficient to note that most modern-day bassists
in the orchestra use a technique where (in the first octave on each
string) a 'hand position' spans two semi-tones, in other words, a
whole-step. This span, taken across two strings, equals a perfect
fifth, across three, an octave.
Intervals larger than a whole-step
require a shift, string crossing, or some sort of 'extended'
technique. Incidentally, and perhaps counter-intuitively, in my
experience one of the most problematic intervals to deal with is the
perfect forth. To play this interval, like all those larger than a
whole-step, requires a shift, string crossing, or some sort of
creative solution, with problems arising from the fact that, as the
two notes lie directly across the string from each other, they must
be barred (played with the same finger stopping two strings), or the
hand angled so that a different finger may be used for each note, or
the same finger can 'jump' across the strings (at the cost of legato
phrasing), or else a string crossing and a shift can be used in
conjunction. Stack two perfect fourths one atop the other and you
get a minor seventh. (Yes, in music four and four make seven, one of
the more minor annoyances.) The problems playing the minor seventh
are those of the perfect fourth, compounded, which brings us to this
passage from the latter third of the Finale of the Mendelssohn fourth
symphony, measures 222-230. From the audience, you might notice the
hands of the double bassists playing this passage on one string
suddenly moving in agitated fashion in order to make all of the small
shifts, up and down, like the needle of a sewing machine, or
something else, altogether more embarrassing.
Apart from requiring many small shifts,
the biggest problem here is the minor seventh at m. 223
N.B. If the 'D' is played on the 'G'
(top) string, the 'E' on the adjacent string is about nine inches
away, measured on one of my instruments – certainly a stretch to
aspire to, but beyond the bounds of most normal human anatomy, and a
long way to travel between two notes at the rapid tempo of the
Saltarello. Of course, taking the two notes on the second and
third strings is also possible. This distance measured on my bass at
about six inches – a stretch certainly attainable by the average
hand – but generating a number of additional problems, not least of
which is the muddiness of tone which results from playing high notes
on low strings. The solution I arrived at
seems a little less preposterous
when taken in the context of what I wanted to do from m. 225
This fingering eliminates many shifts
(only one after the third beat of m. 225) while adding a number of
string crossings. Lately, I've become enamored of fingerings that
let me leave my fingers down as long as possible. In performance, I
'bailed out' early and went back to first position in m. 227
Like certain interpersonal
relationships, getting into thumb position is easier than than
getting out, so you have to pick your spots carefully. Here is then is the complete passage,
with a decent alternative for mm. 225-226 below.
