Discarding every trifling disputation,
I have followed but one threefold guide in the composition of this
method: Truth for science. Beauty for art. Usefulness for the
pupil.
Bottesini introduces his Method with a
few eloquent remarks, laying out the practical foundation of his
approach and modestly asserting that, rather than arising from a
burning desire to edify the bass playing world, it was only the
prompting of others that caused him to create the work. The author's
modesty is not merely surprising, emanating as it does from
Bottesini, the bassist and composer who bestrode the musical world of
the 19th century like a colossus, it also jars the modern
sensibility, inured as we are to the scourge of monetization and naked self-promotion that has
seeped into every corner of our cultural experience, penetrating even
to the out-of-the-way nooks and crannies of the musical world where
bassists dwell. The great virtuoso only reluctantly endeavored to
write his Method when begged to do so. And, furthermore, he
eschewed the golden opportunity to hawk something, a special end-pin,
personally endorsed bows or basses, perhaps an exclusive Bottesini
Brand® rosin in a special monogrammed
stay-fresh case, or maybe a bib for the bass, quivers for the bow, how about a
summer camp, or an infallible secret to audition success. The great
Bottesini, virtuous in every sense, renounces commercialization,
turns his back on the snake oil and rubbish that litters so much of
the modern pedagogical landscape.
Within the modest tone of the prologue,
Bottesini makes clear that, while respecting the viewpoints of
others, he reserves the right to express his own. He begins with an
impassioned argument for the three-stringed bass. In adding an extra
string, he argues, what is gained by enabling a few lower notes is
negated by the loss of sound and clarity of tone. As he describes his
experiments in adding a fourth string to various fine instruments:
The result was always the same, and always bad... Neither is
he in favor of tuning the bass in fifths, which he deems 'absurd'.
As mentioned in the previous post, the
English language edition I'm using is published by Carl Fischer. The
Escudier edition, in addition to some very handsome illustrations not
found in the English version, has some slightly different material in
the introductory section. For instance, here, Bottesini takes aim at
the so-called Dragonetti Bow. Cette
position, on le voit, manque d'élégance. (This
position, as we can see, lacks elegance.) Zing!
Written
descriptions of bow grips are often vague and unhelpful. Admitting
this from the outset, Bottesini limits himself to a few instructions.
The
hand not too near the nut, nor too far from it, the
middle finger, the third finger, and the little finger firmly placed
against the nut in such a way that the middle finger adapts itself to
the place where the hair commences; the forefinger must hook upon the
stick and press it strongly; the thumb on the side of the nut and
always opposite the middle finger, pressing from the right side and a
little obliquely, the edge of the groove in the nut.
Most
surprising to me is that this description does not seem to match what
I have long understood to be the so-called Italian bow grip, where
the thumb is positioned in the little c-shaped part of the frog and
does not touch the stick at all. (I've seen this part of the bow
called the 'throat', which sounds gross when you think about the
Italian bow grip as sticking one's thumb in the throat of the bow.)
The illustrations seem to bear this out.
Although neither of the editions in my
possession have dates of publication, my guess is that the Method was
a later work, written after Bottesini had already achieved his fame
as a bassist. In support of this, I note how he mentions that others
approached and persuaded him to create it, presumably on account of
his reputation. I also sense a degree of world-weariness in his
remarks. The fatalism in his attitude toward the instrument and its
students suggests a long travail and the attendant disappointment
inevitably experienced by all who play the instrument over a period
of many years.
Bottesini's views on the double bass,
particularly concerning it as a solo instrument, might come as a
surprise to some, particularly to those in the Academy, and his realistic assessment of the prospects of
the majority of students who might take up the instrument flies in
the face of our present day practice of maintaining persistent, if
sometimes irrational, optimism.
The Double Bass cannot aspire to the
advantages of other solo instruments... The sole end and purpose of
the Double Bass ought, then, to be giving of the fundamental notes to
the orchestra.
Let us make no mistake on this
subject; you do not learn to play the Double Bass for the purpose of
executing brilliant morceaux with purity of tone, elegance of
coloring, and lightness of bow. If uncommon talent, seconded by rare
gifts and long studies can attain exceptional results, such
attainments are not generally acquired.
Ouch! with that,
it's time to start learning the Double Bass. The following posts
will delve deeper into the Method.
