I am one of the quieter people I know. It started early, when I learned that I could sneak up on a frog in the grass, or enter a room unnoticed, if I moved in silence. Without a sound, I escaped the wrath of a father who valued naps, stayed up reading well after my bedtime, and descended the creaky stairs for a midnight snack. Pascal wrote that the silence of infinite spaces frightened him, but I’ve always found it exhilarating; there is a wholeness and limitless potential in quietude.

In music, silence is the negative space. It is to sound as darkness is to light, and they are dependent, defined by their difference. Studying the cello, I learned to play the instrument, but I was also taught when not to play, which turns out to be a good half of the time for a cellist. We’re used to resting, perhaps more than some other orchestra members, because much of our job is counting rests; that's right, cellists get paid to silently mark time onstage. Not paid much, mind you, but no less than when we’re sawing away with brio. I have an internal metronome that softly ticks off the measures: 1234, 2234, 3234, 4234...from a corner of my unconscious brain, unless I turn it off. Cellists are on when it’s our time to shine, but we also know how to take the bow from the strings and quietly wait our turn.

One’s musical entry depends on careful counting, or an outside cue, and may rely on both for insurance of accuracy. Cues can include a gestural entreaty from a conductor or fellow musician, or recognition of a passage or motif that marks one’s place in the piece, a handhold with which to re engage. My cello teacher, a man of very little humor, once told me a clever joke about rests and cues, involving an orchestral performance of Beethoven’s ninth symphony. The final movement of the symphony includes a lengthy rest for the bass players, he explained, during which they set down their instruments and retired to a bar next to the theater for some refreshment. Before sneaking out, one bassist secured a string to the conductor’s final pages of music to throw off his tempo, which would signal their return for the finale. You may have guessed where this is going, but in the end, there was a critical moment: it was the bottom of the ninth, the score was tied and the bassists were loaded ;-)

Patient and quiet as I am, I think we’re all a little tired of counting the days, hours, and minutes of the past year. Hugs and smiles are back, and I’m ready to pick things up where we left off, ready to play again, and to make some noise. I’m no longer resting; I’m watching and listening for our cues, eager to rejoin the great, wild ride in tandem and right on time.

See you around,
Max