Do you remember the sound of the PlayStation 3 loading up, the “parrr” of the oboe and the warm rush of strings? It’s the sound of an orchestra tuning up, the sound of a performance about to come. The oboe provides the “A” because it’s the instrument with the most penetrating sound and apparently with the most reliable pitch. I always liked that sound. I heard it a lot when I was growing up.
I was a violinist in an orchestra, you see, and I had a real talent for… avoiding hard work. You should have seen me in my prime, bow hovering above the string, looking to all the world like I was giving a performance when in reality I wasn’t playing a thing. I’d only skip the hard bits, mind you, I wasn’t a complete fraud, and I’d make it look pretty convincing. The only tricky part was keeping a straight face when the person sitting next to me started hover-bowing too. One look was all it took for the whole charade to crack apart into giggles.
I owe a lot to orchestras. They took me all around Europe, put me in the homes of host families in France and Germany, and I played in wonderful churches I otherwise wouldn’t have gone anywhere near. We played ruined open air auditoriums which looked like they were out of fairytales, we even once played a shopping mall in Hong Kong. Blimey, . I was a lucky boy.
We had some great times. The Brighton Youth Orchestra certainly knew how to have fun. I’ll never forget how different we were to the Hong Kong Youth Orchestra when we went there, all teenagery and loud and hearty, and a bit rough around the edges, whereas they were like adults in children’s bodies, consummate professionals I never saw put a foot wrong.