Something about Vibrato
“A good lesson, Brendan, well done. Do you have any other questions about what to practise?” my teacher asked.
“Well yes actually. What did she do there in the Bach?” I exclaimed, almost shouting. “She did something weird with her left hand. I want to learn it too!”
I was a bit jealous of Isa. She was a few years older and always a little bit ahead of me on the cello. The Bach was ‘the’ prelude to his first Suite in G major. Also known as ‘that cello piece’.
My teacher Herman smiled.
- That, dear Brendan, was vibrato.
- I want to learn it.
- Ok. Pack up your instrument, go do your homework and come back at the end of the lessons. I will call your mother to let her know you’ll be home later, but that she mustn’t worry. I will drive you home.
Towards the end of the evening - I used to have my lessons on Wednesday afternoons in those years - I headed back to the cello room on the first floor of the old music school building. I knocked on the door and entered. The last student was just packing up her instrument. I started unpacking mine and was slightly horrified when my teacher grunted: “what are you doing??”
- You said you would teach me vibrato.
- I did indeed. But I am not going to do that here. It’s been a terribly long day. Come on, pack up and let’s head out.
I was completely puzzled. How can you teach anything without the instrument?
We went down the stairs. In the secretary’s office, Herman signed out of school and off we went, out in the cold, dark winter air of Beveren, a small town in Flanders fields. We walked to his car and put both cellos in the boot.
- Good, said Herman, and now off to the pub.
I was gobsmacked. To the pub? Why would you… oh well, never mind. And off we went.
It was a short brisk walk. Around the corner we entered the first bar on the street. We sat down and Herman asked:
- Do you drink beer?
- Yes. I said.
I’m sure I blushed. I was thirteen at the time and although I had secretly sipped from a wineglass from a family member at the Christmas dinners, I definitely never ever had drank a beer in a public place. I felt very cool though. And telling this story to friends in the years that followed, I can say that it is not unusual for Belgians to have their first alcoholic beverage at that age.
- Cheers!
- Cheers!
I had my first sip of beer.
It tasted fresh and a bit bitter. I filled my mouth with flavour and whilst putting my glass down I felt myself giggle. My first beer…
- Good. Said Herman. Now do it again without the glass in your hands.
- Ehm… okay.
Slowly, I raised my left hand from the table. My fingers gently grasping the imaginary glass of beer. I brought my hand towards my mouth, tilted the glass upwards and gently put it down again.
- BRAVO! Herman smirked. Now do that again, but tilt the glass faster.
I did. I was waving my hands like a deaf person applauding a performance, but then with my arms horizontally.
- That, my dear boy, that is vibrato.
We both burst out laughing and whilst chatting about school and family life, we finished our beer. Herman then drove me home where my mom was awaiting us with a big smile on her face.
- How did it go? asked mom.
- I had my first beer!!!!! I said.
- Shush Brendan. said Herman. You learned vibrato!
- Oh yes. That too indeed.
I don’t remember any conversation later that night. I presume I fell asleep pretty soon after arriving home, drifting off into a dizzy daze of dazzling notes and dreams of Bach’s prelude. And how I would be able to do vibrato, just like Isa.
—
Years later towards the end of my studies at the conservatoire in Utrecht, my teacher was having one of his angry episodes, shouting that I could do nothing right.
“The only natural thing about your playing” he said “is your vibrato”.
