Watching someone do the thing they're meant to do is so, SO cool.
You just know it when you see it.
And I'm looking at it.
It's dark, and quite a bit cooler than we were expecting. My mom and I are at a show at the Phantom Theater, which is a barn tucked into some Vermont farmland that doubles as a rather prestigious performing arts venue in the summer months. I'm not really sure how they fit 80 of us in here without it feeling cramped, but they did. We're sitting in cushy stadium-seats on the right side with a clear view of the string quartet playing on the stage. The cellist is the one whose name was on the playbill, but she invited some other musicians to join her.
So now I'm sitting here with eyes fixed on one of the fiddlers in the group, waiting for something I sense might be coming. My head's bobbing and my heel's tapping. There's an older guy on the left playing violin, then a woman playing viola, a younger guy playing violin, and then the cellist on the far right. The violins have been trading off the first and second spot, which is interesting. The four of them have been playing a mix of genres but the jazz-inspired stuff they're playing right now has been my favorite so far.
Holy shit this younger guy's good.
Behind his glasses, I see that his eyes are closed. His mid-length curly hair is waving as his head dips. I see him take a deep breath and I know he's counting himself in.
His eyes are open and calm now, like they might be if he were flipping through things to watch on TV. But his chin's tucked into the violin and his hand's flying across finger positions. His other arm, holding the bow, is pumping up and down, across and back, yet his wrist looks relaxed. How the fuck is he doing that? He's picking up speed. He's not sweating under the stage lights. I shake my head. I'd probably have sweat streaking down my face just from sitting there, without all the other stuff he's doing right now. Then he drops the volume and enters a call and response with the other guy—the equivalent of a no-look pass in sports.
Damn.
He keeps the speed and hikes the volume back up. It's happening, and I almost missed it even though I was looking for it. He's smiling. Just the corners of his mouth are curled up, but it's there. He looks left and nods at the cellist. Then, it's like he sits back but his body doesn't move. He's scanning his right side, watching the other musicians. And his smile widens. On cue, they all jump into the bridge and play through, ending with a synchronized flourish of their bows.
That guy—the violinist—is meant to do this.
And while watching him do the thing he's meant to do, I caught him recognize the same thing in his fellow musicians. You just know it when you see it.
* * *
How cool is that?
onward.
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