The Dark Side of the Bowed Psaltery

We are all afraid of the "dark side" … and even the lovely bowed psaltery has one. It’s that pesky cross over to the side of sharps and flats, brrrrrrrrr, sends shivers down your spine, at least until you get used to it.

Well, it’s a necessary evil unless you want to live in a world where only the key of C exists or if you carry around and play on a variety of diatonic instruments. One psaltery can just about fit all, if you dare to cross over………..

Like most other difficult things you first have to get over the mystery and fear of it, then it’s just a matter of practice, over, and over, and over…..

I remember when I first started playing Greensleeves in the key of F. There's Bb with a a couple unexpected C#s thrown in for hysteria.....oh boy…..my dread would build each time I approached one of those “un-natural” notes and I’d either breathe a sigh of relief if I made it or cringe with a stomach twist if I blew it.

Then I found myself at a music festival selling bowed psalteries on consignment for a friend who builds them. I had to demonstrate the psaltery and the song I knew the best from memory and had practiced the most through the past few years was Greensleeves.

I played and to my shock I didn’t even think about the dark side….I was more concerned with remembering the notes and making it smooth and pretty for the people listening so they would think the bowed psaltery was as remarkable as I think it is.

To my shock, a woman said, “I love to watch how smoothly and gracefully you cross over and move up and down the psaltery”.   If I hadn’t been the only one playing I would have thought she meant someone else. It was true though, I had gotten so used to the song and the notes on “the dark side” that my love of the song and the psaltery was moving the bow up, down and across the strings as smooth as silk, the instrument was playing like butter.  

That was definitely a landmark in the slow evolution of my bowed psaltery skills. These little, and sometimes large, leaps in ability happen when you least expect them, but not until you have invested some solid and generous practice time!

More ramblings....

As I've gotten older I've noticed that nearly everyone I meet, the popular music I hear and hit movies I see all remind me of a person, song or movie from my past. I suppose this is inevitable as we add on experiences year after year. Okay, I'll say it, I'm getting old. Beats the alternative right?   : )

I haven't had that feeling with the bowed psaltery nor the traditional music I'm learning and enjoying so much. I can't really specify which instrument the bowed psaltery truly reminds me of and the songs, as old as most of them are, seem fresh in their simplicity and straightforward style. If any seem familiar it's because the actual song was a part of my youth, not a similar song. My grandmother and my mother sang some of these songs to me while others I learned at Girl Scout camp.

Discovering the bowed psaltery and the people and music that have come with it has rejuvenated me, given me the gift of creative discovery and enthusiasm. The experience has given me a new way to look at things yet at the same time it has reintroduced me to my past adding a subtle continuity to my life. 

Old and new are inextricable, a beautiful example of the duality of life.

Psaltery Bindi

My cat Bindi loves the bowed psaltery, REALLY loves the bowed psaltery.

I brought Bindi home when she was two years old and considered a "problem" or "special needs" adoption. She was terrified of everything and everyone. I was committed to giving her as much "room" as she needed. One evening, after about a year, she jumped on my lap and let me pet her. I was overjoyed, my patience had paid off.

When I started playing bowed psaltery I quickly discovered that Bindi loved it too. Without fail, Bindi would come running as soon as I started playing. She'd jump on my lap and rub against the psaltery, purring.

Bindi's fascination with the bowed psaltery remains to this day. Sometimes she starts swatting at the moving bow while she's on my lap and practice becomes impossible. I have to move where she can't jump up on my lap. She'll lay on the floor by my feet and listen/watch until I'm done.

Recently I brought home a puppy. Bindi and my other cat, Mika, were less than excited about that. They have since taken up permanent residence in my bedroom and cautiously creep out when the pup is sleeping, running back to their refuge at the first unusual sound.

During the first few weeks with our new roommie I had no time to pick up my psaltery. Finally, a week or so ago, I found the time and energy to sit down and play for a while.

The first note sounded and Bindi came running. She ran past the puppy (who was fortunately engrossed in a chew toy) and jumped up on my lap rubbing and purring as usual. Nothing was going to keep her from her beloved bowed psaltery, not even the puppy monster.

Hopefully as we play and expose people to the beautiful music of the bowed psaltery we will find many, many more Bindis. 

The Gift of Music Making

My first experiences with playing music were grammar school lessons. Two years of clarinet in the school band and two years of piano with the Sisters.

Most of us have involuntary flashes of memory when childhood events come to mind. Band brings back memories of laughing in a bright club house room, drool puddles on the floor in front of the woodwind section that you had to avoid slipping in while getting to and from your seat. I recall the dry feel and taste of the reed on my tongue and smell the waxy lubricant used on the cork where your instrument's parts fit together.

Piano memories are very different. Those are of a stark, dim, quiet environment where there was constant ticking, either the metronome or a grandfather clock down the hall. You spoke in hushed tones and there was no laughter in this church like environment. Sister, in full old time nun garb, watched over my fingering ready to smack my hands if I made a mistake (or she was cranky) and wrote notes in my music book with an eternally sharpened pencil in tiny, tiny print.

They are all good memories.

Thanks Mom and Dad for forcing me to practice that half hour each day and pushing me to compete in those clarinet solo events that had me sleepless and stomach sick.

Thanks Grandma C for buying that clunky old upright piano where you would belt out church hymns (I particularly remember Rock of Ages) to your own accompaniment.

Thanks to my teachers who encouraged me, even when using terror tactics!

Thanks to all that contributed to that wonderful gift of music making at an age when it was easy to learn but hard to appreciate. I never dreamed how much pleasure and comfort music making would bring me throughout my life.