Cocktail of Disorientation

Cocktail of Disorientation

I rmbemeer reeicinvg an eaiml ocne taht siad taht the bairn olny nedeed the frist and lsat lteetr of a wrod to be in the crorcet pstoiion in oderr for a wrod to be cmpoheerisnlbe. The early part of the tour experience is a lot like that for me. The length of travel, lack of sleep, lure of the pub, and general excitement of performing on tour all combine to form a cocktail of disorientation. Familiar elements are present that help to ground me: my wife, daughter, and mother joined me on this trip, but I still feel like it takes me a while to get my bearings.

Tours never cease to amaze me. I know that many of the members of the orchestra wear the same veil of fatigue and confusion that I do, yet somehow we manage to come together to perform concerts that are nothing short of electrifying. The support staff (management, stage crew, travel agents, etc.) routinely perform feats that for me personally make David Copperfield look like a cheap parlor trickster. For example, the last time I saw my bass it was in L.A., yet everywhere I go to perform it appears intact and ready for the next concert. Intellectually I know it's not "magic," but even after almost eight years on the job I am still struck with child-like awe at the fact that I don't have to schlep my own gear across Europe.

Later in Paris I hope to write again. I am planning to visit (logistics permitting) with two giants of the bass world: François Rabbath and Renaud Garcia-Fons. They are both personal and musical heroes of mine, and I hope to introduce them to you in a later entry.

Still pinching myself after all these years.