The Bach Tuba Project: My summer exploring Bach’s music as a teacher and tubist

My fascination with the music of J.S. Bach began almost by accident while in college. Whereas I had played plenty of Bach’s music at this point, I have never really stopped to consider it much. Then, for some reason (that I have long forgotten), I stumbled across a recording of Uri Caine’s Goldberg Variations. For lack of better words, my mind was blown. And this is the thing about Uri Caine’s recording (which I hope you will check out, if you haven’t already): it’s not even really Bach…or is it? 

Born in Philadelphia, the pianist Uri Caine’s discography is a genre bending testament to his roots in both classical and jazz idioms, and his reimagination of Bach’s Goldberg Variations is exactly that – a performance so full of imagination and scope that you had to have an opinion – even if you didn’t like it. At the time, this was a novel concept for me: whereas I had always loved classical music before, I had never stopped to think much beyond the superficial adjectives we typically use to describe the music we hear. But with this recording, I was challenged – and confused. There were moments I loved that were so wildly imaginative and beautiful (the “Rachmaninoff” variation is especially moving) that I couldn’t stop listening, while there were other movements that I despised – moments I couldn’t possibly understand what the performer was thinking. How could a performance make me experience such conflicting emotions? And how could someone hear “Bach” and come up with this? 

One thing I’ve learned is that if a recording or piece of music evokes such a strong feeling at first (or second, or third) listen, it’s worth exploring why. Even if you dislike the piece. Probably, especially so. And that is exactly what I did – except, I did it with a tuba. I started with an arrangement of Bach’s Flute Sonata in E-flat Major, which I performed on my junior recital. Initially, what I loved about practicing Bach was the pile of notes that demanded careful practice and pristine technique. This was in my wheelhouse – as a former violinist, I felt very comfortable with a pile of notes to learn. But what I discovered while working through all the technical demands in Bach’s music was an underlying simplicity that began to emerge once the technique began to disappear. Practicing felt a little bit like an archaeological expedition – the more I explored Bach’s music, the more I began to discover and new ideas began emerging almost every time I sat down to practice.     

In performing Bach’s music, I felt an enormous amount of responsibility – perhaps daunting at first, and probably still so. Whereas I had, up until that point, played plenty of music that had equally demanding technical expectations, Bach demanded that I make musical decisions – and take responsibility for them. It was – and continues to be – a level of vulnerability that made me feel completely exposed as a performer and musician. 

Early on in my teaching career, I played a movement from Bach’s cello suites as part of a shared recital. As I was exiting the stage, a colleague kindly congratulated me on my performance, saying “You’re braver than I am!” As well-intentioned (and it truly was!) as this comment may have been, I felt the sting of the underlying implication. What was I thinking “trying” to perform Bach in public – and on a tuba, no less! In that moment, I felt like a silly little girl – something I think a younger generation might call “imposter syndrome.”

For the next several years of my teaching career, Bach took a back seat to other projects, interests and repertoire. But then the global pandemic happened and I found myself navigating many of the challenges we all faced and a few of my own. Without any real desire to practice, feeling intimidated by the content my colleagues were sharing of their own playing and contemplating my future in our field, I dusted off my doctoral dissertation and hit record. Part of my doctoral dissertation had been an arrangement of Bach’s Goldberg Variations for tuba and string trio, and in this context, I decided to try my hand at arranging it for two tubas and recording both parts. 

In undertaking that silly little project, I was shocked just how much I had to learn. Whereas I had thought that my rhythm was “pretty good,” recording two parts of a Bach duet showed me just how far “pretty good” got me (hint: not far). It changed the way I listened – when I listened back to drafts, I began to hear how lines fit together and learned how to shape individual parts to make a collectively beautiful phrase. I spent hours recording drafts, then takes, then adjusting tempi, then listening to more of Bach’s music to find my next arrangement. It challenged me to raise my standard, made me excited to wake up every day and listen to more music and helped me use my interest to connect with people across the world in a very challenging moment in our life. Somehow, isn’t that the point of what we do?

While playing Bach is deeply challenging – and rewarding – I have found that teaching it is doubly so. Over the years, I’ve had many students bring Bach into their lessons and, while I’m very glad they are interested in studying his music, I sometimes find it daunting knowing where to begin. There’s so many decisions to be made, directions to go, nuances to discuss. What is most exciting about Bach (the possibilities) can, at times, also become the most frustrating. 

To this end, and as a happy by-product of circumstance, I found myself with the opportunity to dive into Bach’s work in a completely novel (to me) way this summer. The Vanderbilt University Summer Research Program (VUSRP) allows students to pursue full-time research alongside Vanderbilt faculty on a project of their choice. Perhaps the thing I appreciate most about my position at Vanderbilt is the time I have available to work with my students and understand their interests, goals, and strengths and this program allows for in-depth, side-by-side work in a completely immersive manner. 

Sometime back in January, one of my students – Ally Hansen – and I put together a proposal for a project entitled Bridging Disciplines: Using Selected Works of J.S. Bach to Explore an Interdisciplinary Approach to Tuba Performance. As a student with a multitude of interests (and majors), my conversations with Ally in lessons frequently spanned a wide range of topics and approaches, and this project seemed like an intriguing way to thoughtfully (or perhaps, critically) examine how diving into a body of repertoire from multiple angles can help us to become better students, musicians and tubists. And while Ally will tell you herself that she was not Bach’s biggest fan when she arrived at Vanderbilt, I could tell that she was intrigued by the challenge that his music presented: navigating the technical demands of Bach’s work in search of the underlying musical simplicity and style. It is both a beautiful jumping off point and culmination of so much we do in music school, in my opinion. 

And thus, we are here. This blog is meant to share my side of our work together in the hopes that it will help myself to examine how we can navigate such a vast topic in the pursuit of guiding our students to become the best musicians and tubists possible. As you will see, deciding where to begin can be a challenge! But, more to come on that later. In the meantime, please consider following along and I would love to hear your thoughts. Much happy practicing to you all!