The Unfettered Critic – October 2020

Jacksonville sat silent this summer, with a stillness settling over us like dust motes, as though a phantom orchestra on an abandoned stage performed a concert of quiescence for our hollow ears.

It was a most disconcerting sound. A sound of sadness.

Call it collateral damage. Call it a sidebar to a pandemic. Call it a pain in the patoot. But for many residents of the city, the worst part wasn’t the missing music—it was the missing musicians.

As most of you know, when the one hundred or so musicians flow into town to assemble as the brilliant Britt Orchestra, local families open their homes and their hearts to “put them up.” Many of the musicians stay in the same home season after season, becoming beloved members of that family, an always welcome addition to the household. In the case of your Unfettered Critics, we’ve come to think of the guest suite in our home as “Dave’s room.” And hope always to do so.

You know Dave Anderson. He’s the guy with the ready smile standing at the far right edge of the Britt stage, holding that huge bass. He’s also the guy with the electric bass sitting in with our local bands at the Bella Union, or organizing the jam session at the J’Ville Tavern. Or just jamming alone at one of the bars, deep into the night. He’s the guy who practices new classical charts between concerts, with the deep rumble of his instrument resonating throughout the house so expertly that even our dogs sit up and listen. And he’s the guy who whips up New Orleans delights for us with the spice mixes he reveals upon each arrival.

But Jacksonville sat silent this summer. Several times throughout the weeks, we looked at one another and repeated that famous line from an ancient Cheech and Chong routine: “Dave’s not here.”

And neither was his bass. We missed that instrument and its deep, amazing sound almost as much as we missed the man. Known as an “upright bass,” “standup bass,” “string bass,” “double bass,” “contrabass,” “doghouse bass,” “bull fiddle,” “bass violin,” and, in Brazil, “big Rabeca” (don’t ask), it’s the largest instrument in the orchestra. Large enough to be troublesome. At one time, traveling bands strapped the things to the tops of their cars. Nowadays, Dave delicately chauffeurs his in an SUV. All the way from Louisiana.

We love an apocryphal story about a joker who contacted every bass player listed in the New York City Musician’s Union Directory with a request to bring their instruments and meet him on 34th Street in front of Macy’s at high noon. Think of it—one hundred-plus basses suddenly appearing during rush hour on the busiest corner in America. Oh, the humanity!

While you can buy a student instrument at Guitar Center, a good bass is hard to find, and a great one even harder. Dave’s is world-class, and world-famous as well. It was handmade in 1818 by Abraham Prescott, a New Hampshire master craftsman. Prescott began by making pipe organs for churches. Many churches, however, could not afford an organ, so they began looking for other ways to reinforce the strength of their choirs. Prescott saw an opportunity and, in 1809, began building cello-sized “church-basses,” along with much larger “orchestral basses.” Dave (remember him?) calls his, simply, “The Prescott.”

In his other life, Dave has performed since 1996 as Principal Bassist with the Louisiana Philharmonic. And he’s been Principal Bassist with our own Britt Festival Orchestra each summer since 1994.

But not this summer. This summer Jacksonville sat silent.