BY RHYS GRAY
Francois Rabbath and Son
18 September, Peacock Theatre
Many people like to attribute human characteristics to instruments; the loud, perhaps slightly over-confident trumpet, and the forgotten middle-child viola. It is rare that one attributes instrumental characteristics to people, though, but I found myself doing just that watching Francois Rabbath.
Born in Aleppo, Syria, Francois is famous for having pioneered an entirely new technique of playing double bass, which divides the bass up into six positions, using the rocking of the hand to reach a new note while the thumb stays stationary.
On September 18, Rabbath and his son played at the Peacock Theatre in Salamanca, Hobart. Rabbath’s former student Michael Fortescue organised the legendary Syrian double bassist’s Australian tour, eventually bringing him to Hobart. It was clear that it was a labour of love for Michael to organise the trip, and it was gratifying to see that it was not in vain – the Peacock Theatre had its 150-odd seats filled, with the energy of thrice that.
The first piece began with a low drone on the piano, which faded in and out as Rabbath’s fingers moved around the fingerboard like a crab shuffling along. Playing passages which move in an arch format, he gave new material to listen to up until the point where he roped it back in, revisiting past themes which the ear forgot while caught up in the latest motif.
The double bass as a soloist instrument is fascinating because of its usual place at the outskirts of the orchestra or the back of the jazz band, where its job is to maintain the harmonic structure or rhythm of the piece. Rarely does it get to play anything approaching virtuosic standards. With the recent premiere of Elena Kats-Chernin’s The Witching Hour, a concerto for eight double basses, one can see a great temptation to fight those preconceptions about the double bass.
Rabbath, however, sees things differently. Rabbath is a musician wholly confident in his skills, and while the true depth of those skills was not shown at the concert, the fact became apparent through his playing. Instead of an attempt to dazzle with ridiculous passages, he showed that the double bass can contend with the best of violins through a solid technique resulting in and from a supreme confidence in his capabilities, which made for an extremely enjoyable experience.
Soft spoken with a pleasant accent, Rabbath was economical with his introductions: ‘I have a nephew. He asked me to write him a piece…’ and with a shrug, he’d start playing. His compositions make for easy listening, if predictable; many of the pieces would not be out of place in a bar on a warm Thursday night, where the listeners would be more concerned with dancing than analysing the bassist’s technique or harmonic structure. This is not meant as a slight towards Rabbath; much like his double bass technique, he simply did not feel the need to prove himself. The true strength of his music flashed through on occasion, with complex time signatures throwing off the feet that tapped throughout the theatre.
Rabbath’s musical strength lies not in facile virtuosic passages, but in the intensity and comfort of his showmanship. Man and instrument come together as one, and Rabbath walks away, with the eye catching the silhouette of a double bass instead of a man.
Image supplied.
