Excerpt from John Holt's 'Never Too Late'

I'm not sure if I need permission to copy out a large chunk of a chapter but here anyhow is an insight into the mind of an amateur cellist at an orchestra rehearsal. Similar thoughts will probably going through the minds of myself and my fellow grade-1-a-bees on Sunday afternoon and evening:

"The conductor holds up his baton and we begin. It is a new piece, new for us, new certainly to me. I have a faint hope that since we are reading it through for the first time the conductor will take it at a slightly slower tempo, which will give me the chance to catch a few more of the notes. No such luck. We take it at full speed, faster, even, than many professional orchestra. Most of the players are considerably better than I am, and certainly better music readers; even if the music sounds a bit ragged, they are catching most of the notes. Ahead of me I can see the fingers and bow of our number three cellist flying over the instrument. No problems for her. For me it is a wild scramble. It is hard for me even to make my eyes move fast enough across the lines of notes, let alone play those notes. My mind is full of frantic thoughts. Here come some strange quarter notes, I can play them at least. But now a strange-looking passage. Are these octaves? How in the world do I finger this section? How do I play it when I don't even know what it sounds like? Ah, three measures of rest. At least I can count this, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, play! Oops! Too soon; I am a beat ahead of the cellists in front of me. How in the world could I have miscounted those measures of rest? Could they have made a mistake? No. No time to worry about it; here come a bunch of sixteenth notes. I'll never make them at this tempo. Try to catch the first note in each group of four, the way they all tell you. That's a lot easier said than done. Damn! I've lost my place. How come those guys can read this stuff right off the paper? I'll try to catch the other cellists when they come out of this passage. There! Back with them again. Out of the corner of my eye I see that my partner has lost his place. With left index finger I point it out to him on the music, moving the finger along for a measure or two until he gets the swing of it. Now an easy exposed passage for us, a chance to make some nice sounds. Oops! I'm not with the folks in front. What happened? No time now to think about it. What in the world is this coming up? Try to imitate what the people in front are playing. Look at the notes, don't skim them, don't give up. Lost my place again, can't tell where the others are. Look ahead, there's some low notes, watch them, see when their bows go down to the C string. There! Now! Back with them for a while anyway. Whew! The conductor is stopping, wants to do something again. Quick look at that bad passage, how can I finger that? No time, here we go again, have to work that out at home.

"And so on until break, five minutes or so, and then on until 9:25, when we stop. We pack up stands, music, instruments, talking and gossiping a little more freely after playing. I feel full of excitement and tension, the way I used to years ago after playing a close and fast game of Ping-Pong – it always took me an hour or so to wind down. The leaders of the orchestra do their best to break up our little gossip sessions: “Come on, everybody, we're supposed to be out of here by now.” Someone offers me a ride to the Square. Once there I go down into the subway, take the train back to Charles Street, walk home. Twenty past ten. Still time for a little practice before I go to bed. Let's take a look at that hard passage, work it out with a metronome. An hour later I am playing it – at just half the proper tempo. Enough for today."