In Defense of the Viola

By Special Guest Writer Jer-Shyan Chang

The viola was always presented to me as something akin to an evil version of a violin. Mechanically, it is the same difficulty; although the violin’s highest E string is replaced by a C string on a viola, every technique — string crossings, basic left hand and right hand coordination, bow hold, vibrato — are virtually identical to their counterpart in the violin's learning process. For the most part, viola just seemed to be the lesser-known, less prestigious version of violin (which I began learning at age nine). It wasn’t until nearly middle school that I learned of the viola’s existence; whereas violin and cello were given to me as options I could play, the viola seemed to remain in obscurity for the most part, even among my orchestra peers. 

Over time, though, I became jealous of this obscurity. As my music career evolved to be more competition-based, largely geared towards the rat race of college admissions, somewhere along the way I stopped perceiving viola as an alternative version of a violin, and more as a cheat code to perform well in music competitions and orchestra auditions. 

I think a lot of music students who come from high-pressure environments develop similar feelings,  especially if they have families who focus on college admissions, which prioritize music supplements or evidence of substantial accomplishment over the joy of playing music. Instruments that are overpopulated, like violin, piano, flute, or cello, often seem extremely competitive and impossible to break into, whereas niche instruments like viola, the double bass, and many winds seem much less competitive given the same effort. From what I’ve seen, this causes a lot of kids who play common instruments to have a paradoxical mindset: they have some sense of heightened self-superiority from not deigning to switch instruments, yet at the same time they covet the place of other students. It’s a toxic mindset that I, too, fell into quite easily.

Now in college, where I have unfortunately abandoned all musical pursuits, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on this, and how my mindset on instrumentation — particularly what I perceived to be bias in favor of uncommon instruments — affected my happiness in orchestral and competitive contexts. The conclusion I've drawn is this: we are massively overestimating ourselves. In reality, the demand for each instrument is proportional to the number of players; violin, for example, is the classic example of an oversaturated section. And yet the number of violins in any given orchestra eclipses all other sections; all the winds combined, even. 

Even if it's not exactly proportional (although I truly believe it tends to be), I think that in attacking other instruments, we are justifying our own mediocrity. A very similar analogy is sports; one can easily argue that niche sports like crew, squash, or sailing are surefire ways to recruitment compared to the likes of basketball and soccer. This is certainly not the case — precisely because it is difficult for students to have the knowledge and means to access these sports, they will be similarly dedicated (if not more) to their craft than players who can join easily accessible sports without honing their skills. 

In both cases of sports and music, the pool of competitive applicants are proportional. No matter the specific discipline, one has to undergo immense amounts of training and practice to rise to the top; to discredit these efforts and believe that oneself might be better if in a “less competitive discipline” is egotistical and irresponsible. Who are violinists to believe they will be excellent at the viola, when they are not good at the violin? I can most certainly assure anyone with this mindset that no matter how you think, there will always be those better than you. Instead of wallowing in despair about your unfortunate choice of instrument, or sport, or major, remind yourself that in order to be exceptional at anything, consistent effort is needed.

My private teacher once remarked, innocuously, that she could “make a monster violist out of [me].” This statement annoyed me for most of middle school, yet was a serious consideration of mine, as I truly believed I could be the cream of the violist crop if I deigned to swap over. Looking back, I'm glad I didn't; I wasn't truly passionate about violin, and I never became an excellent violinist because of a lack of motivation and discipline.  How could I ever have been a good violist?

About the Writer: Jer-Shyan Chang is a pianist and violinist from Seattle. Favorite composers are Dvorak and Tchaikovsky; favorite pieces to play are the Chopin ballades; favorite hobbies are playing games and napping.