Next Level Bassist Musicality Issue

What does it mean to play musically? How does one become a
musical player? Since music is an art, it is so widely subjective that it
is hard to know the right answer. As a student, I remember being told
to play something “more musically,” and going home and not getting it,
and therefore not really working on it. This is what I have seen happen
with my students, so I have really begun to think about a few things:
How did I develop my own sense of musicality? And most importantly,
how can I teach that?
First and foremost, like most artists, this sense of being musical is
constantly being developed. Also, as with other types of artists, it is the
art itself that drives the quest. These days, listening and playing with my
colleagues is what most inspires me and is what continues to drive me.
After listening and thinking “that was freakin’ awesome!” I try to get
down to the details of WHY it was awesome, and WHAT that person
did technically to make it that way.
First, let me just put on the record that I was a lucky bass kid. Thankfully,
I had parents who listened to my high-energy and unrelenting strings
teacher about me playing the bass and also about me needing lessons
from the best teacher around. In her opinion, that was the former principal
bassist of the St. Louis Symphony, Mr. Henry Loew. My parents
drove me weekly to lessons with him, and to other various extra-curricular
orchestra activities. For that, I am most grateful.
Mr. Loew taught me many great things, but it was because of his enthusiasm
and smile that I often think he could have taught me anything,
and I would have been just as hooked. The most important thing he
taught me about the bass was to always, always play everything “like you
mean it.” Make music with everything. He taught me out of the Nanny
etude book because, as he explained, I could learn the bass and make
music at the same time. The melodies are fine, certainly better than other
etude books, but he was able to improvise piano accompaniment that
brought those exercises to life. I still remember which exercises I loved
most, playing them over and over again even after we had long passed
them. I regret that my piano skills are less than adequate because I can’t
provide the same lively accompaniment for my students. I try to show
them the music that can be made within each exercise or piece and hope
that my excitement is just as contagious.
I once heard someone say that all music making is just a creation of tension,
and then finding a way to release it. I think there is some truth to
this. I often think about a masterclass I was lucky enough to have with
Mr. Ed Barker in which he diagrammed on a blackboard the dynamics
of an excerpt. It is that kind of analytical approach I think of when
finding this idea of creating and then releasing tension. Where does the
height of the tension occur? Where is it released? Most importantly,
what technically do you have to do to both build and then release it?
For a concrete example, I have found this idea to be particularly evident
in the first movement of the Eccles Sonata. In my opinion, each half
of a movement has a clearly defined moment where the tension is at its
highest (in this case coinciding with the high point in the range) and
then is released. On a personal note, my favorite moment in the movement
is when the second half starts in the major key. What a relief, and
always bring a smile to my face. With my students, I try to highlight
these moments, and what we can do to make them more evident to
the listener.
Another piece where I frequently find myself saying to my students,
“You’re playing this like an etude. Make some music with it,” is the
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