tales of a tailcoat

After the final chords of Mendelssohn’s mighty Elijah reverberated into the Hult Center’s auditorium this past Sunday afternoon, it dawned on me that this was most likely the last performance for my poor, beleaguered tailcoat. Yes, it has come to that time when my trusty companion of many, many concerts must be put out to pasture, and be replaced by a bright, shiny, (and hopefully less stinky) new model.  Tux pants are replaced relatively often (at least by me, I cannot speak for my colleagues), but tailcoats can last quite a long time.  I bought mine at a place called Leo Amster’s, in Baltimore, Maryland.  Not just Baltimore, but Highlandtown, Baltimore.  Highlandtown is where you will hear Baltimore pronounced Bawlmer, and most women call everyone hon’, and the neighborhood itself is pronounced Hollantown.  It was like most ethnic areas used to be before gentrification, generations of families grew up together in the same neighborhood, and there were definite local accents.  Anyway, this tailcoat was a used one that had already been retired from the wedding and prom rental scene.  Rental tuxes are built like tanks.  The fabric (usually wool) is extra thick, and seemingly bullet-proof (also seemingly air tight, much to our chagrin).  I think the year I bought it was in 1992.  I have no idea how old it was when I got it, but that means that it has been worn by me for concerts of all kinds for 18 years.  18 years! Oof!  That smarts: my tailcoat is older than this year’s high school graduates.

There are a few things that are amiss with my old tailcoat friend that come about as a result of the work I do.  The lapels, for instance, are not of equal size, due to the distortion of the viola pressing into my upper chest as I play.  I tried to maintain the look as well as I could by using a safety pin to keep the lapel from retreating too much, but there was only so much that I and my dry cleaner could do.  In addition, the right cuff has a worn patch on the hem where the fabric has rubbed against the lower part of the coat below the lapel.  This is due to the movement of my arm as I draw the bow back and forth across the strings.

I have been trying to estimate what amount of music my tailcoat has participated in with me.  In my 14 years with the Oregon Symphony, the tails are only worn for the Classical series concerts.  We average about 13 per year (given the lower number we did in my first few years in the orchestra), and do three reps of each, and that works out to (plus or minus) 546 concerts.  Before that, I was in the Maryland Symphony, and we did perhaps five series a year of two reps, and I played with the orchestra for four years, so add 40 more concerts to the total.  It wouldn’t be padding the resume to estimate that in total my tails have seen about 600 concerts of use over the last 18 years.  Not a bad deal for an investment of maybe $75 back in 1992!