In late July 1999, a little more than two months prior to the premiere, we received the music to Morton Feldman's monumental String Quartet No. 2---four thick, over-sized scores. We first had to establish a practical way to read and play the piece for six continuous hours. In part due to the absence of individual parts, we decided to all play from score, with a carefully devised plan of page-turning and page-sliding to ensure a seamless performance. After establishing a strategy for executing FSQ2, we proceeded to learning it, which was not so different from learning other types of music. What is different is its glacial scale and scope, which erased many conventional perceptions of form. For instance, unlike the neatly packaged four-bar phrases in both old and new music, FSQ2's melodic cells can repeat as much as thirteen times, and some sections can last fifteen minutes or more before moving onto something new. That the piece has clearly defined sections, which are not unlike what you might find in sonata form or pop song structure, certainly helped us conceptualize its architecture. But the sheer size of FSQ2 throws musical memory for a loop. In a pop song the chorus might come back within a minute, and in sonata form the first theme usually recurs within ten minutes; but with FSQ2, recapped sections might not occur for sixty minutes or more. From the perspective of string technique, playing FSQ2 requires incredible physical stamina as well as a little bit of technical ingenuity. The length is a huge hurdle in itself---let's face it, string players (in fact, any musician) are not trained to play six hours without a break. Another big challenge, perhaps less obvious, is the act of playing very quietly. It actually requires much more physical energy to do less than more. Playing a virtuoso concerto that requires great technical agility is actually less physically demanding then playing softly, because we are accustomed to being in motion, not still. Downshifting both the speed and pressure of the bow goes against many years of training. Furthermore, the suspension of the right arm in mid-air, working against the gravitational pull of the arm's natural weight, can become rather uncomfortable. Imagine yourself typing on a keyboard that is positioned about one foot higher than its normal placement, and doing that for six hours. That's what playing this piece is like for a violinist. To deal with this, we individually experimented with our technique so we can find ways to minimize motion and conserve energy. As we approached the premiere, we focused more and more on the biological challenges of the performance. Much was made about this pre-concert, including an announcement in the Village Voice that humorously alludes to the use of a catheter. But this feat was not only about not being able to use the toilet for six hours; it was also about fending off dehydration and the depletion of energy. Essentially, we needed to maximize physical energy while minimizing our depository urges. So after having a rather large lunch shortly after noon, about six hours before the concert, we made sure there were plenty of toilet breaks during the afternoon. In the end, I am happy to report that a catheter was not necessary on stage. What did accompany us to the stage, after much machismo objection, were two water bottles. I remember clearly that on page 86 (out of 124), I was the first to finally reach down for water during a short ten-second break. By that point, my need for hydration far outweighed my anxieties about bladder control. As for the performance itself, it was truly sublime. We were definitely in a zone. The fourth, fifth, and sixth hours were brand-new terrain---not musically, but physically. We were feeling new aches and pains, hearing increased lushness in Feldman's harmonies, experiencing new emotions in this meditative state. In the end, we truly felt like a lifetime had passed us by. The premier performance of FSQ2 lasted six hours and fifteen minutes, and it was six hours and fifteen minutes of pure bliss.