If the bassoon is the class clown of the orchestra—clever, quirky, and slightly unpredictable—then the contrabassoon is its brooding, baritone cousin lurking in the shadows.
Twice as long and twice as deep, the contrabassoon (also known as the double bassoon) brings a profound, almost geological rumble to the orchestral soundscape. It's the lowest regularly used wind instrument in the orchestra, and it plays a vital—if often subtle—role in some of the greatest music ever written.
A deep dive into history
The contrabassoon’s history begins in the 18th century, evolving as an extension of the standard bassoon. As orchestras grew and composers looked to expand the sonic range of their ensembles, there came a desire for an even lower reed instrument to bolster the bass line. Early versions of the contrabassoon were clunky, cumbersome, and not particularly agile, but they got the job done: laying down the groundwork in the depths of the orchestra.
By the 19th century, improvements in keywork and bore design gave the instrument greater flexibility and power. The contrabassoon began to emerge as more than just a bass-doubling curiosity. Composers like Berlioz, Wagner, and Mahler started to give it moments in the spotlight—whether to growl ominously, murmur mysteriously, or occasionally, to grunt out a humorous line. With further refinements through the 20th century, especially by makers like Heckel in Germany and Fox in the U.S., the modern contrabassoon became more playable, more reliable, and more expressive.
How low can you go?
Let’s talk frequencies. The contrabassoon’s lowest note is B♭0, which vibrates at about 29 Hz. That’s the same note as the lowest string on a 5-string bass guitar, and it's just on the edge of human hearing. Most people can hear down to about 20 Hz, but below 30 Hz, we tend to feel the sound as much as hear it. That’s what gives the contrabassoon its unique power: it doesn’t just play low—it resonates through your bones.
By comparison, the regular bassoon bottoms out around B♭1 (58 Hz), making the contrabassoon a full octave lower. While it may not project like a trumpet or violin, the contrabassoon’s superpower is its depth—that dark, velvety rumble you might only notice when it’s taken away.
The contrabassoon has about 18 feet of tubing, all of which must be artfully coiled to make the instrument even remotely manageable. Despite this, it’s still roughly 6 feet long, with a wide conical bore and a bocal (curved metal tube) leading to a double reed, just like the bassoon’s—only bigger and more demanding to play.
So what does the contrabassoon sound like?
Good question. Think the creaking of an old wooden ship, a bear muttering in its sleep, or the distant thunder of an approaching storm. It can be sinister, sardonic, or solemn—and when used well, it's unforgettable.
Composers often use it for atmosphere. In Ravel’s Boléro, the contrabassoon makes an unexpectedly cheeky entrance. In the same composer's Mother Goose Suite, the contrabassoon plays a subtle yet important role in adding depth and character to the orchestral palette. In particular, the contrabassoon often underpins darker or more mysterious moments, helping to evoke the storybook worlds of the suite’s fairy tale movements.
Its deep, reedy tone adds a slightly spooky or whimsical edge, depending on context—perfect for evoking enchanted forests, old witches, or creaky castles. You can see and hear sone wonderful contrabassoon playing in the clip below:
Elsewhere, Prokofiev chooses the contrabassoon to represents the hero's grumpy grandfather in Peter and the Wolf. Mahler, ever the orchestrator, used the contrabassoon in several symphonies for an ominous undertow, including that deep, growling moment in the first movement of Symphony No. 1. And Shostakovich gave the instrument some brilliantly bleak, sarcastic lines in his symphonies, especially the Fifth and Tenth.
In Wagner’s operas, the contrabassoon often underpins massive chords, giving a kind of mythic weight to the music. It also appears in movie scores, especially when a composer wants to underscore something dark, mysterious, or foreboding. John Williams and Howard Shore have both used it to great effect—it’s part of that earthy gloom you hear in the Star Wars Death Star scenes or beneath the mines of Moria in The Lord of the Rings.
Rossini wrote a nice duet for bassoon and contrabassoon. Have a listen:
What's it like to play?
The contrabassoon isn’t for the faint of lung. It’s physically demanding, requires an excellent ear to handle intonation in the lowest registers, and its reeds are notoriously fussy. Players often come from a bassoon background but must relearn much of their technique to manage the contrabassoon’s unique size, response, and resistance.
It’s not a soloist’s instrument in the traditional sense, though that’s changing. There are a few brave souls out there giving recitals and commissioning new music for the contrabassoon, expanding its voice beyond the orchestral pit. The instrument even has a handful of concertos to its name—check out pieces by Gunther Schuller, Victor Bruns or Donald Erb if you're curious.
A deep appreciation
In a world of high drama and soaring melodies, it’s easy to overlook the contrabassoon. But without it, the bottom would fall out of the orchestra—literally. Its quiet power lies in how it enriches everything else, adding depth, texture, and an emotional weight you might not even realise is there until it’s missing.
So next time you’re at a concert and the air seems to shimmer with low vibrations you can’t quite place, look to the back of the orchestra. There, standing tall with a curl of tubing and a serious expression, is the contrabassoon—holding down the fort, one rumble at a time.
Pics: Getty Images
