An Audition for the Ages

As we sat down in the rows of chairs in front of where the judges were, (there was a tarp in between us and them so they wouldn’t see us) my heart began to beat a little bit faster. When they announced which scales we would have to play, I had a mini heart attack because I realized that I didn’t know one of the scales nearly as well as I did the other. I was able to quickly figure out the key signature, but that did not mean I would be able to play it well. My heart pounded faster as the first few people played. Soon enough, the person before me played, and I realized with horror that it was my turn. Sweat dripped down from my forehead, nearly missing my eye. I played shakily, and, inevitably, completely butchered that first scale. For the second scale, I played it much better than the first, but not as well as I had while practicing. I then played both etudes relatively well but knew that even just that one scale could prove to be my undoing.

Throughout my seven years of being in band, I have had many auditions and play-offs that determined the band I would be placed in, or the chair within that band. So many and, for some of them, so long ago that I don’t remember many of them at all. But this one sticks out to me the most: my audition going into junior year.

That year’s audition would be special for a few reasons. One reason was that I would be transitioning from high school to senior high school; the last two years of school. This would mean a new school to figure out and new directors that I had to make a good first impression with. Another reason was that, unlike the past two years, only this audition at the beginning of the year would be used to determine which band I would be in for the entire year; there would be no changing bands between semesters. One other reason was that, during the summer, the head director at Plano Senior, Mr. Kondrat, was asked to be one of the district’s fine arts coordinators. I would later find out that we would have the head director from Clark, Mr. Lewis, as our new head director at Plano. Clark was the high school I had gone to for the previous two years, so I knew him already.

We were given the audition music in January, though the audition wouldn’t happen until about mid-April. Thinking I would have time later, I pretty much ignored the music for the first month, only occasionally looking at it, never playing it. I knew I would also have to memorize all twelve major scales, though they would only ask us to play two of them. Eventually, I knew I would need to practice, and play through each of the etudes at least a few times, and so I began to practice a few times a week after school.

Once, in a practice room, I sat in front of a music stand holding my horn in my lap, my mind not wanting to cooperate and learn the music. I stared at the two etudes, the lyrical and the technical, trying to decide which would be easiest to learn. I nearly had a nervous breakdown thinking about how much music I had to learn, and what I had to memorize and (forgetting that I had done this before and that I could do it despite my fear) decided to practice my music for the upcoming concert instead, relaxing because I knew this music much better.

“No one will know,” I said to myself, the guilt of not practicing what I needed to practice nagging me like a spider in the corner of the room, and proceeded to play the march that, for me, consisted of only pickup eighth notes.

About three months before the audition, I began to tell myself, “I know the scales they will probably have us play.”

The logical side of me would say, “But there are so many you don’t know. There is a much better possibility of them asking you to play one of them.”

“But it is too hard to learn so many scales, only to end up not playing most of them! It is such a waste of time.”

“You know you really should. You need to learn to do hard things.”

“No.”

And so I focused on learning the etudes as best as I could.

Over the next couple months, as many of my colleagues practiced fervidly every day for an hour or two, I would practice two, maybe three times a week, for about 20 - 30 minutes each time; only enough to play through the scales I already knew and play through both etudes with a little bit of work on the most difficult spots for each of them. Every once in a while, I would half-heartedly try to play through one of the scales I had not yet memorized, always ending up deciding to play something I knew better. Over that time, I did end up learning the etudes well and tried to make sure I played at least close to the right tempo with the right dynamics, all the while having a good 65-75% of the scales I should have learned being neglected.

The day of the audition finally came. The audition time for French Horns wasn’t until about 2 o’clock in the afternoon, so I relaxed and, of course, didn’t practice, even though my instrument was sitting in my bedroom with my music next to it. When I first arrived at the school, I had no idea where to go, but was soon directed to the warm-up area, the band hall. I played through the scales I knew and played a couple parts of the etudes, but made sure not to overplay so that I would be able to play well for the actual audition. After what seemed too short of a time, we were called out of the room and led over to the orchestra room, where we were each given a letter, as the auditions would be anonymous so there would be no bias from the judges, the directors. As we slowly filed into the room, I could already feel my heart begin to beat faster and sweat form on my brow.

It was not until nearly the end of the school year, in late May, that we could finally view the results of, at least for some of us, the hard work we had put in towards our audition. The days approaching the grand reveal had been full of speculation, skepticism and reassurances, and pre-emptive consolations. Of course, for many, the reality was a bit harsher than their dreams had led them to believe. I was one of those. I had hoped to make it into the second-highest band, as I had the last two years at Clark. As I walked up to the window where the results were posted, small beads of sweat began forming on my forehead. I craned my neck and tried to get at least a glimpse of the results. When I was finally allowed to be in a spot where I could clearly see them, my heart dropped instantly. I saw that I had not only not made it into the second band, but I had also missed it by one measly chair. At first, I was angry at the person who had beat me, but once I saw the name of the person, (and realized they were a soon-to-be senior that I had been friends with the year before) I knew I had only myself to direct my frustration at. I knew I had had control over where I would be placed; I had failed my goal, and the fault was mine.