On Conspicuous Judges and Unsuccessful Auditions

I was just finishing a post about my experience so far with the combo that I’m currently in, but I’m going to be telling you about my day instead. You see, I had an audition this morning with the SCSBOA honor jazz band program. I’ve done auditions before, but only classical ones — auditions with stiff-necked judges and staring audiences and billowy black dresses. But today I exchanged that dress for a pair of black slacks — if that really symbolically means anything at all — and walked into an audition with a whole different atmosphere — an atmosphere with muffled Aebersold recordings emanating from the audition rooms; predominantly male; brassy instruments. And for some reason, it was a lot warmer, too. I’d never noticed how cold the buildings of my classical auditions were. It was warm in the sense of comfort — it was bubbly, swingy, devoid of threatening glares.

But I’m going to tell you right now that I did not make it. When I looked up from the keys to play the next etude during this audition, I was able to catch a glimpse of the judge’s face. It was blank; there was no epiphanic light in his eyes — it almost seemed as if the awkward movements of my short, stubby fingers were far more interesting than what I was actually playing. I’m familiar with the small idiosyncrasies of a musical judge — if I can see that he’s retired his pen to the corner of his desk and he’s leaned backwards, closing his eyes, then I know that he’s listening to the music. Thumbs up (unless, of course, he’s sleeping). On the other hand, if he’s avoiding eye contact and focusing on the curly scribbles of his writing, then it’s a no-go. Two thumbs down. Of course, there’s always exceptions (like a time when I walked into an audition with two very, very Russian piano judges whose main critique was that I moved too much when I played), but there’s always small patterns like these that pop up at nearly every audition I go through.

There’s a lot of feelings that come with not making it. The hurt claws at me; it gnaws at my insides; I try to rationalize it — maybe I forgot to play something; maybe I didn’t prepare enough. I can’t look at my piano without wincing. I hide all that audition music under the songs that I love to play. I make two lists. One list details my achievements, and the other details all the stupid things I’ve ever done. It’s the same process every time — the achievement list has things like my first piano concerto with an orchestra, my Louis Armstrong jazz award; the stupid list include all the auditions I forgot to practice for, that one chemistry lab that I set on fire and had to redo twice, the friends I lost when I joined the marching band, and finally, this audition I didn’t make. And every time, the stupid list is about three times longer than the achievement one.

But then I remember that this isn’t the first audition that didn’t go well. Actually, it’s probably one of very many auditions that will not go well. And I’m probably not the only one who’s staring at my instrument and wondering, “Why on earth did I do this to myself?”

I remember that I’m doing this to myself because I love my keys; I love the way it tingles under my fingertips at the touch of a dissonant chord; I love to spoil it with Chopin and Cole Porter and Schumann and Scott Joplin. Billy Joel knows it too –

I’ve come far
From the life I’ve strayed in
I’ve got scars
From those dives I’ve played in
Now I’m home
And I’m weary
In my bones
Every dreary one night stand
But my baby grand
Is coming home with me

Ever since this gig began
My baby grand’s
Been good to me

(Baby Grand/Billy Joel)

I’ve found that after things like this happen, my best releases lie in both music and in words. These words are usually written down on a loose sheet of paper, outlined several times with several different pens, and then crumbled and tossed into the trash bin. But I hope that as I share these words with you, you’ll find some release in them, too.

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: Baby Grand/Billy Joel & Ray Charles/The Essential Billy Joel

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