Sorry for another mini-hiatus, but I've been at Tanglewood for the past four weeks, an excuse which I think requires no further explanation.
I've been wanting to write an entry about auditions for a while, ever since I miraculously/somehow/finally won one. People say that failures are only when you don't learn from your mistakes; I'd add to that by saying that successes are only when you learn HOW you got there, rather than blindly accepting good fortune or attributing the whole accomplishment to natural talent.
[ A precursor about orchestra auditions for non-musicians (if you already know a lot or too much about orchestra auditions, skip this paragraph): To land an orchestra job, one first sends a resume to whatever symphony has an opening. Openings are rare and unpredictable, and usually occur when a current member of the orchestra leaves or has gotten super old and decides to retire. If personnel deems your resume sufficiently legit, they invite you to a live audition or ask you to send a recording. The recording process SUCKS. You have to tape yourself playing several sections of various pieces without editing, and the goal is usually technical precision. Since the judges listen to you through a machine, musicality beyond general good taste is hard to tell...intonation/rhythm on the other hand is objective. For live auditions, you arrange your own transportation to the home of the orchestra, usually a major city. There are preliminary, semi-final, final rounds, and occasionally a final-final round. I'm used to seeing 150-ish applicants show up at prelims, and then around twenty for semis, but it varies depending on the job, instrument etc. Most (if not all) the rounds are held behind a screen, so the judges have no idea who you are, what you look like, and what kind of experience you (don't) have. The judging committee is made up of members of that orchestra. Each round lasts anywhere from 5-15 minutes, I'd say. You are asked to play a variety of things...short snippets from concertos and symphonic works. Afterwards, the judges vote on whether to advance you to the next round, and then you are informed by a proctor, usually in the presence of other applicants, which can be very awkward. If you are able to jump through the hoops and over the hurdles, you emerge as the "winner", and you get to deal with trial, probation, and other equally scary tasks. ]
My first memory of auditions is from youth orchestra in San Francisco. This is embarrassing to admit, but I actually took those auditions more seriously than my eventual job auditions. I think it's because if a job audition doesn't go well, there are no long-term consequences...I just keep trying. But if my youth orchestra audition didn't go well, I'd have to deal with the SHAME of sitting in a "bad" seat for the whole year. I remember actually crying after a couple auditions. But I am so lucky, because I learned very early on how to practice specifically for auditions and excerpts. With all due respect to what M. Lowe says, I still believe preparing for excerpts is different than preparing for solo pieces. It doesn't mean one process is more passionate or inspired than the other...the context is simply completely different. As a thirteen-year-old, I learned to play my excerpts along with CD recordings...you just wouldn't do that for your concerto, would you?
At NEC, I took orchestral excerpt class in my sophomore year, because it seemed interesting. For the course final, we had to play some concertmaster solos on the stage of Symphony Hall. I genuinely loved those excerpts, so I think I did okay. Afterwards the teacher took me aside and told me that I should start taking job auditions. I was so stunned and excited that I immediately began looking for opportunities, and I took my first real audition a couple months later.
I've taken six professional orchestra auditions so far, which is nice, because six is my lucky number. I keep a journal of basically everything that happens, so I sometimes flip back to certain audition entries and read them over to remember the lessons I learned. (It's also kind of entertaining in retrospect, how dramatic each audition felt.)
In the first audition, I learned how different it feels to play behind a screen. I realized how much I relied on the visual aspect of playing, and that I should take that energy and focus it on pure sound instead. I was so freaked out by the notion of playing for people I couldn't see, who were evaluating me from behind a curtain, that I completely could not concentrate. The overall conclusion was that I needed to be ten times more prepared, to compensate for all that weirdness, awkwardness, and unpredictability.
Thus, preparation for my second audition was the most I've ever practiced in my life. I think the lessons I learned here were more emotional than purely musical, since it was such a significant ordeal. I learned what it's like to have countless hours of countless days of obsession and devotion condensed into ten minutes, and at the whim of one or two judges, dismissed. I learned how to accept this as fair and move on. I learned the importance of sound quality. Most importantly, I learned to accept the level I was at, a level that simply wasn't all there yet. There was no need for me to force myself into the shoes of someone more advanced, or to impose unreasonably high expectations upon myself.
The third audition was really weird because, although it was the first time I felt fairly comfortable playing behind the screen, I was so physically wrought during the waiting process that I was shaking pretty violently throughout the whole day. I missed a couple notes during the second round, which probably eliminated me. Who knows, though. I learned that one should ALWAYS ask for comments from the judges, and ALWAYS check a proper edition of the score, so there aren't nasty surprises in the warm-up room when scanning through an official version of your excerpts. I also discovered the joy of failing, because it gives you another chance to try again. That night, I wrote the following:
The ride back was like a blur of tiredness and bleakness, but somewhere in there I also summoned up this random and deep joy that no matter what, I am still so privileged and happy to have these opportunities as a musician, to try and play wonderful works on a beautiful stage, to strive for a life in music. And the ultimate triumph in an audition (besides for actually getting a job, I suppose) is finding the excitement and willingness and joy to TRY AGAIN!
The fourth audition was over a span of two days, and on the second day I used beta-blockers. I learned that they have no effect on me whatsoever...if anything, they hinder me, because I feel guilty and uncomfortable the whole time.
The fifth audition was the first and only time I ever cried after an audition (besides in pre-college days). It was because I actually thought I'd played well enough to get it, but then I didn't. I learned to pay attention to how things went from an outsider's perspective, rather than how I personally felt it had gone. Sometimes, an audition feels good, but in reality it doesn't sound good from outside your own personal bubble. Like Stephane Deneve says, you have to "grow a pair of giant ears." After that audition, I sat on a bench outside, called S, and proceeded to sob like a baby. It was embarrassing. I almost cancelled my next audition, because I really felt there was no hope. But I didn't, because the deposit fee deadline was over, and I was too cheap to waste a hundred bucks.
Two and a half weeks later was Detroit.
I don't know what I did differently in preparation...I didn't practice more than usual or try any weird techniques like meditating. Something very important did finally register in my head--I figured out what I do when I get nervous, and I figured out how to AVOID doing it. It sounds so simple duh, but for slow people like me, it takes a while... The key thing I remember from those four audition rounds is that each one got a little better (except the very last one, because at that point I knew I had already gotten in the orchestra, so I was just having fun, and it was certainly not my best). Also, I was focused on listening to myself in the moment while I played, as if I were behind the screen with the audition committee. That was helpful, because when I walked off the stage, I wasn't like, "OH MY GOSH WHAT JUST HAPPENED," but rather, "I know what I did well, and what I did poorly. If I pass, it'll be because of a, b, and c. If I don't pass, it'll be because of d, e, and f."
Auditions are complicated and bizarre and perplexing. I think the audition winner is rarely the "best" applicant, but rather the person who happens to do the right things at the right time, in front of the right people. There are a bunch of inspirational stories about those who failed a hundred times before succeeding...Einstein, Christina Aguilera, Bill Gates, Henry Ford, Thomas Edison, J.K. Rowling...the list goes on and on and irritatingly on. Yeah, those stories are great, and the same thing certainly could happen to you--but you know what stories aren't great? The ones where people fail and never end up succeeding, even though they also keep trying. Those stories are rarely ever told. When I didn't get good results, people reminded me of inspiring stories, encouraging me to stay positive and have faith. And I would secretly think, "But how do I know if I'm not one of the majority whose failures don't ultimately turn into successes?" How do you know when to quit, and when to keep trying? I think it's the point when you realize that trying again is bringing you down instead of up. It's the moment when you're getting out your old and battered excerpt book for the umpteenth time, looking Don Juan square in the high D, and suddenly it dawns on you--I don't like what I'm doing. This isn't exciting. This isn't inspiring.
That's never happened to me, honestly. Of course Don Juan isn't my favorite thing to play. But every time I dig it out again, a tiny part of me (even if it's just 1% or 0.003%) is eager to do it better than before. I guess if continuing to improve brings you joy, and you are at a point in your life where it's reasonable to keep trying, then you should.
Lastly: This may sound weird, but the terrifying unpredictability of auditions and being a music major in general actually made me less stressed at times, because it really led me to put everything in God's hands. The more unpredictable your field is, the less control you realize you have. After that fifth and saddest audition, I started looking at different career paths I could pursue. Musicology? Phd? I prayed, "If it's right for me to play in an orchestra, please give me a sign this next year. Otherwise I'll accept that I should try another path." That sign came way sooner than I expected.
Whenever I get nervous playing violin, whether it be walking into an audition, attempting an elusive octave, or willing my bow not to shake, I try to remember the verse, "Be strong and courageous for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." I'm not saying that by thinking this, I then am able to play perfectly. Sometimes I think this verse, feel better, and then a truly disastrous sound comes out of my instrument. So what? We don't praise the Lord so that we'll get good results; we praise Him because it's true.
