By Alex Johnson
The Community Stage
I recently auditioned for the Salina Symphony, and it made me reflect on my previous orchestral auditions, the work I’ve put in over nearly two decades to prepare for them, and the lessons I’ve learned along the way.
This was the first of the six orchestral auditions I’ve taken where I could actually see myself accepting the position if offered. My previous auditions were mostly opportunities to gain experience, challenge myself, or take a “vacation with a purpose.” Ultimately, I decided to take the audition as an opportunity to practice the skills I’ve spent so many years honing and, if I won, to get even more involved in the musical scene of the region.
The audition process followed a typical model for blind auditions. We were asked to prepare six excerpts plus a solo selection (everyone picks the Mozart “Concerto” exposition). The committee chose to hear three of the six excerpts. You are assigned a number and called up in order. You are taken to a room with acoustic paneling providing a screen between you and the committee. You are not allowed to speak in order to preserve anonymity.
During the audition, my instrument had water in the keys that gurgled during the solo, caused by changes in temperature. The committee understood, but it was a little destabilizing to hear it in the middle of the piece with nothing I could do about it until I finished the selection. Adding to the disconcerting experience, the acoustic paneling absorbed sound immediately, cutting any natural resonance in half. Then came “Marriage of Figaro,” an excerpt I’ve been playing since I was 14 years old and still have a love-hate relationship with. It’s still a bit of a blur.
There are some valuable lessons to be had from putting yourself through a process like this. Auditions are a unique form of a job interview because they challenge you mentally, physically, and physiologically. They condense decades of practice and dedication into 10 minutes—often, not the best 10 minutes of your musical life.
While in college, I took a contrabassoon audition for Orchestra Iowa. While I have performed many times on the contrabassoon, it is not my first pick. The contrabassoon is about 4.5 feet tall, weighs 60 lbs. in its case, and is more felt than heard on stage.
When I told my bassoon professor I wanted to take the audition, he was … skeptical. At my first lesson, he said “it doesn’t sound as bad as I expected.” Wow. Thanks for that vote of confidence. The committee said that the candidate pool was better than the previous audition, so I’ll count that as a win!
I auditioned for a high-level student orchestra with an audition held at the Chicago Symphony Center. I love being able to say I’ve played in the Chicago Symphony Center (basement).
My other bucket list venue audition was at the Kennedy Center. Recalling that audition feels particularly timely now. I got to warm up in an iconic green room I’ve seen in movies. I walked out onto the stage, to a single chair, guided by a thick padded carpet, like a gray, bouncy version of a red carpet. In the excerpts, I had a minor stumble in the opening piece, but the committee let me continue and play the entire audition. We often hear about audition committees that cut off musicians after a mistake. I feel a little special knowing they must have heard something, or been lenient with nerves, to allow me to complete the audition (thankfully mistake-free after that).
I used to think the point of an audition was to prove I was good enough to get the job. Now, I see it as an opportunity to prepare for a major challenge, walk into the audition room with confidence, play these excerpts with technical skill, knowledge of repertoire, and a dash of personality, recover when something goes wrong, and walk back out knowing that I did my best.
In the classical music world, we are often met with skepticism from people who doubt the viability of the field, the value it brings to society, and the perception of the “starving artist.” In this region, very few musicians do music full-time. Most balance music with other careers and the other pressures of life. Not everyone has a Kennedy Center story, but they do have years of practice, periods of doubting themselves, and a point where they made the decision to put aside their self-conscious fears and lean into the music. So the fact that musicians make time to practice, make reeds (oh wait, that’s just me), rehearse, and miraculously pull together a performance deserves extra appreciation. Hug a musician. They work hard.
Alex Johnson is the founder of Classical Revolution ICT. She can be reached at alex@classicalrevolutionict.com.