I recently took my first "big" audition. I'm not new to auditioning in general or for things that are considered somewhat high stakes like grad school, but this was my first one for a full-time orchestra position. And, while I didn't advance out of the first round, this was one of the best audition experiences I've had.
"Umm...how? But you didn't win or even get into the next round? And you thought that was good?"
-Most of my students, especially the middle schoolers
Yes, let me explain. Our story begins many years ago...
The best thing I learned in my DMA program was to let go and take my time. I had spent years thinking I needed to have a piece at performance tempo and "perfect" as quickly as possible, but all that really did was rush the process and internalize inconsistency. I couldn't figure out why everything felt like a crapshoot with random errors popping up in different places every time I tried to play. I always had uneven, jerky fingers that clenched down and increased tension as I approached something technically challenging. My everyday, baseline anxiety that took me out of my body was in control of my playing rather than my conscious, most musical self. I once tried to explain this to a teacher who replied, "It almost sounds like you have a learning disability, but you don't have these problems in any other subjects, do you?" Nope, I'm just terrified of judgmental comments like that, thanks. Also, so what if I did? Teachers should be prepared to work with students in whatever way works for the student, but I digress...
Step 1: start slow and stay slow. And I mean so slowly that you can't get it wrong; so slowly that your mind and your body are always in the same place; so slowly that you can track every fraction of every beat with freedom and comfort, that you can always execute the articulation, and that you can experiment with dynamics and phrasing without losing notes and rhythms. And then stay slow until you can relax your forehead, unclench your jaw, free your neck, breathe fully into your belly, and let your fingers glide from one note to the next.
That calm, curious place is where I was able to start in July only a few days after having COVID-19 (thank science for vaccines!). I hadn't played much bass clarinet before, so it was also easy to not judge myself because I knew I was starting from nothing rather than working back up to a previous skill level (expectations vs. reality amirite?). I had nine weeks to get ready, and given it was summer with very little teaching work, I felt great about the timeline. I'd do some stretching and breathing before each practice session, take a break when my face and/or mind was tired, and come back later with renewed energy. I remember thinking to myself that this feels like the first time I've ever been set up for success with enough time and energy and an understanding of myself and my skills to be proud of myself after the audition. This is a huge privilege.
Aaaannnnd....then I started to get sucked back in. I'd contacted local colleagues to ask for lessons or mock auditions to give myself checkpoints (this is smart), but as the first one approached, I found myself getting back in my anxious mind and worrying about my preparation and if I was actually good enough or would be "in time" and, and, and... (this was not smart). Fortunately for me, the first person I had a lesson with also gets the mental game of auditioning and was able to help me get out of my feels and get back to the calm place. Learning is not linear, and it's good to have that reminder every now and then. The first week of August came and went with me back in my body. Huzzah!
Next, I had a Big Bang and a Big Crunch simultaneously (yes, I am a scientific marvel). With August came the return of school, so my teaching schedule suddenly exploded. I was asked to be a long-term sub for a local middle school band program right at the beginning of the year on about a week's notice, and of course I accepted. Remember, I'm a freelancer, so guaranteed money now that allows me to engage with my community will always win over the possibility of getting lucky and having some money later in another part of the metro. Holy cow, I loved those kids! They were smart and challenging and messy and absolutely hilarious. They also took a lot of energy and hard work, so suddenly I had way less time and energy to practice. Oh, and I was still building my private studio because this job would be temporary, so I think I only had about two or three days totally off in the entire month of August.
At the same time that I had this explosion of work, something happened that made me want to curl in a ball and never leave my bed. My aunt, who had been fighting pancreatic cancer for over a year, passed. F*cking hell. This is the person who showed me I could be a professor; who took me to New York City; who understood our family and why we are the way we are; who wanted to visit weed dispensaries when she came to Colorado just to ask questions and not buy anything; who invited me to live with her family during my Master's degree and showed me what a functional family could look like. Even though I knew it was coming, it still sucks. This moment, as I write this, is the first time I've been able to cry. If I felt anything six weeks ago, I'd be feeling everything, and that was too much - I had to shut down as much as possible just to make it through the day. Is this healthy? Absolutely not. Did I do it anyway? You betcha I did. Oh, and I was trying to date and have a social life and find a new roommate all at the same time. Like I said, Big Bang and Big Crunch simultaneously.
Now I had decisions to make. Do I keep working on the audition? Do I take it anyway knowing I'm not going to be even close to fully prepared? What's the point then? For me, I need the answer to "What if?" As a recovering know-it-all, I don't like not knowing things. I didn't want to look back and wonder if I could have learned something from following through or experienced a miracle and advanced to the next round somehow. I'm also bullishly stubborn and am only just now learning how to occasionally quit something or say no to a challenge, so there's that. My therapist and I are working on it.
Another piece that helped me decide to keep going was shifting my goals. If my goal was all about an outcome I can't actually control, such as winning the audition or getting on the sub list, then I'm set up for frustration and burnout. This reminder came from one of my friends who I take lessons from occasionally and is also reinforced by research discussed in Burnout by the Drs. Nagoski (not sponsored - just a book that changed my life nbd). Shifting my goals to things in my control and closing the gap between expectation and reality made it possible to have a good experience. I know this is easier said than done, and I especially remember it being impossible earlier in my career when dollar signs and validation of my personal worth were all auditions meant to me. But, if you're privileged enough to know you are safe and loved no matter the outcome, I can't recommend this enough. I spent time looking at my overall capability on the bass clarinet and how I am managing stress instead of just compounding the stress by needing to win this audition.
What I discovered in those last four weeks leading up to the audition was that my first five weeks had been outstanding. If I didn't play other than to demonstrate for three days in a row, I could pick up my instruments and still be at the same level or even more relaxed than I was before. I never felt like I was slipping and had to catch up to where I had been a few days ago. The long-term sub job ended ten days before the audition, so I spent that last week and a half refining as much as I could between students and naps. This was the time I finally started truly pushing for tempo, and for most of the list it was there. I started playing along with recordings daily so I could more deeply internalize the context for each excerpt, and I worked on endurance runs of longer solos (because, Mozart). I like to think that if I'd been able to do that finessing work a few weeks sooner that perhaps I'd have advanced, but who really knows?
The day before the audition, I planned things that would help me feel calmly present in my body for as long as possible. I am an extremely anxious person, and being overly controlling is one of my unhealthy coping mechanisms that can lead to spinning out anyway, which is why I didn't want to practice too much or listen to excerpts or study scores. Instead, I picked my clothes (it's screened, so of course I wore leggings and a loose tunic shirt), played only enough to check for reeds that felt good (and put cute stickers on their cases 😊), and then did things that made my heart happy and kept my attention on my body and physical environment. I cuddled with the black cat who roams my neighborhood; I stretched and did breathing work at least three times; I had some fun painting watercolor flowers; I took a long bubble bath; I watched only comedies and light-hearted or feel-good shows; I watered and pruned plants (and bought a new one); I had a tasty dinner from one of my favorite local places; I took some melatonin and went to bed early. In the morning, I slept in before having only one small cup of coffee with my pancakes, warmed up at home, got dressed and packed, and drove downtown. I have also attended many concerts in this hall and even performed on stage once as a student, so I knew where I was going and likely what I would see and hear. Getting to be in your own home, sleeping in your own bed, with your familiar practice space and all your creature comforts is a huge privilege of taking a local audition. I didn't have travel exhaustion or worries about my reeds and altitude or the cost of attending weighing on me.
The audition itself felt pretty standard. There was a group warmup room (you must never go there, Simba), a lounge for everyone to hang out in, a series of private rooms you'd get to spend time in just before your audition, and the stage for the audition. I got there early as requested, and then discovered at check-in that the committee was running behind (as they almost always do). It turns out, my experience at middle school All-District Band auditions 20 years ago really did prepare me well for this. Since they were running behind and I didn't want to practice too much or work myself up, I spent a couple hours sitting in the lounge chatting with folks. This is also the time I drank water and took my anti-anxiety meds, which I also saw other candidates doing.
I had a fantastic time catching up with people I knew as well as meeting some new folks. There were people from all over the country taking the audition, and it really was nice to be around a bunch of clarinerds again. Lots of these players have gone to school together or participated in summer festivals and also seen each other on the audition circuit recently. I'm not going to tell you to "Be careful what you say," because that advice is far too often weaponized against people, especially women, to keep them silent about their experiences. I will, however, advise you to be an adult about what you say and how you act. The clarinet community is small, and people will remember if you're catty and full of yourself or if you're chill and a good hang.
Once it was my turn for a private room, I got set up to warm up again and look at the selected excerpts for the first round. There was something to show technique, something for articulation, something for lyricism, and of course excerpts on both bass and B-flat clarinets. There was a carpet all the way from the door to the seating area so that no one could hear your shoes or how heavy you walk or any other way to discern who might be coming up behind the screen. The monitor called out my number, and I was allowed to start whenever I felt ready. Other than being asked to skip certain excerpts for time, they let me play straight through and take as much time as I wanted between excerpts to prepare the switch. I tend to disassociate and have this feeling of "waking up" somewhere in the middle of an audition or watch myself from outside my body (because "freeze" is my favorite response apparently), but this time I was able to fight it and stay with myself for most of the audition. Yes, there was the racing heart and a bit of shaking and some lightheadedness, but overall it was not even close to the level of panic I've experienced in the past.
And then it was over! I packed up, waited with the others from my group for an announcement about who would advance to the next round (none of us from my hour did), and then went home to teach my evening lessons. While I was of course a bit bummed that I didn't advance, I was mostly just relieved that it was over and proud of myself for doing it and managing my anxiety well.
I was able to get some brief comments from a couple members of the committee after the audition. This isn't always possible, but I highly recommend it if the organization or individuals on the committee are willing to share. Everything lined up with what I remember! I had some technical slips in the fastest bits, but my musicianship and pitch stayed solid even when I was more actively fighting my anxiety. I was so happy to have stayed in my body and known what was happening enough to be not at all surprised by committee member feedback.
I think one of the best things that came from all of this was the way I could teach my students by example. This is the time of year when lots of students are starting to look at ensemble placement and All-State and youth orchestra and collegiate auditions, so I could talk to them honestly about the audition process. We talk about keeping everything slow until the whole, not just notes and rhythms, is comfortable. We chat about their trajectory and remind them about the progress they've made over the last few weeks even if they're not yet where they want to be. We spend time breathing and stretching and being present in our bodies. And we talk about feedback.
One of my favorite conversations was with an 8th grade clarinet student. She asked me how it went, and I said I didn't advance but was really happy with what I learned and was able to do in the audition.
Her jaw dropped. "But you worked so hard!"
"Yes, I did."
"And you're not mad? I'd be so mad!"
"I'm a little disappointed, but I learned a lot along the way and handled my nerves way better than before, so I'm happy with it!"
Skip to 25 minutes later when she's asking about feedback:
"Here's the feedback my friend gave me." (reads her the notes from a committee member)
"What?! That's so mean! Your friend SAID that to you?!"
"Of course! And it's what I remember happening, too. I trust this friend to give me good feedback. It's balanced with good stuff and stuff to work on, and it's all true. It's not mean. In fact, it's very kind."
Then we had a chat about kindness vs. niceness - how kindness is honest and supportive and gives you actionable critiques to make yourself better, but niceness is shallow to the point of being empty and just there to keep the peace. It's easy to tell students that they need to learn to accept criticism, but they don't always believe you. I know I've had a hard time accepting it before, especially when feedback didn't feel balanced or like what I remember happening, so I get it when students push back. We need to teach our students what professional kindness looks like at an early age because creative life is full of both giving and receiving criticism and even rejection. By letting them see me work hard for something that I didn't get in the end, seeking out critiques from trusted sources, and creating a plan to learn and move forward, they get a template to try for themselves, and we build more trust for our work together.
So, gentle reader, we come to the conclusion of our tale. I've got more time on my hands now than I've had in nearly two months. I'm gonna keep going to therapy, look after my neglected plants, and bake myself another pie (just cause I want one). Last weekend, I spent an afternoon with friends for the first time in a month, and I took myself on a movie date in the middle of the day on Tuesday. We all go through cycles of work and rest, and this is going to be a season of rest for me.