goslings in the park

There's a new cohort of goslings on the Bow River waterfront, pecking and preening their way to becoming the big, annoying geese that Calgary's joggers, walkers, and bikers have learned to avoid. They're still pretty cute and lovably awkward-looking at the moment, though. The camera work is by Tina Brunnhofer, though I have only myself to blame for the amateurish editing.

the Bow blows chunks

Just after writing that last post I did get quite sick, ironically, and spent the last few days hacking away at my cough, whimpering at my fever, and (mostly) asleep in bed. I did also play a Good Friday gig, but it wasn't as entertaining as this one posted on Michael Hovnanian's Bass Blog.

While I was mostly sleeping, spring came to Calgary, at least for the time being. I have some photos of huge ice chunks breaking off and floating down the Bow River, along with the photo above, a view of downtown from Scarboro United Church where I played last weekend.

these pretzels are making me...

One of the sweetest and most bizarre people I've met here in Calgary is our principal oboist, JL. Yesterday quite a few Calgary Phil musicians, including me and JL, were playing a marathon Bach Society concert -- 2 and 1/2 hours of choral music by Bach, Handel, Buxtehude, and Grutzmacher's 'Boccherini' cello concerto. By intermission I was already rather worn out; JL only played on the two first-half pieces, so on his way out he must have noticed me slumping in a chair next to my bass.

JL: Hey, you sounded good, I hadn't really heard you play before.

Me: Oh, thanks, you too.

JL: Yeah, um, let me give you these pretzels. They've been in my pocket for a few days, but they don't go bad. They're pretzels, what's to go bad in a pretzel!?

Me: Uh, thanks, that's alright though...

JL: No no, they're fine, really, here take them!

Me: Sure...okay. Um, thanks.

JL: Oh alright, here -- I'll eat one just to show you're they're not poisonous or anything. (he takes a pretzel out of the already half-finished bag and eats it.) Of course, I might pass out and die in an hour, and you'll never know. But still, they're good!

Me: (too dumbfounded to speak, accepting the bag of pulverized pretzel bits)

JL: They don't go bad, they're pretzels!

DS (another oboist): Did you hear about this guy who got salmonella and died just from handling some pork rind dog treats? He didn't eat them, just gave them to his dog -- isn't that awful?

Me: Hey, you haven't been keeping any pork rind dog treats in the pocket with the pretzels, have you?

JL: No, I've never even touched a pork rind dog treat, I'm pretty sure.

Me: Oh good, then I'm probably safe. Pretzel, anyone?

all things elephant

But the dust-laden and echoey churches were not enough. She was drawn to another place of worship, the Ganesh temple in the heart of the city, the elephant image smiling at her from the inner sanctum. That was how it seemed: another big soft gaze in her life. The other deities sat glowering, with horror teeth like Kali's, or else solemnly dancing like Shiva; with half-closed eyes like Saraswati playing the sitar, or goofy-faced with pouchy cheeks like Hanuman. But only the elephant god smiled, always the kindly eyes directed straight at her, and the full satisfied mouth chomping in the tusks like a tycoon with two cigars. The way the fat thing sat on the rounded cushion of his bottom, his center of gravity in his broad bum, was also a pleasure to see, but most of all his eyes reassured her with a What can I do for you? look and a guarantee: I can help you.

- "The Elephant God", from The Elephanta Suite by Paul Theroux, p. 202

Bass players have a special connection to the elephant, by virtue of the famous solo from Carnival of the Animals. I think we're not alone in feeling an affinity for these mysterious giants, though. When I took my mom to the Bass Museum in Miami Beach, her favorite thing was a sculpture of Ganesh, the Hindu elephant god - remover of obstacles, deva of wisdom. I just finished reading The Elephanta Suite, this wonderful collection of three novellas by Paul Theroux, and the one quoted above especially struck me with its description of the elephant's beauty and power.

I visited Calgary Zoo recently with my dad and step-mom, and we got to see the zoo's new baby elephant, Malti. She was born August 9th, just two days after I moved to Calgary, so when these pictures were taken she was around two months old.




The handlers were trying to measure and photograph her - even at two months old, she's a pretty powerful creature, and it took all three of them to control and guide her. Below is one more picture of Malti, and then one of her father, Spike, and her mother, Maharani, shown with another female elephant, Kamala.

the cat's meow and the clarinetist's pajamas

One of the coolest and most fun Halloween shows I've heard is playing tonight and Saturday at the Beat Niq, just off Stephens Ave in downtown Calgary. The group is called Land's End, and this weekend they're performing their annual cabaret, entitled "Noche de Brujas". It's mainly Latin and South American-inspired music by Piazzolla, Gardel, Ginastera, Milhaud, Gojilov, Desenne - plus a Calgary composer, George Fenwick, who was there to introduce his piece "Black Jacques (Le chat noir)".

Land's End's cabaret is not your typical classical music concert - it's in a jazz nightclub for one thing, and all the performers are in costumes (a cello-playing cat, a witch pianist, and the clarinetist wore pajamas.) One violinist dressed as Zorro, but had to reveal himself after realizing his bow was colliding with his hat's brim, and his mask was blocking his ears. Costumed or not, all the players gave lively, passionate performances, with plenty of room for silliness and spontaneity.

I'd actually never gone to a chamber music concert in a nightclub - it wasn't the most gorgeous acoustic, but it made up for it with intimacy and ambience, and a nicely stocked bar. I maybe wasn't the only one a little unsure about how much of classical concert protocol transfers to a nightclub, but the music was so great that no one seemed tempted to talk or loudly clink silverware. It had the feeling of a concert among friends, even though the only person I knew was the bass player Trish, who invited me.

Land's End is the kind of group that you wish every town could have - adventurous, fun, exciting, committed to local performers and composers. They give 5 series of concerts throughout the year, and you can read all about them at their website: www.landsendensemble.ca.

think globally, record locally

Recently at the CPO we recorded music for a television production of Nutcracker, to be aired at 8 pm on December 23, on CBC I think. My colleague Jeff did a nice job of chronicling our involvement over three entertaining days. I was right there alongside of him, experiencing both the highs ("We got the top of the harp gliss to sync with the tear drop falling!") and the lows ("Let's try those 300 measures of fff tremolo one more time, there was something ticking in the booth.")

At one point a producer came out to say hello, thank us for our fine work - and then he explained why the music hadn't been licensed from pre-existing recordings, or outsourced to some orchestra in Slovenia. I hadn't realized this, but that is where a lot of film and television scores get recorded, because Eastern European orchestras will work for lower wages. They don't advertise that fact - no movie poster ever boasts "Score recorded in Bucharest!" - but it's a way of cutting some of the costs.

This was the rare case in which a production team really does take pride in using local performers. The dancers, choreographer, and other artistic staff were all based in Alberta; they had insisted that the music should come from Calgary as well. And while most of the music was Tchaikovsky - numbers from Nutcracker as well as bits from the 5th and 6th Symphonies - quite a bit of transitional music was by a local composer, John Estacio, who was on stage with us for the entire session.

Last month I read Barbara Kingsolver's latest book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, which was where I first heard of this term 'locavore'. It's a person who tries to consume only what is grown locally. So things like avocados, bananas, and olive oil, which are so common in our stores we might think they're local, are off the table. I'm not going to be that strict, but it's definitely altered my approach to shopping and eating. I won't bother looking at asparagus, since it's long out of season here, and a couple weeks ago I canned a huge box of tomatoes, thinking I'll save them for the winter when fresh tomatoes are a distant memory.

I wonder though, if any locavores will ever get as particular about their music as they are with their food. There certainly is a huge difference between live and recorded music - probably as big as the difference between fresh and canned spinach. And it seems important (to me anyway) to support a community of local artists and musicians, as well as farmers and food artisans. Ideally this would include local composers, conductors, instrument makers...

Of course, as this producer talked about these great local ideals, I began to feel a bit like that Ecuadoran banana in the supermarket. I've only lived here in Calgary a few weeks; and I've never played in this particular Nutcracker production; and I'd be hard pressed to name a single Albertan composer (besides John Estacio!). There's a case to be made for the occasional importthough, I think - no chocolate or coffee grows in Calgary, after all. And you can't have a Nutcracker without a few imported nuts.

Mozart in a heated tent

"Mozart on the Mountain"
Sunday, August 26th, 2 pm
Roberto Minczuk conducting

Mozart Overture to Don Giovanni
Mozart Symphony No. 25 in G Minor, K. 183 (173dB)
I. Allegro con brio
Mozart Clarinet Concerto in A Major, K. 622
II. Andante
III. Allegro

Beethoven Symphony No.5 in C Minor, op. 67
I. Allegro con brio
"Lord Strathcona Troop Musical Ride"
marches by Sousa and others,
accompanying horse tricks
Rossini Overture to William Tell
Glinka Overture to Russlan and Ludmilla

Yesterday was my first performance with the CPO - I didn't really have time to get nervous though, since I was too busy trying to keep warm. It was an outdoor concert at the Rafter Six Ranch Resort, out towards Banff, and it would have been a spectacular setting, had the weather cooperated.

Instead, we had a muddy field beneath gray, dreary skies, and an incredibly stoic audience. Even before the orchestra buses arrived, they had encamped with folding chairs, enormous umbrellas, and wind-resistant parkas - it was like playing to a climbing expedition on Mt. Everest. (Actually one of the speakers before the concert was a politician who had climbed Everest.) As the speeches went on, and on, we could see them angling their umbrellas and adjusting their tents to keep off the driving rain. These people were prepared.

Moving up here from Florida, this weather issue is hard to dodge - people want to know whether I've ever worn a sweater, if I'm up on my survival and layering skills, do I know how to defrost my car in 20 below temperatures... I try to reassure people that I lived in Chicago and Boston, I'm familiar with snow and numb fingers, I'm prepared to invest in an engine block heater and long underwear. I just didn't expect I'd need them already in August!

This was definitely a tougher breed of classical music listeners than I'm familiar with from Miami, or Chicago or Boston for that matter. There were people yelling up to the stage to ask for people to take down their umbrellas, so the people in the back could see better. You definitely want to put on a great show, when people are subjecting themselves to extreme conditions to see and hear you - we didn't have it nearly so bad, with heaters and a big tent, but I was still shivering and clutching for blowing-away pages. Luckily, we had a fantastic soloist for the Mozart Clarinet Concerto, Steve Amsel. He's the orchestra's principal clarinetist, and he made a gorgeous arc of the slow movement and a playful chase of the 3rd. (He had some help from Tim Rawlings, our percussionist and personnel manager, holding his pages down.)

For an outdoor concert, this had some substantial repertoire - all those ricochet licks in the William Tell, the lightning-fast scales in Glinka, and some meat and potatoes in the Beethoven. And Mozart is always a test of ensemble, intonation, flexibility. Even with rain pounding on the tent, you still feel exposed. It's hard to judge an orchestra from hearing it in a tent and an acoustically dead rehearsal room, but it's nice to play in a section with strong leaders, and the orchestra generally responds well to RM. He challenged the orchestra to find lightness and character in the Mozart and Rossini, and depth and contrast in the Beethoven. So at least we had a focus, besides holding onto our music and maintaining circulation in our extremities.

The orchestra's next services are recording sessions next week, a film score using music by Tchaikovsky. Those will be indoors and climate controlled!

Calgary audition odyssey, part VIII

...this is a continuation - the last! - of Calgary audition odyssey, part VII...

After Tim announced the committee's decision, they all congratulated me, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. They asked me how long I had been down at New World, where I had gone to school, etc... It was kind of strange - I had spent months preparing for this day, deliberating over all the musical details, and issues of how I wanted to present myself to these people. And now here they were, introducing themselves, and I couldn't think of anything to say, except "Thank you!" I wished I had a speech prepared, because I thought if I tried to express what was on my mind it might sound like a ecstatic Howard Dean scream!

That night I came back to the hall to hear the orchestra's concert, with Music Director Minczuk conducting Dvorak 9, the Gershwin Piano Concerto in F with soloist Stewart Goodyear, and a piece by Canadian composer Harry Freedman. It seemed like a relatively adventurous program, with the jazz influence tying into the symphony's 'New World' subtitle, and the orchestra sounded fantastic - I may have been biased, but I was really impressed!

I was sitting in the stage left choral risers behind, looking down directly over the bass section. The second movement of Dvorak 9 begins and ends with a chorale for the bass section soli, and they had a beautiful sound and intonation. They all play French bow, and I had been told that 4 of the 5 studied with Lawrence Hurst at Indiana - all of which seems to make me the odd duck in the section! Still, I liked their sound and energy so much, and I hoped I'd find a way to mesh.

I spent a lot of the concert trying to attach names to faces and get to know the musicians before I met them personally. I think you can get a sense of musicians' personalities by watching them perform, though in an orchestra there's a certain amount of melding and blurring of personalities. The next day as my connecting flight was about to land in Houston, I struck up a conversation with the people next to me, asking them about Calgary, and the man behind us overheard - it turned out he was the principal trumpet in the Calgary Phil! I had been sitting in front of him the whole flight without even recognizing him. He was very nice, a Houston native who has lived in Calgary for 30 years, and he described the orchestra as a big family, with all the fun and closeness and dysfunction that implies.

It occurred to me that joining a new family isn't something to be taken lightly - we can't help but change the group, and it changes us as well. Still all flushed with audition victory, I started thinking, what could I contribute to this orchestra, and to this city? Those questions have always been there, and I like to think I've made a slight positive impact on New World and Miami. We're so focused and driven on advancing our careers, though, that the larger purpose can get lost.

I sort of feel like a guy who has been lost at sea, trying to swim to any ship he could find. And now I've found one, and it's pulled me on deck - but who knows how seaworthy the ship is, whether the navigator has a map, or if anyone on board knows how to cook? And where are we all headed, and how are we going to keep the cargo from getting moldy? Of course I have the highest hopes, and I feel like I'm joining an awesome group of people - but still there's a sense that I won't have done my job unless I can make it even better.

My other analogy - I promised some analogies in this post! - is that an audition is a bit like the process of conception, at least the part that takes place in the Fallopian tube (I'll leave the nudity and the groping for another time). There are all these sperm, focused on a single goal. Some of them get lost or sidetracked on the way, others do everything right but just come up a bit short - and an incredible amount seem to get wasted. They all go on to other goals and victories though (unlike actual sperm) - and even the one that does reach the goal has lots more work to do. In some ways the real work hasn't even started. There's a whole lot of combining, sorting, dividing, and developing yet to come, and all our training and preparation are like the genetic code: they might determine our eye color, but they won't teach us how to look and see and understand.

To get philosophical for a second: the real work, that of becoming good musicians and good people, has been going on all along. I think it's important to have a larger mission in preparing for an audition, but that mission didn't begin when the list came in the mail. It began before we picked up the instrument, maybe before we even existed - not in our zygotes and chromosomes, but in ideas and insights that we've learned and absorbed, from our teachers and our lives. We're just passing on the ideas and the habits we've learned from others - always trying to refine and renew them, through the filters of our own experience - and that work keeps going, long after the audition odyssey ends.

Calgary audition odyssey, part VII

...this is a continuation of Calgary audition odyssey, part VI...

Audition flashback: May 2003, the morning after the Chicago Civic Orchestra's last concert, I fly down to Naples, Florida for the Naples Philharmonic section bass audition. I catch a 7 am flight, and I am scheduled to play at 1 pm the same day - unfortunately, my bass doesn't arrive! I find out it was left behind in Chicago's Midway airport.

Having nothing else to do, I rent a car, drive to the audition, and explain the situation. The orchestra staff is unbelievably nice, they tell the committee and one of the bass players offers to let me use his bass. He'll go and get it at the lunch break, so I'll have an hour or so to practice on it before I play. In the meantime, I study my excerpts, trying to imagine how I can possibly bring them off on some unfamiliar bass. I borrow a German bow from a friend at the audition, go in without expecting anything, and just let it fly. They advance me to the semifinals, and then later to the finals.

I'm one of four finalists, and each of us plays through the Beethoven 9 recitatives with music director Christopher Seaman conducting. It's the farthest I've ever gotten in an audition, and this bass and I have barely met eachother - somehow though, I'm pulling out all the stops and playing beyond myself.

Not far enough, though - the position goes to Matt Medlock, who has been subbing in Naples for most of the season, and they name me runner-up. The next morning I drive back to the airport and take home my unopened bass trunk, which has just arrived for its first brief visit to Florida...

As I unpack my bass in the warm-up room, I'm trying to remember all the positive aspects of that audition four years ago - and not the disappointment of being runner-up. It's a fantastic accomplishment, making the finals and all; but I spent months afterwards trying to figure out how it went so well, and why it just wasn't good enough. The conclusion I reached was that my instrument couldn't make or break me - without it, I had to focus more on the musical qualities I wanted to project, and that was liberating. But how to recreate that experience, to depend entirely on your ear and intuition without worrying over technique? It seemed as though I would have to let it go as a freak occurrence, the discovery of a great potential I could never really tap into again.

But now I'm in a strikingly similar situation, about to play the same recitatives conducted by the Calgary Phil music director, Roberto Minczuk (shown here). Can I summon up the freedom, let go of all the technical nuts and bolts, and be in the music as I was back then? There is a certain amount of baggage handling that goes with playing the same instrument every day - this string needs extra tweaking, this note speaks funny, or that stroke won't start without a certain nudge... We become like tinkerers rather than artists. Without sacrificing my sound and facility, I want to let all that tinkering go, to become a vessel or instrument myself, so I can follow every nuance that Minczuk wants.

First, though, I have to play Mozart 40 - some of the most technically tricky excerpts in the literature. It's the main theme of the movement, but now transfigured into a call and response between the basses and the violins, interspersed with driving eighth note passages. My NWS colleague Matt Way came back from his Rotterdam audition (where he was also - yikes! - runner-up) raving about how they play Mozart in Europe - all of the passagework so active, full of dynamics and life and direction, even when the only marking is a simple f. I don't want to be over-the-top, but I try to bring out the direction and shape, leaving some room to develop the rising scales all the way to the peak, and then phrasing with the violin theme through all those repeated A's.

The last movement excerpts are even faster, and just as thorny technically. My fingering was a gift from Paul Ellison, one of those fancy thumb maneuvers that I never would have thought of on my own, but it actually works wonderfully. It saves me some nasty string crossings as well! Paul talks about achieving such fluidity in these licks that he actually dared the conductor to go faster - wave your stick as fast as you can, I'll still nail it. I wouldn't go that far, but I do play them both pretty damn fast, so that when I finish I'm wound up and a little breathless.

And now comes Beethoven 5, the Trio only - which was in the prelim, and I felt good about. Could there be some twist, something they're looking for that didn't come across the first time around? I don't want to second guess the committee, though. I play it around the same tempo, the same articulation and try to emphasize the direction in all those quarter notes, and the bounding 3-1 quality of the time. And they don't say anything - Maestro Minczuk rises from his seat, and joins me onstage.

This is one of the strangest moments. As an orchestral bass player, I'm most comfortable at a distance of 20 feet or so from the conductor - I've almost never sat closer than 10. And yet, now he's about 5 to 7 feet away, off to my right, and I'm turned towards him so the committee is watching both of us in profile. I briefly consider where to put my music, and decide I'm not going to look at it anyway, so the less obtrusive, the better.

He raises his baton, and gives me two quick preparatory beats - here we go! His beat is very clear and incisive - sitting so close, I feel like my sound is almost dragging behind, but I try to keep the singing quality and fill out all the notes. After the first recitative, he puts his hands down and gives me some directions: a longer quarter-note upbeat, more sound and direction to the low G, longer quarter-notes at the end of the phrase. Almost before I have time to process it all, he raises his hands again and gives me another chance.

I'm glad I can play these from memory, because keeping up with his hands and directions is taking all of my focus. Each statement is the same pattern, a run-through, a series of instructions, and another try - and as much as I try to anticipate what he wants, there's always something more. Smoother connected eighth notes, a more soaring line, longer quarter-notes - always the quarter-notes longer, until I almost feel I'm hanging over into the rests. MTT often talks about how we musicians tend to make tiny corrections, whereas an actor will grossly exaggerate, take things to an extreme, before bringing it back. I want to be tasteful, but still show a range and flexibility, a willingness to accomodate to his unfamiliar interpretation.

I finish with two very long quarter notes - they sound with a nice resonance in the hall though. After playing alone all day, trying to show my personality and intentions without a guide, it's a completely different experience following a conductor. It feels good, if a bit mentally draining - Minczuk asks for a lot, focusing on details of articulation, shape, and phrasing, and I think I could really enjoy working with him.

As I pick up my things and prepare to leave the stage, a member of the committee asks me a question: why didn't I play those low octaves in the Ein Heldenleben excerpt? I try to formulate the least damning answer possible, but it still comes out sounding bad. I didn't realize until the moment I was on stage that the excerpt continued through 13, so I wasn't really prepared to play those extra lines, and I sure wasn't going to attempt any extension-opening stealth maneuvers! Maybe admitting "I wasn't prepared" was not the best way to end my audition performance, but I still leave the stage feeling satisfied, happy to have survived and made the most of this day.

Now comes the moment of truth, time to wait for the final verdict. Or else they still might want to hear some more - it's fairly common to hold several final rounds, bringing the same two or three candidates back until they're completely worn down. Some orchestras will even bring all the finalists onstage at once, and have a sort of excerpt shoot-off, or hold an interview round.

Today though, I have a feeling the last note has been played. I shake Theodore's hand and we introduce ourselves. He goes to school at USC, and I tell him that my twin brother Dan also works there. Dan does graphic design work for the various schools, as well as the website - I try to explain all this, and how until recently Dan worked in the undergraduate library, but very rarely left his cubicle or met any students! He still does play the bassoon though, and occasionally goes to concerts at the school of music.

I'm still babbling about my brother when Tim emerges - the committee has reached a decision. He brings us both just off stage, where the committee members are all gathering. I can see now that they aren't so many, maybe 6 or 7 people. One of them winks at me, I think I notice... could it be?

Like all orchestra personnel managers and TV reality hosts, Tim begins his announcement with a series of polite remarks - thank you for coming, the committee was impressed and appreciative of the high standard of playing, etc., etc. We're both standing there uncertain when to breathe, when the news is going to break. Then Tim turns to me and says, "They have decided to offer you the position," and shakes my hand.

I'm overjoyed, but I don't know what to do or say. Looking over at Theodore, I can feel all the disappointment of coming so close. We shake hands and hug - whatever the outcome, even if we've never heard each other play, we've shared a whole lot today, and gone through the same experiences, hopes and challenges.

The other members of the committee crowd around: Charles Garrett, the principal bassist who asked me about my Heldenleben transpositions; Sheila Garrett, the assistant principal and wife of Charles; Donovan Seidle, the assistant concertmaster who I played with in Chicago Civic; bassist Graeme Mudd; and bassist Trish Bereti-Reid, possibly the one who winked. There may have been more as well - but I'm not really counting, just shaking hands and beaming.

(One more installment to come, thank you for reading and please visit again! - MH)

Calgary audition odyssey, part VI

...this is a continuation of Calgary audition odyssey, part V...


Tim Rawlings, the Calgary Phil personnel manager, told us that the semifinal round would start right away. The committee would hear this round without a screen, and they would have us begin with a concerto movement - excerpts would also be asked, but again we wouldn't know which ones until 10 minutes before we were to play. They would keep the five semifinalists in the same order as we had played the prelims, meaning that I would go last, and my friend Karl Fenner would be second.

It was exhilarating to get advanced - sort of like a delayed applause after a performance you aren't certain went over that well. In this audition especially, I really wanted to perform for the committee and to convey something of myself, not just show how the notes lined up on the page. It may be a subtle distinction, but I think sometimes we try to be safe, color within the lines, make the most standard choices, and just hope we do this better than anyone else! As a result, I think we risk sounding boring, careful, and rigid, and we create a lot of extra pressure on ourselves. Because when you take a cookie-cutter approach, every stray lump of dough sticks out, and mars that illusion of perfection you're trying to create.

Of course, I would like to play perfectly as well. I've realized, though, that my best playing comes when I'm really trying to communicate the music, not just execute it (what a terrible word!) It's difficult to communicate when you're getting nothing back - the committee had not spoken in the first round, so the announcement that I had advanced was my first signal from them. I don't need constant applause and compliments - I'm not that insecure, really! - but I think that we do depend on our audience to help sustain our performance. We read their facial expressions, their body language, whether fidgeting or yawning or leaning forward, and those reactions do affect us as performers. All this is to see, I was very happy to have advanced, and excited to play without a screen. I felt now I would be able to open up a little more, show some personality, and make a case for myself as a prospective colleague.

First though, I was concerned that I hadn't eaten since 8 am, and now I would be playing at 2:30 or so. I had brought a couple of apples, thinking I'd at least have the time to go across the street and buy a sandwich. Strangely, though, it seemed like the only way to leave the building was to cross the stage itself - where the semifinals would begin any minute! - and there was no easy way to re-enter either. So I was basically stuck there for the duration. I dug out all my Canadian coins, bought a granola bar in the vending machine, and hoped that my adrenaline would keep me going, even if my stomach couldn't!

Back in my dressing room, I looked over all the excerpts I hadn't yet played. There were some scary ones - Mozart 35, the 3rd and 4th movements of Schubert 9, the march from Beethoven 9... And all those first round excerpts could still be asked again - I tried starting the Beethoven 5 Scherzo a couple of times, and reminded myself how all those Heldenleben arpeggios worked! Mostly though, I just wanted to take it easy, not get too tense or tired, since I had already played for 2 hours or so. Put the bass down, take some deep breaths, get centered again...

It was around 2:30 when they called me down to the on-deck room. Meaning each person was taking around 15 minutes, somewhat longer than the prelims. Just as in that round, there were three excerpts on the stand: Britten's Young Person's Guide, the Scherzo from Schubert 9, and the recitatives from Beethoven 9.

I was feeling pretty good about everything - my sound seemed open and warm, the tricky arpeggios in Schubert 9 and even the high stuff in the Vanhal Concerto seemed mostly under control. Of course, I had left my music for the concerto back in Miami, and all I had were photocopies of the first two pages. If they wanted to hear more, though, I thought I had it memorized pretty well. Tim Rawlings came in, along with another proctor - apparently they had decided that carrying my stool and helping me onstage was a two-man operation. I must have been flustered by all the attention, though, because I dropped my metronome off the stand. It went caroming off the side of my bass and fractured into several pieces on the floor. Tim and the other guy seemed a little freaked out, but I wasn't going to let it break my composure. We found all the scattered pieces, left them in a little pile there, and headed towards the stage.

As we were about to go on, Tim asked me how I would like to be introduced. Did I want him to say I was from Miami, Florida? I told him to say I'm from Tacoma, Washington, and that I play in the New World Symphony in Miami. Maybe it wouldn't make any difference for the committee, but I wanted to be at least clear and honest about where I come from!

I looked out and smiled at the committee - they were kind of a blur, 6 or 8 or maybe 12, I wasn't certain - but at least they were real people! And I recognized Donovan Seidle, a violinist colleague at the Civic Orchestra of Chicago who is now the associate concertmaster in Calgary. I thought of a comment someone had given me at a mock audition: can the concerto sound more inviting? I didn't quite know how I was going to do it, but I wanted to make the Vanhal into a big, joyous, welcoming invitation - I'm nice, please get to know me better!

I played through the exposition, then went on to the development, the end of page two, they still hadn't stopped me! I wasn't going to look at the stand, because I knew the notes I was playing weren't written down anywhere there - I still felt like I was communicating, sending my sound out, and getting some resonance from the hall though. I reached the last chord before the cadenza before they stopped me. I think I must have missed a note or bungled a phrase or two somewhere, but honestly all I remember is that great feeling of performing!

If the Vanhal was my chance to be outgoing and welcoming, the Britten was where I was going to be fun and maybe a little silly. It starts off hesitantly, not quite sure where it's going, then lands decisively in G major for this big, exuberant theme. When I played for Harry Shapiro, back in February, he wanted me to sing that theme as loud as I could, really shout it out. When I play it now, I always remember the two of us, me and this 92-year-old retired BSO horn player, belting that theme at the top of our lungs!

Next was Schubert 9, one of my favorite pieces, but one of my scariest excerpts. It starts fortissimo with sforzandi on each downbeat, leaping across the strings, and then lands surprisingly in distant D-flat major, whispering up a series of arpeggios before swelling and returning to G major, even more powerfully than before. That drop to piano always feels a little like opening a parachute in mid-dive - you hope it will open, and you'll sail securely on, but there's always a risk of crashing and burning! This time, the parachute opened, I got that hushed sound I was going for, but I had to remind myself not to lose tempo, to keep it rolling and dancing along through the last three notes.

Of all the excerpts on the list, Beethoven 9 was the one I felt most eager to play. I'd been singing recitatives in the shower for the past two weeks, trying to find a flexibility and a sense of urgency in each one. Charles Carleton suggested I think of the time as a big rubber band - each recitative starts in tempo, stretches, and then recovers momentum again. Beyond that, listen to a lot of Baroque recitatives, he said, like those in Handel's Messiah: "And I will shake the heavens, and the earth, the sea, and the dry land..." In the end though, I didn't really have time to imagine the Messiah, or test Charles' big rubber band; I just had to trust all his good advice had been absorbed, and make the music as I felt it in that moment.

The whole round felt really solid and gratifying, though of course there are no sure bets in an audition. I though I had presented something personal and heartfelt, though, and if they didn't like it then I could accept that. Because I did like it, I would have advanced myself - and that's the highest standard I could hope for. I packed my bass again, gathered up my metronome (all the pieces fit back together again, luckily), and headed down to the lounge again to wait.

I was actually the oldest of the semifinalists - the others were all in their mid-20s. One was a student of my former teacher, Don Palma; another was Karl Fenner, my friend from Spoleto and an incoming member of the New World Symphony; Ellen Stewart, who goes to the Cincinnati Conservatory; and a student of Dennis Trembly at USC named Theodore. A couple of bassists who'd been cut earlier were still around too, waiting to hear the results I guess. It was odd being the elder statesman in the room, telling everyone about New World and life after college. They all seemed like great people, and I was hoping I could convince some of them (besides Karl) to want to audition and come down to New World.

I think I was describing the wonders of Oktoberfest, our biggest annual party, when Tim Rawlings came down again. Everyone was around except Theodore, who I think had found some way to get outside and smoke a cigarette. In a moment he was back, though, and Tim made the announcement.

The committee had decided to advance two people to the finals: Theodore, and me. They had determined that both were qualified, and so one of us would definitely be offered a job today. The excerpts would be Mozart 40, the Trio to Beethoven 5, and the recitatives from Beethoven 9. The music director would be present, and he would possibly conduct the recitatives.

And they would start immediately - first Theodore, and then me.

Calgary audition odyssey, part V

...this is a continuation of Calgary audition odyssey, part IV...

The night before an audition, I tend to have strange nightmarish dreams: I've overslept and missed the audition... I've gotten lost on the way to the hall... or I've forgotten my music, my bass, my bow, my clothes... Or maybe everything is going fine, until they decided to hear me play my concerto with piano. But as I begin to play, I realize that I'm playing in a different key than the piano (this actually happened to me once). I suppose my subconscious likes to prepare me for all the worst possible scenarios; so when I wake up, realizing that none of these things have happened (yet!), I almost feel relieved!

On Saturday, March 31st, I woke up around 7 am. It was one of those mornings where I had to practically force myself to stay in bed, since I was wide awake long before the alarm was set to go off. As I showered and dressed, I tried to stay positive and relaxed, and clear out all those nightmare scenarios. I started thinking about the committee I would be playing for, and it occurred to me that these are people who love music, and who love great bass playing. I didn't need to sell them on those things, or convince them of the value of my career choice - I just needed to play the music the way I felt and meant it, and show them that I love it too. As frightening as a committee can sometimes be, I thought, they're more like a bunch of my blog readers than some random assortment of strangers - they understand the challenges, they're willing to be patient with me, and most of all they just want to hear me play my best.

The audition letter said that warm-up rooms would be available at 9:30; numbers would be drawn at 10:15; and the first candidate would go on stage at 10:30 am. The weather was a little colder than the previous day, around 40 F, but I didn't have too far to walk. I had some breakfast at the Tim Horton's down the street, then came back to the hotel around 8:30 am and started to warm up.

Lately I've been using the Carl Flesch scale and arpeggio patterns a lot in my warm-ups, and I'll try to get at least halfway through the circle of fifths, so that I've covered most of the keys I'll be playing. Jeff Turner recommended this to me, when he came to Miami in November - previously I would just focus on one key a week, and do a lot of shifting drills and scales in that one key. Jeff pointed out, though, that if you only work on one key your brain and fingers aren't going to be ready to make all the adjustments necessary in all the other keys - it's sort of like trying to run a race having only stretched your left quadricep. You can do a lot of variations with the Flesch system - different bowings, fingerings, articulations, tempos, using a drone, etc. - but the most important thing is to familiarize yourself, as much as possible, with the harmonic as well as the technical terrain that you're going to cover.

Downtown Calgary has a train that runs down 7th Avenue, stopping just a block or so from the hall, so I wheeled it down to 7th and got to the hall just around 9:30 am. There were already a lot of other bassists there - they were starting to double us up in the dressing rooms. The other guy was playing through his Bach and concerto, and stopped to say hello and introduce himself (I'll call him Fred, since I can't remember his real name.) He seemed like a nice guy, but I didn't really want to talk much or listen to him play. I started playing some more Flesch scales, and then tried starting my own Bach, slowly. It didn't feel so good - I felt like I was playing so as not to hear Fred, not playing to produce my own music!

I was kind of relieved when the proctor, Tim Rawlings, started calling everyone to draw numbers, just after 10. By this time, Fred and I were sort of waltzing with eachother, trying not to play the same excerpt at the same time - though often the person next door was already playing it! The walls were pretty thin, and I had already heard enough strangers' excerpts to last me a while. One of these strangers started asking me about my bass, as the proctor was giving us instructions - I was kind of flummoxed, since I was trying to listen to Tim and still be polite to the other bass player. After I'd told him what my bass was, he asked me, "Is it loud?" and I said, "Well, it's maybe not the loudest bass under the ear, but I think it projects pretty well in a hall." I wasn't sure if he was trying to psych me out, or if he wanted to trade!

At this point 17 bassists had arrived - an 18th would get there a bit later - and we all gathered around Tim in the musician's lounge downstairs. It was a large, fluorescent-lit room with a few TVs and couches, tables and vending machines, and a couple of computers. Of the other bassists there, I knew Karl and a guy who I've played with here in Florida, Hideki; some others looked vaguely familiar, since I'd probably seen them at other auditions. Tim passed around a bowl with some folded pieces of paper - I drew number 17, dead last. Tim told us that we would play our Bach solo in the first round, and excerpts which would be given to us in the on-deck room, 10 minutes before we played.

I decided there was no way I was going to spend another 3 hours upstairs in warm-up land. Much better to take my binder and my iPod and just sit down here in the musicians' lounge, as far from other bassists as possible - at least until Fred, who was number 8, left our dressing room. (Yes, I know it's pathetic that I forgot his name but still remember his number!)

I listened to some more of Ian Bostridge's Schubert Lieder, and then the Bach B Minor Mass - I was starting to feel human again, not like some excerpt-playing insect drone! I opened up my binder and tried singing a couple of phrases of my Bach, the 3rd Suite Bourrees, and it felt much better than when I'd tried to play it against Fred upstairs. As I was sitting there, the people who had played started drifting in, talking or reading or watching TV. Around 11:30, Tim came down to announce the results of the first six - just one candidate had been advanced. The guy sitting next to me was reading with his headphones on and hadn't noticed, so a minute later I had to tell him that he hadn't been the one.

I went upstairs a little later, around the time that 10 or 11 was going on. The upstairs dressing rooms were starting to clear out, and I felt like I could focus better now that I wasn't competing against 3 different Heldenlebens. There was enough time that I could play a few more scales, take some of my problem spots at a slow tempo, try starting a few things. I heard that the second group had been given a verdict: one advanced, my friend Karl.

It was almost 1 pm when I was called down to the warm-up room. Another proctor helped me take my stool and binder down the stairs to what seemed to be the conductor's room: a nice grand piano, lots of framed photographs, and bar of Toblerone chocolate on a desk (yes, I was starting to get hungry, but I wasn't going to risk eating the maestro's chocolate). The excerpts were there on the stand: the first page of Mendelssohn 4, the Scherzo and Trio of Beethoven 5, and #9 from Ein Heldenleben. I tried to remember all my cues and ideas for each one; started them each a few times, checked my tuning, and went up and down those arpeggios in Heldenleben a bit.

Given the choice, I would much rather play to people than to a screen; I always feel somewhat wooden when I'm playing for a piece of wood! As Tim ushered me onstage and brought my stool - I have an incredibly cumbersome stool with a foot-rest sticking off of it - I tried to remind myself that there were people back there, nice bass-loving people (even if they'd already heard 16 of us that morning.) We had been told no repeats on the Bach, but I had decided that unless they stopped me I would take the D.C. and play the first Bourree again. It always feels better to finish off that piece in the major! The first sounds seemed a little pushed, maybe over-excited, but I stuck with it, made some phrases and turns that I had chosen, and got all the way through the D.C. without being stopped.

So now just excerpts - the first, Mendelssohn 4, starts with a series of fast, quiet, off-the-string scales, coming off of an 8th rest. When I played it for Charles Carleton two weeks ago, he had impressed on me how important those rests were. I needed to feel an accent on each one so I wouldn't distort the time or rush forward. I took a couple of deep breaths, heard the violin theme in my head for a few bars - and dove into that first scale! The tempo seemed in control, the stroke was bouncing a fair amount - is this a dry hall? do I sound too picky? - I tried to just focus on the big beats and the music I was laying a foundation for. At the end of the excerpt, the basses take over the theme, so we suddenly shift to a melodic, upper-register voice. I did my best to sing through the dotted quarters and lead with the 8th notes, but pushed sharp on the highest note of the phrase, a G-sharp - a lousy way to finish, but otherwise it went well.

Starting Beethoven 5 is always a challenge - I had to empty out all my frustration with that G-sharp if I was going to have the focus I needed for the Scherzo (which reaches the same high note, spelled as A-flat, via some twisty harmonic maneuvers). I thought of honey dripping - a smooth, slow, sticky texture - and started the first long legato phrase. Soft excerpts kill me sometimes - I felt like I was not drawing a good tone, not clearly on pitch - but I kept it going, trying to spin out the sound until I could find something to hold onto. Those loud chords - finally, some strong downbeats! - gave me my sound back, and now I felt I was able to react to the hall somewhat. The high A-flat sailed by, and I finished the excerpt feeling in control - now on to the Trio. Lately this excerpt had been my friend, maybe since Charles Carleton pointed out that the first phrase leads all the way to the fourth measure, and now I was starting to find a groove and to feel comfortable with my sound.

When I turned the page to Heldenleben, though, there was a surprise. I had been diligently practicing the excerpt from figure 9 to 11, but hadn't given the next section much thought - I hadn't even looked closely enough in the warm-up room to realize they wanted more of it. But clearly marked on this copy was figure 9 to 13 - another 16 measures, including 2 more big arpeggios and notes I would have to open my extension to reach. Right off I decided that wasn't going to happen, I would read those notes up the octave and not worry about flipping levers.

The day before I had been reading Don Greene's Fight Your Fear and Win and came across a great passage in his chapter on courage. He writes about race car drivers, and how when they take the tight corners not only can they not break, they have to accelerate - even a slight backing off the gas pedal could send them into a tail spin. You could probably imagine #9 from Heldenleben as a series of hairpin turns, flat stretches in which you're tempted to rush. I wasn't going to play like a race car driver in terms of tempo - rushing this excerpt would be suicidal - but I wanted to play with as much courage as I could on those arpeggio hairpins, even the ones I hadn't looked at until now! I filled out the sound in all those rising triplets as much as I could, even though one of the register shifts threw me a little bit - and I finished without getting too rattled. "Nice job," Tim told me as he helped me off stage, "Really nice job, actually."

I had messed up enough things that I knew I might get cut, but I felt I had given my all, I hadn't given up, and I was happy that some things had gone quite well. I packed up, found my bag and put my sweater back on, then joined the little throng of candidates waiting for the last group's decision. Now I felt like I could talk to people a little bit - there was one guy there from Malaysia, others had driven across this continent to get there. And the one topic we all had to discuss was air travel - trunks, oversize fees, horror stories about being charged a fortune or denied travel. The college basketball tournament was on the television, and I realized that I hadn't followed this year's tournament at all. I had no idea what round they had reached, or who was playing - which actually made me feel good, since in the past I had let sports distract me from audition preparation. (see the previous post, "audition aside: the waiting game")

Tim Rawlings came in and looked at the TV screen - "Who's winning?" he asked. When the proctor comes in though, everyone forgets what they were just watching or saying - conversations die mid-sentence - and all anyone cares about is, who's advancing? Tim thanked everyone for their time, and then he announced that the committee had decided to advance #15. And #16.

And #17. I breathed a sigh of relief, shook some hands, and headed back towards my bass. Semifinals would begin immediately.

Calgary audition odyssey, part IV

...this is a continuation of Calgary audition odyssey, part III...

And so dawned my first day in Calgary - Friday, March 30th, the day before the audition itself. I didn't set the alarm, figuring that I would get as much sleep as possible, and get myself rested and ready for Saturday. I slept in until about 8:30, which is way late for me, especially with the 2 hour time difference. I felt at least semi-normal, though, and decided to find out how I sounded.

Unpacking the bass in a strange hotel room is always an interesting experience. Travel and changes in climate and time zone can mess up a person, but they can really mess up a bass. There's no telling what is going to be tight, awkward, and uncooperative. Or maybe the instrument will actually prefer the new weather, you never know... Sometimes buzzes and wolves disappear, or temporarily migrate to new areas, so it kind of feels like opening your mouth and hearing a foreign language come out!

I'm not a great fan of the unfamiliar, I guess. I usually have to force myself to start the discovery process, even though I would rather not spend two hours with a touchy bass right away! I made a little deal with myself, I would unpack and play a few scales, then go get some breakfast. That seemed to help me to feel satisfied that I'm not postponing business, but still not too trapped and scared - a relatively happy compromise with myself, as well as my instrument!

So the scales came off relatively well, and I even started my Bach and a couple excerpts, just to find a sound, until I started to hear my stomach growling its own harmonies. My friend Roslyn the horn player had told me that there was a Tim Horton's restaurant right near the hotel - even though I'd never heard of this chain, she made it sound like some great providence, so I thought I would look for it. Calgary was overcast, a little cool but still comfortable with a sweater and a couple of undershirts on. The 5 Suites Downtown is on 5th Avenue and 5th Street SW, making it very easy to find, as long as you don't pick the wrong quadrant. Calgary is laid out in 4 quadrants, radiating out from Memorial Drive and Centre St. - most of downtown is in the SW quadrant though, so I guess Centre St. isn't really that central.

It's a nice city to walk around in - cars seem to obey the stoplights, and amazingly, pedestrians do as well. I picked a direction at random, and within two blocks I had sighted a Tim Horton's. I later learned that I could have gone any other direction and found another Tim Horton's equally quickly, but at the time it seemed like amazing luck. There was a line of college students, construction workers, and young professional types coming out the door - every Tim Horton's I visited had a similar line, but they moved pretty quick, and everything I ordered was there surprisingly good and quite cheap.

So after breakfast I wandered up the main pedestrian avenue, Stephen Ave. It's lined with shops, some American chains but mostly places I had never heard of before. There are malls along both sides of the avenue with connecting passageways, so you can actually walk the length of it without leaving indoors. The weather was nice enough that morning though, and there were crowds of people around some temporary street hockey courts that had been set up. As I got closer I found it was a Corporate Street Hockey Tournament, so all these bankers and securities analysts were warming up in their skates and pads.

I was still marveling at the Canadian-ness of it all when I saw my friend, bassist Karl Fenner, emerge from a McDonald's restaurant. We were both headed in the same direction - towards the Calgary Phil's space, Jack Singer Concert Hall. Not to break in or anything, but it's nice to get a feel for the building, how to get there, and what is around. Along the way, we compared notes on our trips so far - he had flown Continental and paid a lot more in oversize fees, which concerned me because I was ticketed to fly Continental home. The big news around New World had been the announcement of 4th-year offers to some of us - I was one of the fortunate ones - among a large number who were not invited back. Karl told me he had just been invited to join New World as a fellow the next year as well, so we would get to play together, unless one of us had an audition victory in the meantime...

This is almost an inevitable part of the audition experience: you're going to run into some friend or acquaintance, who you may not have seen for months or years. He's going to have some great news to report - he's been subbing with the Chicago Symphony, or just won the audition for New World - and your mind will start racing back to how good he sounded the last time you heard him, and now he's only gotten better! Suddenly all those positive vibes, confidence-building mock auditions, and the encouraging comment from the customs official at the airport, they all begin to evaporate and the sad path to disappointment appears instead. I don't have an easy solution to all this; except to realize that we all think that way, and the only escape is to have faith in yourself and your musical mission!

Well, I got back to my hotel room after seeing Karl, and if I'd thought about resting or channel-surfing before, I was definitely going to start practicing now! I had gotten through my warm-up scales and arpeggios when the housekeeping lady knocked on the door and came in. I was going to stop and wait, but she said, "Please don't let me interrupt!" and so I kept playing scales for a couple of minutes. Then it occurred to me, this might be my last chance to perform for someone before the audition - so I checked my tuning, took a deep breath, and performed my Bach Bourrees for her! Then I did some Mozart 40, Beethoven 5, Heldenleben - all my nemesis excerpts. They didn't all go perfect, but she was very appreciative and complimentary, and I started feeling confident and secure again.

I didn't want to spend the whole afternoon practicing - and I wanted to make sure the practicing I did was focused, intentional practicing, not scared and obsessive-compulsive! I broke up half-hour chunks by resting and meditating, reading from some books I had brought (The Wisdom of Rilke, Fight Your Fear and Win by Don Greene, The Essential Rumi translated by Coleman Barks), and sorting through my parts and excerpts. I'd brought a big stack of photocopies, which I would give to people listening to me on mock auditions - these had gotten all mixed up though. After putting these all in order, I realized I'd forgotten something else important: the solo part of my concerto, the Vanhal. I had the piano score, and photocopies of the first two pages, but if I had to play any more than that, I would be doing it from memory.

By 6:30 or 7, I had practiced more than enough, and was actually a little concerned I had overdone it. So I left the hotel room - the sun had come out from behind the clouds, and the city was lit by a golden sunset color. I walked across a bridge over the Bow River (it's actually the shape of a bow, sort of) to a neighborhood called Kensington, which reminded me of cool neighborhoods I'd been to in Boston and Chicago. There are lots of funky shops and ethnic restaurants, young people walking around in groups and couples. After some wandering and indecision I chose an Ethiopian restaurant - I love Ethiopian food - which took a ridiculously long time but gave me an hour and a half to just sit by myself, relax, eat some good food, and brace myself for the next day!

I got back to the hotel room about 9:30, read a book for a minute, then put on my earphones and listened to Ian Bostridge's recording of Schubert Lieder. I didn't want to think too much - just drift off to sleep with some beautiful melodies.

Calgary audition odyssey, part III

...this is a continuation of Calgary audition odyssey, part II...

In the last part of my audition story, I was still in Miami Beach, stressing over every last note of every excerpt. (As well as every first note, and all those in between!) Among the biggest stresses of an audition, and the hardest to prepare for, is that feeling of being exposed - presenting yourself, warts and all, to a group of people you don't know, and whose reactions you can't anticipate.

We hope to project enough good qualities in our playing - precision, care, tastefulness - so that if they quibble with some detail, perhaps they'll ask for us to play it differently and we can show an ability to adjust. However, my horn colleague Roz who took the Calgary audition in March told me that through all three rounds she played, they didn't ask to hear a single excerpt to be played again. She just played down the lists in order, they said thank you, and when afterwards the decision was announced - they would not offer a position to any of the finalists at that time - she was obviously very frustrated!

The last bassist I played for was Charles Carleton, a young member of the Cleveland Orchestra bass section. This was just a couple of weeks before the audition, so my foundation had been laid, for better or for worse! I sometimes wonder if a lesson that late in the game will even be of any help. I'd like to be ready to embrace a new and better idea, but there is a point at which you just have to ride the horse you brought with you! His comments and ideas were invaluable to me, though, and they focused on things I could benefit from: clearer phrasing ideas, stronger and more secure beginnings, more rhythmic excitement, and a real singing quality wherever possible. To cite just one example, he challenged me to phrase the Vanhal Concerto in a classical phrase structure - four bar phrases with alternating heavy and light inflections on each measure - and he sung it that way until I could appreciate the charm and grace of that phrasing. Now every time I play that piece I kind of dedicate it as a tribute to Charles and his very generous teaching!

The last teacher I have to mention is one I didn't actually play for, cellist Stephen Geber - though I asked to, he was just too busy helping all the cellists! Because I was hoping he would give me some of his time, I decided to give some of mine, and listen to his masterclass the weekend before my audition. I was glad I did, because he structured it as a sort of audition self-therapy workshop! He asked each of the cellists about the last audition they took, how they felt they played, and what kinds of mental and technical issues they felt were weaknesses for them. The whole class was a revelation for me, seeing how little fears and personal demons can so often disable a great player. And one performance stood out for me, a cellist who played the Beethoven 9 recitatives. He played them quite well, with a lot of fire and energy, but Geber asked him to take a completely different interpretation - faster tempos, more driving, following the composer's instructions more strictly, still keeping the passion and authority. It wasn't an interpretation I had tried before either, but it unquestionably worked, and I was impressed to see the cellist take it on so quickly!

The last week before the audition was an especially light rehearsal schedule - some members of our orchestra had a chamber music concert and a Musical Xchange concert that weekend, but for me there were just two readings, Wednesday and Thursday morning. Our conducting fellow, Steven Jarvi, rehearsed Verdi's La forza del destino Overture, the Prelude and Liebestod to Tristan and Isolde, Mozart 35, Prokofiev Classical Symphony, and the Brahms Haydn Variations - all fantastic pieces to play in orchestra, though Mozart 35 was the only one I was preparing for Calgary. After we finished up the Brahms, it was 1 pm and I had a plane to catch at 5:30 that afternoon.

It's always a strange feeling, leaving your locker and room for the last time before an audition. I find myself thinking things like, "Next time I see this pencil (or rosin dust rag, stack of music, pile of unwashed dishes, etc.) I'll have played my audition - it'll be over!" Then I start thinking, "Have I brought all the music, pencils, supplies I need? Do I have time to wash those dishes, and if I don't what will be growing there?" It all gets pretty hectic and complicated, which is only made worse by my usual habit of booking ridiculously early flights. I'm pretty accustomed to waking up early, since I usually go to a 6 am yoga class, but still there's something especially cruel about the sound of that alarm clock, going off at 4:30 am, telling you to finish packing and drive to the airport! Those flights are always the cheapest and the easiest to book, but there's obviously a reason for that.

So I was very happy with myself that I had paid the extra bucks and gotten an afternoon flight. Of course, flying late in the day has its own problems, especially in a traffic nightmare city like Miami. I left home at 3 pm or so, figuring I would be safe - things quickly started looking bad though! There was some huge construction thing going on Alton Road, and the 41st Street route to the causeway was backed up all the way to Collins. I ended up driving up Collins all the way to the next causeway, which is in a neighborhood I don't know well, and even though I got downtown reasonably fast, I was still crawling along trying to get onto the freeway! The whole thing was really stressing me out, and I was trying to stay focused and positive, singing some excerpts, not getting too freaked out, but it wasn't working very well. Also, I realized en route that I had forgotten my winter coat, and I only had a sweater and my dress shirts to keep me warm in the frigid Calgary weather.

I think I made it to the airport around 4:30, and there was no time to move my car to the long term (cheaper) parking lot, which is my usual practice. I was alright with that though, just as long as I could get my bass checked in successfully! Other instrumentalists think we're exaggerating, but for bass players the whole airline check-in process is just as stressful as the actual audition. The situation is especially tense because we know that we're technically breaking the rules - a lot of airlines don't allow any baggage over 100 lbs, and most charge exorbitantly for anything over 70 lbs, in addition to oversize charges. So they could very legitimately charge me over $200 or not allow me to fly at all. I try to smooth the situation somewhat, by being as nice and cooperative as possible and telling them politely that last time I paid $80. Of course I'd rather get on for less, but if volunteering to pay will make them like me and (please!) not ask me to put it on the scale, it's well worth the price!

This particular flight was on Northwest Airlines, connecting in Minneapolis, and things went great - I paid my $80, they got someone to wheel it away, and a breathed a big sigh of relief. The only problem was that they only allowed two free checked bags - one of which was my stool - and I had a suitcase as well as my backpack. No problem, I thought, I'll just sort of consolidate and carry all my stuff onboard. I was pretty bummed out, though, when they found a full bottle of sunscreen in my suitcase - the one I had planned to check - and threw it away. It wasn't the only bottle of liquid in the suitcase, and it seemed pretty dumb that I was bringing all this sunscreen with me to Canada in the first place. Still, I had to tell myself to not cry over spilled SPF 50 - after all, it was just a $6 bottle I could easily replace when I got back! It's crazy how little stuff like this can affect me sometimes.

The other stressful thing about my flight was that I hadn't changed currency yet - I had tried the day before, but my bank didn't carry Canadian dollars, and it would have taken days to get some by mail. So I was fretting about how I was going to get a taxi to my hotel at 11:30 pm, with no local currency. Also, I realized that my passport was about to expire - the audition was March 31st, my passport expired April 3rd - but I didn't get a chance to renew it beforehand, and I didn't know that they often refuse people whose passports aren't good for 6 months after the date of travel.

I reached my connection in Minneapolis without incident (though I did have to watch my bass slide up the conveyor belt to the plane, balanced in its bridge - why, airport baggage handlers, why?!) and I called my Dad from the gate, to tell him I had almost left the country and share all my worries. He had thought the audition was the day before, so when I called he started out by telling me they had been crossing their fingers yesterday, and asked me how it had gone. Somehow it's reassuring to talk to my parents about these things, even when they have no clue what's going on - perhaps for that reason, they seem to get even more stressed out over the whole thing than I do! I really do my best to explain things to them, yet when they read Dan Wakin's NY Times article, they both told me there were things in there they had never even imagined!

Luckily, all of my worries were cleared away once I reached Canada - the customs and passport officials were very polite, and even asked me about the audition, since I had noted it as a business trip rather than a personal vacation. She asked me if I won the job, would I begin work right away, and I told her no, I would be returning to the US on April 1st in any case - though it was a nice little confidence boost having this Canadian customs official considering my prospects of winning a job! My bass arrived intact, and there was even a foreign currency exchange still open in the airport, so I could pay the taxi driver in Canadian dollars. The weather was surprisingly mild, so that even though I had forgotten my winter coat, I felt like I might survive this weekend after all!

I got to my hotel, the 5 Suites Downtown, just around midnight, and tipped both the taxi driver and the doorman a little more than I had intended. Somehow those two dollar coins confused me, and I handed them out without realizing they were worth way more than quarters. It was all right though, the Canadians all continued to be extraordinarily nice to me, especially those hotel employees. The word must have spread that I was a tipper, and they were extra attentive the whole weekend!

Calgary audition odyssey, part II

...this is a continuation of Calgary audition odyssey, part I...

Just yesterday I listened to an interview with bassist Andy Anderson, on Jason Heath's podcast Contrabass Conversations. I know Andy from Spoleto, but I had never realized the awesome lengths he's gone to perfect his excerpts. Here's an Andy quote: "I don't feel like I really know the piece until I've arranged it as a MIDI file, cut it up and equalized all the A's from live recordings, adjusted the tempos to the tempo I want..." Earlier in the interview he mentions in passing, "If I'm practicing Beethoven 5, I like to spend a nice leisurely 4 hours or so." Is that in a week, I wondered? Because if I were to spend 4 hours of a single day on Beethoven 5, I think I would want to shoot myself.

Not to go on another tangent (sorry, loyal readers!). I just wanted to make the point that everyone finds their own approach to audition preparation, and no one approach is ever perfect or conclusive. I might envy someone like Andy, who practices systematically for up to 10 hours a day - but realistically, I don't think that I could ever survive that kind of practice schedule!

So getting back to those weeks before Calgary - I had decided that my biggest mistake in preparing for Cleveland was that I just hadn't played for enough people. I tend to record myself a lot in the run-up to auditions, sometimes 3 or 4 times a day. But I find that when I'm the only one listening to myself, I can sometimes get trapped in a negative feedback loop, getting down on myself and my playing, to the point where the whole process becomes a drag. So my goal for Calgary was to make playing for others a priority.

From the time I got back from Cleveland in January, I had a lot of opportunities to play for people. My undergraduate teacher at New England Conservatory, Don Palma, came down to give lessons and also listened to a mock audition. I've changed a lot since college, and it was awesome to see Don again and recognize all the hurdles I've gotten past. We can't always see our own development, but it was very gratifying to have it pointed out by a wise, honest musician I respect completely! And even after so much time, Don still showed me subtle technical changes, like an alteration to the angle of my bow arm elbow, that opened up my sound tremendously.

I was also getting together with other players in the New World bass section, especially Jory Herman and Matt Way. Jory has been preparing for the ISB competition, while Matt was getting ready for an audition in Rotterdam - so the three of us found the time to meet every week or so. It was nice at this stage that we were all preparing for different things, so none of that competitive jealousy was involved. And I felt like listening to Matt and Jory, and trying to give them my most helpful and musically perceptive ideas, was beneficial to my playing as well.

Around the middle of February another former teacher of mine, Michael Hovnanian, came down as part of the Chicago Symphony's Florida tour and gave a masterclass. Having both my principal teachers come to visit felt a little like the ghosts of Christmas past - I was grateful to see them both, but there was also a strong pressure to show them I'd been working hard! I didn't feel like I played my best for Michael - I kind of lurched through some Mendelssohn 4 excerpts, and he helped me settle on some strokes and articulations. He also said my tempo sounded "constipated", which hurt a little bit, but with Michael even his harshest comments have the sting of reality!

The next week I played for another musician I respect tremendously, retired BSO horn player Harry Shapiro. Someone pointed out to me recently that Harry actually played in the premiere of Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra, back in 1945 - there are probably few musicians with as much experience or love of orchestral music as Harry. Playing for Harry, you know he's going to ask for the biggest, most singing, passionate playing you can possibly produce - and usually he'll find a way to make it even bigger than you thought possible. At times I felt silly, playing everything twice as slowly and three times as loudly as I usually would - and yet the qualities he was drawing out of me, the sound and life and incredible intensity, were exactly what I needed. Harry's comments were all about opening me up, getting me to show more personality and speak in a surer, more confident musical voice - starting with my preparatory breaths, which he got me to take deeply and through my mouth, just as a horn player would!

I was clearly very lucky to have all these great people to play for, one right after another. These lessons and masterclasses kind of gave me milestones to work towards and measure my progress. In the next few weeks I would also play for Philadelphia Orchestra principal bassoonist Danny Matsukawa, Cleveland Orchestra bassists Max Dimoff and Charles Carleton, and a lot more of my non-bassist NWS colleagues. Probably few situations besides New World would have provided so many varied and insightful listeners - still, I've had similar opportunities in the past and never taken full advantage. I think the difference this time was that I took each opportunity to perform my audition rep seriously, made my best efforts to perform it well, and to take as much as I could from each person's comments.

I was also more pro-active about creating those opportunities - approaching someone like Harry Shapiro or Charles Carleton I really wanted to play for, or getting hall time and rounding up a few violinists and percussionists to form a mock committee. NWS musicians are all very busy, but what I've found is that if you set up a time, give them the opportunity to play as well, people are generally very agreeable. And as you approach the audition and are clearly excited and playing your best, other people get excited and enthusiastic about listening to you - they can feel that you're making progress and reaching a high level, and they want to tap into that energy.

I've written two long posts and not yet even left Lincoln Road. Next time though, I promise I'll at least get to the drive to the airport. Thanks to everyone for reading, and for your kind responses!

Calgary audition odyssey, part I

Before I get started on my Calgary audition story, I wanted to congratulate some New World Symphony musicians who just won jobs within the last 48 hours - violist Chris Fischer at the North Carolina Symphony, librarian Julia Thompson at UNC in Chapel Hill, and violinist Marc Rovetti in the Philadelphia Orchestra. There has been a lot to celebrate as our season finishes, and all these people deserve every bit of their success.

I'll start my own story with the weeks leading up to the Calgary audition. I am not sure if you can ever prepare well enough to ensure audition success - that kind of control over destiny may not be granted to us mere mortals! - but I am pretty sure it's possible to ensure audition failure. That, in a nutshell, was my experience at the Cleveland Orchestra in early January, and I returned home feeling quite discouraged. I had pretty much fallen on my face, I thought, but I was more determined than ever to figure out this whole audition puzzle and do my best.

I was fortunate that the week after I got back, January 15th, the Cleveland Orchestra itself came down to Miami. This was the orchestra's first residency at the Carnival Center, and we at New World got to join the orchestra for two days of readings, under Andrew Grams and Franz Welser-Most. I didn't play for anyone in the orchestra - I probably wasn't in any shape physically or mentally at that time - but I did enjoy sitting next to Max Dimoff and Tom Sperl, seeing how they contribute to the orchestra and picking their brains about articulations and stuff. Kevin Switalski and Bob Vernon both had very kind and encouraging things to say about my audition as well, helping me to see that I hadn't totally bombed after all. I think after any audition, and particularly one in which we're extremely disappointed in ourselves, it's important to get some feedback, if only to begin to regain some perspective and confidence.

I hadn't yet decided which audition to take next - but I knew there would be auditions in Calgary and Bergen, Norway at the end of March, so I was considering the prospect of my first international audition. That's not quite true, I auditioned for the Hong Kong Philharmonic and the Singapore Symphony, which offered me a position I turned down. Both of those auditions were held here in the US though, in Chicago and New York respectively. Auditions are pretty high stakes gambles to begin with, and travelling so far can seem like madness - who knows if people in Bergen, Norway are listening for the same qualities we listen for here? Luckily, though, I had some good sources of information and advice about both those orchestras.

One of our NWS flutists, Alice Dade, had actually just returned from a month of sub-ing in Bergen. She had very enthusiastic positive things to say about the Bergen Phil - though strangely, most of them concerned the orchestra's lounge, where people hang out during rehearsal breaks. (I envisioned that scene in the Fellini film "The Orchestra Rehearsal", with all the orchestra members drinking, smoking, and wildly dancing around.)

Another NWS musician, horn player Roslyn Black, grew up near Calgary and was just about to take their horn audition, which was in the middle of February. She had equally enthusiastic things to say about the Calgary Phil - even though they didn't take anyone at the horn audition, she played in the finals and heard the orchestra in concert afterwards. She told me a lot about the hall and the city, and she even had a good friend in the bass section, Jeff White. Another bass player here in Miami, Adam Franklin, knew the principal and assistant principal bassists in Calgary, Charles and Sheila Garrett, and raved about them as players and people.

So I was starting to feel some sense of connection with this distant place in the Canadian Rockies. When I told my parents I was deciding between Bergen and Calgary, they were also much in favor of Calgary, for obvious geographic reasons (I am originally from Tacoma, Washington.) And the prices on Expedia pretty much clinched the deal - not to be cheap or anything, but the dollar really is not strong against the Euro right now!

I think it's important to do a bit of reconnaissance work in advance of an audition - where do they play? are people generally happy there? what kind of programs do they perform? who is the music director, and what kind of work is he or she known for? Perhaps none of these questions will directly affect how you prepare and play in the audition, but they will start to add dimension and realism to the picture you're forming about this potential job. I find that even random facts about the town and the musicians help me to start to humanize them, see them as potential colleagues and neighbors, rather than scary foreigners who are going to judge me.

I've written a lot here about attitude and research - though I don't mean to overlook the musical preparation, which is at the core of the whole story. I probably can't write about every excerpt I prepared, my specific ideas and goals and the evolution and influences that led me there - though that might be interesting, to some... But next time I'll write about a few very important people who I had the chance to play for, and who helped me with both general and specific advice in my preparation for the audition.