"Alright, next is..." Please not me, please not me, anyone but me... "Sakura"
This is pretty much the norm for me, always picked at the worst possible moment. This particular moment happened a week ago, when we were doing the seating test for Orchestra and I'd completely forgotten to even go over the expected music. Usually before a test like this I practice something over and over and over the night before, but it just happened that I'd completely and utterly forgotten about the test in general. The piece Mrs. Tuke wanted us to play was only about 6-8 measures, but it was all slurred and there was about fifty accidentals, added to the fact that to play said accidentals I have to switch into like 2nd and a half position. (Not a real position, or something I'd ever done before) Suffice to say, it was challenging.
Watching my stand partner play, I noticed she slipped in the middle and had to retry, but she did really good compared to some other orchestra students. The rest of the cellos also did really good. "Good job, my friend. The second time is the charm- or is it third? Anyway, you did amazing."
As soon as Tuke said my name, I picked up my $2,500 instrument, placed my fingers boldly on the fingerboard, and began to slur the first four or five notes; I immediately chastised myself for playing the C#s flat, and rested a beat before beginning the next slur. I smiled a bit as I hit all the right notes, and let myself add a little bravado to the end. Bad idea. The bravado, small as it was, made me lose some essential mileage on my bow, making me hit the frog on my next slur. (Frog- the end of the bow. I didn't have enough space to hit all the notes using an up bow) After that I missed a another sharp, another flat (noticing as I did so that Tuke frowned slightly and wrote something on her paper.) and ended with a nice loud (and maybe a tad obnoxious) open D, my absolute favorite note to play. Well, only when it's in tune, and it was!
After more dissection and thorough thought on the matter, I realized that I did horrible. I believe some of the eighth grade cellists did better than me, which is really sad. I also had an odd thought- why did I care so much? It really doesn't matter how well I'd done; I was almost sure I would get second or first chair, and both those positions are amazing. Why was I so worked up about this test? To this day I'm still not sure exactly, but for now I'll call it my overly competetive trait showing through a little bit.
Mrs. Tuke is going to give us our new seats tomorrow, which is what brought on this entire blog post. Tomorrow I'll find out if I keep my position of first chair, or lose it to someone else. And I was also volunteered to play the cello for the french play Cinderella, or the french 3's version of it. And I'm working on my ensemble piece, Rosamunde. Which brings me to ask yet again: Why am I so focused on this tiny little seating chart test? Why, of all the millions of things I'm doing, am I fretting about something that happens to be completely irrelevant? Maybe it's a matter of pride; the first chair is always looked upon with a certain amount of cordial, and maybe even removed, respect. I want to showcase my hard work and my amazing cello,as well as sit in the very front of an orchestra I will soon be leaving. My Orchestra is like my family. Granted, it's a huge family, but we're still close and have fun playing together at concerts and even just in class. I want to be among the few, the chosen, to sit in the front and represent my section. Only time will tell if I get this privilege, or if it's passed on to another cello.
This is pretty much the norm for me, always picked at the worst possible moment. This particular moment happened a week ago, when we were doing the seating test for Orchestra and I'd completely forgotten to even go over the expected music. Usually before a test like this I practice something over and over and over the night before, but it just happened that I'd completely and utterly forgotten about the test in general. The piece Mrs. Tuke wanted us to play was only about 6-8 measures, but it was all slurred and there was about fifty accidentals, added to the fact that to play said accidentals I have to switch into like 2nd and a half position. (Not a real position, or something I'd ever done before) Suffice to say, it was challenging.
Watching my stand partner play, I noticed she slipped in the middle and had to retry, but she did really good compared to some other orchestra students. The rest of the cellos also did really good. "Good job, my friend. The second time is the charm- or is it third? Anyway, you did amazing."
As soon as Tuke said my name, I picked up my $2,500 instrument, placed my fingers boldly on the fingerboard, and began to slur the first four or five notes; I immediately chastised myself for playing the C#s flat, and rested a beat before beginning the next slur. I smiled a bit as I hit all the right notes, and let myself add a little bravado to the end. Bad idea. The bravado, small as it was, made me lose some essential mileage on my bow, making me hit the frog on my next slur. (Frog- the end of the bow. I didn't have enough space to hit all the notes using an up bow) After that I missed a another sharp, another flat (noticing as I did so that Tuke frowned slightly and wrote something on her paper.) and ended with a nice loud (and maybe a tad obnoxious) open D, my absolute favorite note to play. Well, only when it's in tune, and it was!
After more dissection and thorough thought on the matter, I realized that I did horrible. I believe some of the eighth grade cellists did better than me, which is really sad. I also had an odd thought- why did I care so much? It really doesn't matter how well I'd done; I was almost sure I would get second or first chair, and both those positions are amazing. Why was I so worked up about this test? To this day I'm still not sure exactly, but for now I'll call it my overly competetive trait showing through a little bit.
Mrs. Tuke is going to give us our new seats tomorrow, which is what brought on this entire blog post. Tomorrow I'll find out if I keep my position of first chair, or lose it to someone else. And I was also volunteered to play the cello for the french play Cinderella, or the french 3's version of it. And I'm working on my ensemble piece, Rosamunde. Which brings me to ask yet again: Why am I so focused on this tiny little seating chart test? Why, of all the millions of things I'm doing, am I fretting about something that happens to be completely irrelevant? Maybe it's a matter of pride; the first chair is always looked upon with a certain amount of cordial, and maybe even removed, respect. I want to showcase my hard work and my amazing cello,as well as sit in the very front of an orchestra I will soon be leaving. My Orchestra is like my family. Granted, it's a huge family, but we're still close and have fun playing together at concerts and even just in class. I want to be among the few, the chosen, to sit in the front and represent my section. Only time will tell if I get this privilege, or if it's passed on to another cello.
I did end up getting first chair, to let you all know.
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