By Daniel Berk II
As I took the folder, my fingers were shaking slightly with nervous energy. When I opened it, I first scanned the headings of the rough pages: Stravinsky, Smetana, Tchaikovsky. I disregarded the first two names and pulled out the Tchaikovsky. As I took my first look at the piece, my heart suddenly began to race and I felt my face burning. My fear was confirmed. I was to play Tchaikovsky’s fifth symphony.
About one month prior, I had auditioned for the Massachusetts Music Educators Association’s Eastern District Festival. To my gleeful surprise, I had been seated as principal horn. This success unofficially named me the best teen french horn player in Boston. While I was proud and excited about this distinction, I was nervous as well. Being the principal horn meant that I had a target on my back. I had beaten out some 20 other contenders for this position, many of whom I had known for several years, and I was now the one to beat. Everyone would be judging my performance in the festival. When I saw that Tchaikovsky’s fifth symphony, which includes one of the most famous and exposed horn solos in the repertoire, was on the program, I knew that this festival would be a true test of my playing.
Horn playing, at its most basic, can be described as a large number of very small decisions. Each note comes with a set of decisions to make, including volume, tone, intonation, and general pitch. One cautious camp of thought encourages an astoundingly high level of focus and concentration to make all of these musical decisions independently, to think about every aspect of every note. A second theory on horn playing offers that a larger stylistic resolution about playing is needed in order to direct all of the smaller decisions. By believing in oneself and ‘going for it,’ everything will fall into place. It takes a considerable amount of courage to play in the second style, which I thought I lacked. So, I decided to play it safe. However, even as I practiced more, I seemed to be making no progress by playing cautiously. I was faced with a quandary: continue with my current trajectory and deliver a mediocre performance, or take my chances with the second style, risking failure and other players’ disdain.
As the day grew closer, I began to fret. My performance remained average. While I was trying to play more freely, I could not seem to muster the courage to let go of my nerves, which had already been bubbling in my stomach. I listened to countless recordings of professional performances, and I practiced doggedly every day. At last, the day of the festival came. As I took my seat, I warmed up nervously, fiddling with the keys on my horn. My conductor introduced himself briefly, and then the work began. The first thing he instructed: “Please take out the Tchaikovsky.” My heart began to beat rapidly, and my hands turned clammy. Then, he turned to me and said, in front of the entire orchestra, “Don’t worry about this. Just go for it.” Doubting him, I played through my solo the first time timidly. The result was the same average performance that had been happening for the past few weeks. After I finished, he said, “No, Daniel. Play it how you feel it.” This simple direction finally gave me clarity. I needed to play from the heart. There is no other way to be a musician. The decision about which I was torn for weeks was no longer a decision. I needed only to play how I felt.
The next day was the day of the concert. I still had nerves, but it was more of a nervous excitement. Armed with my newfound strategy, I was ready. I felt like a splinter had just been pulled out of my thumb. Everything had simply fallen into place. When I went on stage with the rest of the orchestra, I delivered the best solo I had played yet. It was by no means perfect, but when I was finished, and when the conductor motioned for me to stand and receive the audience’s as well as the orchestra’s applause, I never felt more satisfied.
With the help of my conductor, I was able to overcome this sizable musical hurdle. At times, I felt hopeless, but at the end of the day I came out of this experience a significantly better player and a much better performer. I now play as fearlessly as I can, and I have also made an effort to apply this mindset to everything I do. Out of this time of indecision came a moment of true clarity for me, and I am all the better for it.
