How to be a violinist

You love the violin. You'd like to be a professional violinist in the bitchy, political yet rarified world of classical music. How do you survive an audition that makes you cry? How do you stick to a dream in the face of reality?

by M

It feels as if a colony of butterflies burst out of their cocoons and into my tummy during the course of the forty-five minute carride from Suburbia into The City. I mutter prayers to the patron saints of music and liberal arts from the parking garage into the colomn-adorned doorway and up the marble staircase into the warm-up room. The architecture alone makes me feel as if I'm out of my league. Still, I try to remain calm so I can perform to the best of my ability. I've spent the past four months preparing for this audition; this isn't an opportunity I can waste.

If I screw up, the consequences aren't extreme, at least in terms of The Big Picture. My self-confidence will take a major blow, but the world will keep turning. For a professional musician, failing an audition could be anything from a slight inconvineance to not having enough money for groceries. Like other high-risk industries, such as sports, entertainment and politics, breaking in is difficult (as shown in a popular joke - Q: What do you do when a musician comes to the doorway? A: Give him the money and take the pizza.) but once you make a name for yourself you're pretty much set for life.

I have little hope of playing in classical groups such as the one I'm audition for professionally. My father is a dentist; my mother studied microbiology. Both are lovely people, but neither have a shred of musical talent. As cynical as it may sound, hard work and passion will rarely beat out hard work, passion and genetic predisposition. I realized that a while ago - when I was about twelve years old, if I remember correctly. That realization left me feeling pretty depressed for a few months. And then I had a second realization: there's more to playing the violin (or any orchestral instrument) than symphonic and country music.

The group Nightwish introduced me to symphonic metal, a genre that combines lush orchestral sounds with powerful rock music. It wasn't long before I discovered Emily Autumn, who combines her artful Baroque style with electronic sounds to create something called 'Victoriandustrial'. A little more delving lead me to Cruxshadows, a band consisting of keyboard, vocals, guitar and not one but three violinists and Celloforte, a rock cello quartet.

So what if I would never be able to compare with Joseph Bell or Itzak Perlman? So what if the thought of ten-gallon hats and cowboy boots made me feel ill? The punk/gothic/J-rock music scene was embracing traditional instruments but in totally new and inovative ways. With no offense to the Old Masters, the music these alternative violinists were making was better than anything I had ever heard. I doubt the songs being written today are close to as complex as any of Mozart's forty-two symphonies, but I quite like them. And so, I realized, that that was the sort of music I wanted to make. Forget the standard concert black. I began to dream of performing in my black cat-ears sweater and combat boots.

Despite a change in my goals, I still recognize the importance of being, as we say, 'classically trained'. The term isn't an offical one, but it implies that one takes private lessons, practices regularly (often obssesivly) and plays in at least one group (I play in anywhere from two to four, depending on the time of the year, as do most of my peers). 'Classically trained' also usually means that the person began playing when they were under the age of six. As you can probably imagine, it's not surprising for anyone who doesn't meet those requirements to be somewhat looked down upon.

I like to think of myself as a pretty nice person, and for the most part I try to avoid the. well, bitchiness that comes along as part of the classical music scene. I don't know how it is in college-level or professional orchestras, but as far as high school groups go, it's rather vicious.

Stereotypically, the string-bass section is the nicest, since they have the least competition. Violists are also said to be very nice. Because, when the viola was first created, it was typically played by the violinists who weren't good enough for the violin section, the viola players are the butt of numorous jokes. (Example - Q: Why is a Viola like a lawsuit? A: Everyone is happy when the case is closed.) Thus, the theory goes, viola players like to stick together. I'm not quite sure of the reasoning behind the reputation celloists have for acting like they love each other, but fighting behind their stand partner's back, but I've seen it proven true more than once. And violinists?

There are more violins than any other instrument in the orchestra and yet less places for violins in the orchestra than there are violinists. Because there's so many of us, we have to be extra-good in order to get a place. That often translates into extra-competitve. Often compared to sopranos, both of which perform at the highest pitches and are more often female than male, violinists are stereotyped (with good reason) as being arrogant, catty and (pun not intended. I swear.) high-strung.

Two other violinists and a cellist are warming up in the practice room when I get there. My audition is scheduled for three, so I have twenty minutes to run through the two pieces and my scales. Despite my best efforts to remain calm and concentrate on my music, I can't help but to hear the other two violinists. From their casual chatter, I learn that they both played in the group last year and are fairly certain that they'll make it in again. When they begin playing the excerpt together, I'm fairly certain that they'll make it in, too. Me, on the other hand? When I'm called to go into the performance room, my hands are shaking and my lips are silently mouthing more prayers to St. Cecilia and St. Catherine.

If you didn't already know, let me tell you - it is pretty darn difficult to play a violin when your hands are shaking. And somehow, making one mistake just leads to another and another. And no matter how well one can play, none of it matters if one can't audition well.

So I cry for the forty-five minute back to Suburbia and spend the next forty-eight hours moping around my room and checking the website for audition results every fifteen minutes. When the results are at last up, I see that I was placed in a group for intermediate to advanced students, as opposed to the group I auditioned for, which was for only advanced students. It's not bad; I decide to play with the intermediate group for now, but reaudition for the advanced group next semester when I think I'll have a better chance of making it.

The past couple of days had been too stressful for me to listen to music, but now I turn up the volume on some Gogol Bordello. There's nothing like screaming gypsies, accordians and violins to celebrate. I know I'm not the best violinist and I never will be, but I'm dedicated and passionate. And maybe natural talent isn't so much of a big deal - after all, none of the Sex Pistols were 'classicaly trained', and they did alright for themselves.

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