Auditioning for the “Best Band in the Land”

Ever since I was little, I’ve been going to Illinois football games. But the thing I looked forward to at each game wasn’t seeing the teams play, it was the halftime show featuring the Marching Illini. When I was at a game in eighth grade, some guy sitting behind me said something to his daughter that changed my life. What he said was simple. “Maybe that could be you someday honey, you never know.” Not one day before that moment had I ever thought I could join those people down on the field.

Fast forward 4 years and what am I doing? Waking up at five in the morning trembling with anticipation because I was auditioning for the Marching Illini later that morning. For the past four months I had been practicing my clarinet like crazy (I don’t usually practice unless I have to), and working on a three minute solo and a few scales. My audition was at 10:30 at the Harding Band Building, which I knew my way around because of previous music summer camps I had participated in. I thought back to one of the camps, where our director, a former student at the U of I, told us the building was haunted by old students whose dreams were broken in this building.

I hoped I didn’t become one of them.

I walk in the old brick building at 10, figuring I need plenty of time to warm up. I wish I hadn’t. One of the staff members directs me up the steep gray stairs to the practice rooms, which I had never been in before. They were smaller than I expected, only about five or six feet long and wide. There was a single ceiling light, dusty mirror, chair, and music stand in each. I pick the one on the far end of the hall so I don’t have to hear other people practicing for their auditions, even though I only encountered two the whole time I was there. I sit down and assemble my clarinet, raise it to my lips, and play. With the door shut, the sound had nowhere to go and reverberated right back at me. I hated that, because it made me sound loud and out of tune, even though I knew I was playing it right. I run through my whole audition once or twice, and then scroll through the NHL account on Instagram to calm my nerves (hockey just does that for me, I guess).

At 10:20 I go back downstairs and into the office where I need to check in. I put my things down and go to the bathroom, trying to waste as much time as possible before 10:30. It’s 10:22 now, and I’m starting to feel the nerves come on. I fill out the check-in form on the iPad the lady behind the desk hands me, and she says to go ahead and gather my things so I can go in whenever “he” is ready. I had no idea who “he” was, because never had anyone told me who I would audition for.

I go over to the corner, bend down, pick up my music and clarinet, and turn around. Right as I do so, two people walk out of the small hall leading to some staff offices on my right. One of the people was a very sweaty and nervous-looking saxophone player. The other was a face with a mile-wide smile, and it was a face I knew well and had hoped to see. It was Professor Barry Houser, director of the Marching Illini and exactly the person I was hoping I’d audition with. I knew Professor Houser from various events over the past four years, and he knew me, even well enough to know that I lived only ten minutes from campus (he cracked a joke about how I must be “so exhausted from my long ride there” that morning). I laughed and it’s like someone had flipped a switch inside me, restoring my confidence in a split second.

My playing went a lot better than I thought it would. I played my three scales perfectly, and even faster than I had practiced them (which is a good thing). I didn’t want to have a false sense of confidence, so my nerves were still affecting me. They finally got to me about a minute into my prepared solo when I was playing a higher note (or at least trying to play it). I didn’t exactly hit the pitch I needed to at first, but I quickly moved on to the next note, hoping Professor Houser wouldn’t notice.

He did.

He nodded his head and started typing on his computer, where he was scoring my audition. I quickly focused back in on my music, brow furrowed, determined not to let any other mistakes happen. Thankfully, I held myself to this and played the rest of the piece as well as I’ve ever played it.

I got up from my chair and Professor Houser did the same. We shook hands again and talked about when I would find out my result. I don’t find out until May 1st.

On my way walking out the door, he told me I should be proud of the audition and would “make a great addition to the ensemble,” with a wink and a nod. Maybe he didn’t notice that bad note, after all.