The Longest 45 Minutes Of My Life

An account of a life-changing audition

Sitting on the well-worn black bench of the 6'3" Estonia grand piano nestled in the living room of my childhood home, I anxiously awaited a call scheduled for nine o'clock in the morning. I checked to make sure everything was in place. The printer was on, a cordless phone receiver and laptop were within arm's reach. I was ready to pounce like a panther stalking its prey. Every second counted.

The bright and beautiful summer morning was in stark contrast to the dark storm clouds of anxiety brewing in my psyche.

The phone rang.

I picked up.

After a brief exchange, I was given instructions to download the materials. He would call again in 45 minutes to begin the audition.

The quicker I got these files printed out, the more time I had to prepare.

Tick. Tock.

After a flurry of clerical activity logging in and printing files, I began to assess the task at hand.

Tick. Tock.

A hot wave of shame and guilt flooded my body.

"What was I thinking?!"

"I'm not ready!"

Anxiety morphed into panic as a creeping sense of doom suffused my body like the hobbits beholding the Ringwraiths.

Half-resigned I was going to fail, I still resolved to do my best.

Amidst the assortment of material, there was a classical opera-like passage, an uptempo big-band lead sheet, chord charts and an assortment of backing tracks to go along with them: paraphernalia of the professional musician.

As the minutes whiled away, I did my best to allocate enough time to each piece proportional to their difficulty in a kind of practice triage.

The tasks I could breeze through on first pass were set aside for final review, while the bulk of my scant few minutes were spent fine-tuning awkward chord voicings, syncopations and sight reading as best I could.

I still had no idea how I was going to play through this wickedly fast big band chart in cut time filled with exotic extensions, alterations and precise rhythms.

But I persisted.

What else was I going to do?

I switched to the opera chart -- I was definitely playing under tempo but sacrifices had to be made with limited attention. Minding the key signature, it was clunky on first reading, so I did a few passes of hands-separate practice attempting to slightly automatize the awkwardly leaping left hand accompaniment.

And then time was up.

Somehow, in the span of a mere 45 minutes, I had traversed the emotional terrain of the dark swampy marshes of despair and overwhelm to the scree-like purchases of anxiety tinged with the slightest hint of slab-like confidence and self-assuredness.

The phone rang again and I picked up.

I was still quite tense in my whole body, but especially the neck and shoulders. I was fueled by a narrative stream of insecure thoughts, cortisol and adrenaline -- decidedly suboptimal fuel for peak performance.

It sort of felt somewhat similar to being several hours deep into an all-night cramming session, whether a term paper due the very same morning or a final exam worth a disproportionately large grading weight. You're still amped, anxious and agitated, but you've become somewhat numb to the predicament and resolve yourself to going through despite the seeming futility of it all.

After some brief pleasantries, we got right to it.

I was suitably impressed at the ears of the examiner on the other side of the line. He could tell me whether or not I had missed that sharp nine or flat five extension in the flurry of passing chords.

And then one of the most pivotal moments happened.

After some of the opening tests, he said, "Relax, you're doing well."

With that simple phrase of reassurance, it felt like a 20 kg weight vest fell off my back.

I was still somewhat nervous, but the clenching of my mind slowly unfurled like the fingers of a fist softening into an open palm.

I was giddy with relief when that call ended.

It was over.

Why did it matter so much?

This audition felt like the culmination of five years of effort -- thousands of hours at the piano shedding technique and repertoire, late night jam sessions, volunteering for big bands and community projects, and my first gigs. This came alongside weathering the ups and downs of morale, motivation and self-doubt; of maintaining the discipline to practice despite countless distractions. Of daring to think I was good enough to make it as a professional musician.

There was a lot of identity riding on this audition.

In hindsight, it was precisely this fragility that doubtlessly and needlessly prolonged the process.

But things take the time they take.

Less than two weeks later, I was on a plane to New York City to embark on Holland America Line’s MS Veendam for my first contract as a showband musician.