I realize I go too far in claiming ownership of four string players at the Mimir Chamber Music Festival in Fort Worth, Texas. But I did coach them quite a lot over the last two weeks, and this is their only chance to show the audience of colleagues, coaches, family, friends and local chamber music lovers what they have learned this July.

The summer of 2005 was my third as an artist faculty member at Mimir. Along with eleven colleagues, I worked with approximately twenty students, almost all between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two. All of them auditioned for the festival, either live or via recording. Like the students in years past, most had professional aspirations, but few had experienced anything like Mimir. Executive director Curt Thompson has focused the festival exclusively on chamber music, which provides the students an opportunity not found at festivals where they must also prepare solo repertoire and attend orchestra rehearsals. Of course, with such focus comes greater challenge. Since students study only two works during their two weeks here, and often perform only parts of those two works, both faculty and students desire to have all the rough edges polished smooth.

We began with a big block of stone. One player in my group had never played chamber music before, and the ones who had brought varying levels of experience and proficiency. The Debussy quartet was new to all of them. And even though I had performed the Debussy many times, I had never coached it. At our first meeting, they had had only two hours together to read through the piece and begin what would be, both for them and for me, a maiden voyage.

We were looking at less than a week—only three sessions of two hours each—before my group would perform some portion of the piece for students and faculty. We would then meet two or three more times before the culminating public performance. I knew that other faculty would see my group on the days I did not, but at the final performance, I would be the one in the audience receiving uncomfortable glances should there be any train wrecks on stage!

Rehearsal time without a coach was limited to two hours each day, the bare minimum for the Debussy. This was necessary because each student participated in two groups during the festival. Thus every day contained four hours of rehearsal with a coach, plus four hours without. Every session at Mimir, whether coached or not, must build measurably toward the performances.

For members of a permanent, professional ensemble, preparing a piece of chamber music is second nature: after the first reading, most of the major building blocks are in place. Such a group may jump immediately to the fine-tuning of phrases, the blending of sounds and the delicate balancing of dynamics. Not so at Mimir. The first reading, even by accomplished individual players, is likely to derail several times. As members of the faculty with long memories, we are responsible for warning the students that these things can and will happen to them. But I do not think we have ever shown them the video from the very first Mimir, where during a faculty performance of an obscure Scandinavian quartet, four brave souls fought desperately to keep things together while one (or more) were hopelessly lost. It’s not whether you fall in, but how artfully you dig yourself out!

As a coach, my job would be twofold: to guide my four players toward a performance of their work and to teach them how to teach themselves. I had to share my experience working with other players so that these four might work together. I remembered my frustration at age eighteen, berated for my every dynamic choice by the more experienced members of my quartet and by coach Felix Galimir alike. However, a fog was lifted with his words: “You must have three ears! Two where you sit and one where I sit.” From then on I learned to pursue and teach awareness. Only by honing a constant awareness of their group’s true sound could my students hope to recognize and solve problems.

At the first session, I was impressed with the spirit and energy evident in my students but dismayed by the rather shapeless mass of sound. I immediately shared with them my opening strategy for such pieces, what many call “wood-shedding”. Before the very first reading, I get a score and “read through” the piece in my head. While not particularly talented at score reading, lacking fundamental piano skills and totally inept while looking at more than four or five parts, I can still get a sense of the challenges that will confront me. I mark my part with simple directions for cues and balance. At this point in my narrative, the player without chamber experience broke in, “That sounds like homework!” “Yes it does,” I answered, “and you haven’t done yours yet! Why should you expect to get through Debussy on your first try, much less make sense of it?”

So we began the work together. We started with the premise that no problem left unrecognized could be solved. I asked them to rehearse as if I were not there, so that I could sense their style of communication. As a full-time symphony player, this is a hassle I have largely left behind! In my job, there is only one person stopping and starting the group, and while not always enjoyable, the process is efficient. My group quickly made the same discovery: when one player stopped the playing to make a comment, all was well. But if the playing simply broke down, the first priority was to figure out why. I generally favor solutions through playing over talking, and with my Debussy I sensed that I had a quartet reluctant to make bold and immediate proclamations. So I imposed the “fifteen-second” rule. Only fifteen seconds of talking allowed before the playing resumed. This left time for one person to recognize a problem, suggest a solution, and provide a starting measure number. If another player disagreed, he or she waited until the proposed solution was tried before suggesting another. This rule had three benefits: more problems were recognized, more solutions were tried, and the group best benefited from the most valuable resource it had: time to play together. I often tell my groups that they could do much worse than to spend their two hours playing a movement ten times in a row, from start to finish. My colleagues and I have all been members of groups where so much time was wasted on unproductive arguing that a series of playthroughs would have been absolutely therapeutic. As another of my coaches at Curtis (and Orion Quartet violist) Steve Tenenbom said, “Practice the language you will speak to the audience.”

My summers at Mimir have shown me that the ideal use of time in a coaching is similar to that in a rehearsal. My first summer, I often found myself looking at glazed eyes while in the midst of paragraphs of explanation. Finally it dawned on me that I was transgressing my own rule. Again and again, I found the violin to be my best friend as I picked it up to demonstrate exactly how I wanted a passage to sound. What could be more effective than distilling hours of my own practice into a few demonstrations? I found myself acting in coaching sessions as a “virtual quartet member”: unburdened with the responsibility of playing but sharing the same respect for efficiency. I possessed the “third ear” that Galimir had described. Many exchanges resemble this one: “Second violin, can you hear the viola?” “Yes.” “Something doesn’t match between you; listen as the four of you play it again and tell me what it is.” I learned that when I gave a student the task of listening to just one other player, even when four were playing, the concentration and results increased dramatically. The next step would be to decide who each player should listen to at any given time.

I showed my quartet how this question is often answered visually through a sign, or cue. This sign may signify the beginning of a phrase, a shift in tempo, or the release or cutoff of a long note. What difficulty most of us have in understanding just how sharp and incisive a cue must be! As a beginner, my cues were plaintive and questioning. After being browbeaten by my colleagues, I learned how to give any manner of sign, depending on the character of the music to follow. But it was a strange discovery that sometimes, a sharp sign must be given even when the music is not so. There are moments when the need for precision demands it. I often paraphrased Crocodile Dundee as I demonstrated increasingly obvious cues:

“That’s not a sign. This is a sign!”

Now that our signals were in place, we got to the real meat of rehearsal. The cellist may have successfully given a sign and the others followed it, but why the cello and not the viola? We could not ignore the subject of balance any longer. In early classical quartets such as Haydn and Mozart, the first violin line dominates most of the time. Is it any wonder that the quartets of the time were composed of a strong first violinist (who often lent his name to the group) and three supporters? Even though quartets rarely work this way today, such repertoire is helpful for the beginning quartet since its clean lines and relative scarcity of tempo changes promote confidence and good rehearsal habits. But the piece at hand was by Debussy, whose aim was often to blur the clean line. As a master of color, he knew well how instruments could combine to form a sonic impression independent of melody.

“We have a long way to go,” I said in one of our first sessions, stating the obvious. The time had come for action and results. The fifteen-second rule was in effect. I showed the inexperienced group members how I mark my quartet parts, and then we played the marked sections. A shape began to emerge. “I wish I had recorded yesterday’s playthrough so that you could hear what has happened to this section!” I cried. “No you don’t,” replied the cellist with a smile. A veteran of several summers at Mimir, he was familiar with the rapid gains most groups make in the first couple of days. The challenge then, as always, was to keep the group working as if they were still just beginning. I asked them to completely mark their parts for the two movements we would work on this week, and to spend tomorrow’s rehearsal continuing the kind of rehearsing we had just begun.

By equipping my quartet with efficient means of interacting and productive rehearsal methods, the preliminary work was dispatched as quickly as possible. And with efficiency would come solidity. Though the conventional wisdom “haste makes waste” was drilled into me from childhood, I had come to learn that solutions which come quickly tend to stick. No wonder those early quartets took not only the names of their first violinists, but their playing styles as well: like a symphony, a totalitarian regime is more efficient and unified than a democracy. But where is the art in that? My four players would soon have to make the painful transition from workers to artists of Debussy. The danger of conflict loomed, but with it appeared the promise of exploration and discovery. And while I would equip my quartet with more subtle and varied rehearsal methods to encourage this discovery, no method would prove more important than a practiced awareness of what was actually coming out of their four instruments. Just before their final performance, each of the four players had an answer for my last question: “If you were listening from here, what would you say?”

This article appeared in Chamber Music magazine.

Taking an audition of any kind is a major commitment, and when you give it your full attention you experience the highest highs and lowest lows you face as a player. Taking an audition for a professional orchestra raises the stakes because a win means a major life change. A day like today is a solemn occasion and a chance for great joy as well, and all of us on the committee well remember our time alone on stage.

This truly is audition season, not only here but all over the country. College auditions have been going on since January, summer festivals are accepting recordings sometimes until April, and here in Chicago the Civic orchestra holds its trials as well. All of these auditions mean lessons devoted to them, and as a teacher this time of year means hearing Don Juan and Mozart 39 daily for months! It really stirs up the imagination. I even imagine hearing the same question over and over…

“Should I take an audition for the experience?” It is a difficult question, since many people I respect give an answer different from mine. Think about the phrase “for the experience” and you’ll see that there are two meanings. Imagine a couple honeymooning in Paris. It’s their last day there and they’ve got a dinner reservation to catch, but they happen to walk near the Eiffel Tower and the wife says, “Oh, let’s take the ride to the top.” Husband: “It’ll take too long, and besides, we have to make our 8 o’clock at Chez Snoot.” “Come on, for the experience!” Does the wife mean that by riding to the top of the Eiffel Tower, they will learn something valuable? Something that they could apply to future endeavors? Maybe she’d like to get better at riding to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and this would provide valuable experience? Of course not. She sees an opportunity to do something that she’s never done, something fun that she and her husband can share and remember. Soon it will be a memory, but their lives will only be richer because of this experience.

Surprisingly, this is what some people mean when they talk about taking an audition for the experience. They may not know that this is what they mean, but their attitude toward the process makes their intention clear. They often waffle about taking the audition, even up until a few days before. They talk often with friends about the audition, waiting to hear someone tell them that they should or should not go ahead with it. On audition day, they may look and talk like other candidates, but during their few minutes on stage all they are hoping for is an experience. But what a poor one it turns out to be! Those few minutes are hardly enjoyable: herded on and off stage like an animal, told to play short sections of music that feel uncomfortable, seeing not people but a giant screen. And unlike the Eiffel Tower ride, candidates face this one alone. They cannot share it with anyone else. Their lives are not enriched by this experience. And neither are the lives of the committee members hearing the auditions! In such a case, I would of course answer the original question “no”.
What most people mean, however, when they talk about “the experience” is the learning process. By asking the question, they mean that even though they think they have no chance of winning this particular audition, the process of preparing for and taking it will help them in future auditions. This is certainly a more productive outlook. But even in this case my answer to the original question is “no”. I believe that you should only take an audition you intend to win. This doesn’t mean that you must know you will win, or that you are sure you will love the job you are auditioning for, or that you know you are better than all the other candidates. But you must know in your heart that you are preparing for the audition in order to win it.

But what about the experience you can gain from taking an audition and not winning? Isn’t that important, as well as the improvement you will make along the way? It is true that the audition process is a terrific learning experience whether you win or not. I have taken more auditions than I have won, and I have learned plenty from each one! But I have learned the most from the ones where I was focused on the win from the very start. Why didn’t I learn just as much when I was not focused in this way? Let’s look at some of the reasons that someone would say “I have no chance to win this audition.”

First, the minority: those who have a very good chance to win an audition but who suffer from fear of failure. This kind of candidate is very talented and accomplished, and surrounded by friends and colleagues who wonder why he is always talking himself down. He does so because he feels that he can perform his best only by hiding his head in the sand: mentally minimizing the task and the risk. This way, if he wins, great, and if not, he didn’t really have a chance anyway. I have met a few players like this and would never have guessed it from the quality of their playing. These players, rare though they are, have a severe disconnect between perception and reality. With patient and understanding friends and teachers, they take and win auditions anyway. It is useful to consider the opposite of this player, who nonetheless shares this gulf between perception and reality: the one who is sure she can win an audition, but whose playing lags far behind. This unfortunate combination is not as rare, and can only be cured with an honest self-evaluation as described below.
Most of the candidates who say they have no chance to win actually believe it. They want to win an audition someday, even though it won’t be this one. They may be students, amateurs or professionals. Their playing may be awful or great. It is obvious why a poor player would hold a negative attitude about an audition, but what about a good or even great player? Why would such a candidate think this way? He believes he cannot win for one or both of the following: his general level of play is not high enough, or he performs badly under pressure.

It is obvious that the above beliefs are subjective. So now we get into important matters for those considering an audition. It is vital to have a general sense of your level of play relative to the level of the audition. The best way to gauge this is to ask a teacher or professional familiar with your playing. Of course, many teachers are uncomfortable making any kind of judgment regarding auditions because they are unfamiliar with the process. In that case, you may have to play for someone else if your teacher allows it. If not, or for those without a teacher, the next-best thing is to be acquainted with players who have recently advanced or won at auditions similar to the one you’re considering. These are the kinds of players who will be competing against you. This shouldn’t be a detailed breakdown of strengths and weaknesses, personality traits and lifestyles. Only a general sense of level is needed. If your capabilities are much lower than theirs, you do not have a reasonable chance to win. Read on to see how you can turn this into a positive. This kind of self-evaluation is admittedly difficult and imprecise, but if you decide to go through with the audition you will subject yourself to much worse along the way! Better to dispatch with it before the process begins. If you have no one to advise you and don’t know anyone who has recently done well at an audition, you must make the choice yourself to take the audition and win it.
Why this preoccupation with the win? Isn’t it anti-musical? And besides, only one person can win each audition, so don’t you most likely set yourself up for failure? This is really at the heart of the question. I believe that by making your goal a win, you will play better in the audition, as well as reap maximum benefits along the way.

Now for the above two objections. First, to win an audition, you must play musically, so let’s eliminate that objection. You’re not out to crush the competition with machine-like precision, you’re out to win with great playing at an audition that’s appropriate for you. The second objection hits closer to the mark. Let’s say that 150 people take an audition, they are all at a reasonable level of play, and all have made their goal a win. At least 149 of them will leave the audition having failed to reach their goal. Yet I believe that this is the healthiest of all possible audition scenarios.

Let’s look at one of the 149 candidates who didn’t win. She treated the audition process just as I would have. Would she not have been better off with a different goal? Her goal could have been to make as much improvement as possible during her preparation. It could have been to get more comfortable with some of the excerpts that had bothered her in the past. Or it could have been something more abstract, along the lines of “gaining experience”. Her goal could have been simply to complete the process, to take it from start to finish regardless of outcome so that she would get better at taking auditions. If any of these had been her goals, she would have succeeded rather than failed on audition day.

Those are all wonderful goals, but during an audition process they are by-products. If these side benefits were really the above candidate’s strongest desires, she could have spent her time more constructively. Consider the candidate whose goal is to improve his overall playing. A two-month recital project or even a weekly mock audition group among friends would be more appropriate means. The recital offers him the chance to broaden his repertoire and to play great, complete works in front of an audience. The series of mock auditions offers the chance to test himself many more times than would a single audition. It also offers the chance for feedback, never guaranteed at a professional audition. I often marvel at how many people take auditions without even doing one “dry run” in front of friends, well in advance. This is of great value, especially for the first few auditions. The mock audition series would also be best for the candidate whose goal it is to improve specific excerpts.

But what about the central question: does taking auditions make you better at taking auditions? I believe that it does, but only when the goal is to win each time. What we are really talking about is playing under pressure, which is more difficult than playing when you feel free and easy. This is true of even the greatest soloists. And try as you might, you cannot do anything to eliminate pressure or nerves associated with an audition. You can certainly prepare in ways that minimize the ill effects, but an audition is going to feel different than other kinds of performing. To get better at playing under pressure, you need to play under pressure. This is why some people take many auditions: to improve their playing under pressure. But if this worked, then the person who had taken the most auditions should win every time. It doesn’t happen that way. Why not?

Simply taking auditions provides far too few opportunities to battle-test yourself! Think about it: even if you took an audition every month, constantly preparing lists of excerpts and refining your concerti, that would give you only 12 times during an entire year to play under stress. And 12 auditions a year is an exhausting audition schedule. Most people’s playing would improve very little under such circumstances, and after 12 losses their confidence might well disappear. You need to play nervous every few days if you are going to get used to the feeling. There are many methods for this, outside the scope of this post, but they can be used just as easily preparing for a recital or mock audition as for a real one.

Besides, if your goal is simply experience at an audition, how does that prepare you for the eventual audition where your goal is to win? The two feel very different, I can tell you. If the first time you prepare for a win is when you absolutely have to win the next audition, any failure will be magnified.

Make no mistake: it hurts to fall short of a goal. But as humans we learn to deal with failure. It is normal and healthy once in a while. But many people ensure constant failure by setting too few goals, and those unattainable. Remember that success and failure are subjective, according to your goals. Consider the person who has taken 20 auditions, and has never won. If, during that time, he has never set his sights on anything except the 20 wins, he will have failed 20 times and succeeded 0. This I don’t consider healthy or productive. But if, between those auditions, he has set many other goals that are appropriate to his level, he cannot help but succeed at most of those. In fact, if every day during practice, he is constantly setting and achieving goals, then failing at a few of them will not impede his progress at all.

It is necessary to point out that there are small goals and large ones, and we can’t fool ourselves by achieving many small ones only to consistently fail at the large ones. This is sometimes given as the reason why one shouldn’t set his sights on winning an audition. If this is the case for you, set large goals other than winning an audition! You need the experience of bigger success, many times over. Set up a recital and make your goal the memorization and performance of a complete program. Set up a mock audition series and learn a complete audition list and a new concerto. You will get valuable feedback in the process. You will also fine-tune your sense of which auditions are appropriate for you. Perhaps then you will confidently send in that resumé, ready to compete and win.

There are limitless opportunities for improving your playing. Some of these specifically target playing under duress. An audition is one of them. But it requires an enormous investment of time, energy and even money. Audition day is rarely fun, and the outcome is all or nothing. With an unclear goal, or worse, no goal at all, an audition is a blunt instrument, smashing confidence and dulling musicality. But treated with respect and dedication, an audition is one of the sharpest tools for improving your playing overall, performing under pressure, refining excerpts, improving practice, and of course, taking future auditions. So when you decide that you are ready to win, take a big first step and never look back.