There’s one day I have dreaded and anticipated over these last four years. That day is the last Saturday in January that takes place in Phoenix every year called “Solo Festival Day.” For the Solo Festival you select a solo for voice or your instrument to practice and perform in front of a judge. They give you positive comments and suggestions to improve overall. Sometimes they’ll even work with you and give you a mini private lesson. The judge also asses your piece and gives you a score based on 7 levels However, Solo Festival isn’t just about the grade you get. This is something that cannot be taught, even if they tell you a thousand times.
When I was just a freshman, I had hesitantly agreed to participate in the Solo Festival because my music instructor had strongly insisted upon it. I chose a simple, but elegant flute solo that was accompanied by a piano part. It sounded strange and alien by itself, but when I heard the two parts together I was satisfied with my decision. As the months ran into each other, I practiced and practiced until I could play it blind-folded. However, executing the sophistication of the song proved to be a difficult task in front of other people. My hands started to get sweaty and my heart would throb painfully against my rib cage. A few days before the big event all of the soloists came together for a recital to perform for their families. It felt like my stomach was slowly going through a grinder. When it was my turn to play my face flushed from chalk-white to a deep red in a single moment. As I began to blow into my instrument, my vision started to blur and my fingers couldn’t remember where to go. I survived the small disaster and kept going even as tears clung to the corner of my eyes. The rest of the piece was virtually error-free, but I couldn’t forget the horrible mistake I had made. My parents and people I had never met smiled warmly and told me that overall it was still really beautiful. The small spark of confidence that was left started to glow inside of me again.
When Solo Festival Day finally came I got up early to be on the bus at seven. It was a long, grueling three-hour drive if you couldn’t sleep through it. As we approached the school that was hosting the event, I noticed that it was pretty big and had labels everywhere to tell you where to go. The sky was masked in a thick, grey blanket of clouds and the arctic droplets of rain had barely started to fall when we stepped out of the bus. There were musicians in packs everywhere dressed up and carrying their instruments. We explored the school for a while to find out which room we needed to go to, the food court, the bathrooms and the practice room. The practice room was a magical place where you went to warm up before your performance. You could hear a piccolo piping out its scales from the lowest note to its highest, a trumpet cutting through the noise as it reached the peak in its music and a slew of violins trying to tune. It was a din of a million sounds being thrown at you at once. I admit it was quite intimidating to hear so many accomplished musicians while trying to practice my solo.
When it was my turn to perform I didn’t have an audience listening in except for the adjudicator since everyone had something scheduled at the same time. Honestly, I was kind of grateful it happened that way. However, I was still nervous and my hands couldn’t help but tremble as I handed him the score sheet. I introduced myself, and when my flute came up to my lips, my fears slowly faded away with each passing note. I could detach, or emphasize certain parts of the solo without feeling breathless like I had before. After I was done, the judge smiled and told me thank you as he scribbled diligently on my score sheet. My accompanist assured me that I did a great job and wished me good luck as she left. While I waited for my score to be posted, I joined my friends to listen to other soloists.
Being a band geek my whole life, I could tell who was really dedicated and passionate compared to someone who lacked those qualities. The loud sounds, the soft sounds, the style and the phrasing expressed in the music were a dead give-away. Even if the solo didn’t have words, you could hear it tell a story as it unfolded itself like a rose in your mind. In fact, you could say that they were sharing their heart with you as they conveyed their interpretation. The music just wasn’t notes on the page anymore, and I longingly wished that the song would never end. As a faithful audience member, I had completely forgotten about my worries and became lost in the enchanting melody. I knew it was something I wanted to convey with my music, not just get a good score. As the day drew to an unwanted end, all of the scores were posted on the wall. My eyes franticly scanned for my name to find that I had earned an “Excellent”, which is the 2nd highest rank you can receive. My spirits soared as I read it over and over to confirm it. I was ecstatic beyond words, but it wasn’t the only thing I got that day.
At first, Solo Festival only consisted of your hard work being at the mercy of your fears and the judge. I’ve learned that it’s more than that. Sharing in the dreams of others and discovering my own is an unshakable feeling I never want to forget. Many more Solo Festivals followed the first, and each one was more spectacular than the last. Participating in this event provides you with a sense of accomplishment and a cluster of memories I wouldn’t give up for anything in this world. It also gives you that one shining moment when you prove yourself and let others take a look into your soul. If my instructor hadn’t gently pushed me to participate in the Solo Festival my freshman year, I might have never found confidence or purpose in myself. I have something to be proud of, and an aspiration to try to capture my own audience in a melodious dream that they never want to wake up from or describe even with a million words in the dictionary. It’s heartbreaking to say that my last Solo Festival has come and gone, but that experience will stay with me forever even as I continue to be dedicated and passionate to all of the aspects in my life
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