The Audition

Ă“rna Loughnane

by Ă“rna Loughnane

Story
Vienna 1999

It was a course, to be held in the summer. A once in a lifetime chance to play for members of the Vienna Philharmonic in the Spa town of Baden by Vienna. She had seen the poster on her way to a chamber music rehearsal. What! It had stopped her in her tracks. What a terrifyingly brilliant opportunity. A chance to play for a full week, on a Vienna Philharmonic audition-preparation course. She scrambled down the telephone number and the dates, then took a longer look at the pricing and the requirements. She could do that. It was within her summer budget, and although she had planned to head home for July, the course wasn’t until late August. So, she’d have time to prepare the Strauss; Johann and Richard, Mozart and Smetana orchestral excerpts, a Mozart concerto and a romantic concerto; they were compulsory and, yes, she had Mozart’s fourth and Tchaikowsky’s under her belt. Eeww! Those deadly notes in Salome and Don Juan, die Fledermaus, the impossibly slow Largo to Mozart’s Jupiter symphony as well as the acrobatic overture to Cosi fan Tutti. Thinking of the work involved in playing them up to standard, perfect Vienna standard, made a knot in her stomach. But she wasn’t one to chicken out of a challenge. She would do this course. Even to have tried and failed was to have tried with the bloody Vienna Philharmonic. Not something you can say you do every day.

By the time August came around, she was pretty well versed in her performance requirements. She had worked hard on the runs and jumps and string crossings and legato lines in all the difficult excerpts and that, without help from her professor. She was ready. She had the cojones to expose herself to an all-male panel of violin experts, and although she wouldn’t say it too loudly, she thought they truly were gods of the violin, with that honey sound, the perfect technique, the impeccable musical prowess and expertise. The Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra were just out of this world, even if they would only later add women to their ranks.

The morning arrived upon which she would present her full programme to four men who sat at a table and watched her every move, unnervingly and chatted loudly to each other too. A ploy? To see how easily she would be distracted? She launched into her Mozart, the bright trumpet motive of the first movement. She was sure she heard snickering from the panel. Her Tchaikowsky was awaited next, and she was sure she heard some snuffs of disapproval. She soldiered on and played four of the symphonic excerpts with a racing heart. Sweaty but relieved, she thanked the pianist who had accompanied her and turned to face an unsmiling panel to await execution and adjudication. Just as the leader began to address her, taking a dramatic pause while intently staring into her soul with what seemed to be utter disdain, her bladder decided to lose twenty-four years of exemplary dedication to anatomical law and released its contents upon her, overflowing her summer panties and down the legs of her divinely directed choice of dark tartan pants. She remained still, feigning attention to his words while the trickle was soaked up by her socks. You are very brave, he said, and the panel nodded in agreement. But we have a lot of work to do and we start now. It wasn’t until later that afternoon that she had a chance to change her clothes.

© Órna Loughnane 2024-03-10

Genres
Novels & Stories
Moods
Hopeful