March 07, 2004
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Solo and Ensemble Competition
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1671 hit(s)
Yesterday we spent a good part of the day at the Seattle Music Educators Association (SMEA) Solo and Ensemble Competition. This is one of those rites of passage that music kids go through. They prepare a solo piece or get together with other kids and prepare a duet, quartet, or whatever they can. They then play for a judge who scores them.
There are two scores, in a manner of speaking. Each kid get a score from I to IV, with I as "excellent" and IV as "poor" (or something; no one ever gets a IV). Then in each category (each instrument, plus each size ensemble) one player or group is selected go to the state competition that's held in May over in Ellensburg at Central Washington University. As with Miss America, there is also a first runner-up and a second runner-up.
A lot of kids participate (~300, according to the orchestra director) and it's pretty competitive. There were about 16 clarinet players from all over Seattle.
Sabrina and a friend played a clarinet-bassoon duet just for fun. They hadn't practiced it very much (like, twice) and had no notions about seriously contending for a score. They did ok, and the judge told them they played nicely and offered a number of tips, which basically boiled down to "now that you know the notes, it's time to focus on the music." Fair enough.
Sabrina took the clarinet solo a lot more seriously. She'd prepared the Poulenc piece she played on Recital Night. She was nervous, but pretty confident; it was her teacher's opinion that she had an excellent chance of going to state.
We had a long wait between the duet and the clarinet solo, which was even longer because the clarinet judge was going way over the allotted 12 minutes per student. (Seven minutes to play, five for comments.) We went and got some lunch and when we got back, Sabrina met up with her accompanist and ran through the piece. She was tempted to keep running through it, mostly out of nervousness, but she wanted to preserve her chops for the big event. So we waited outside the room where clarinets were playing. Sabrina clamped headphones firmly on her head and announced that she did not want to hear anyone else play. I put my ear up to the door, listening to each clarinetist in turn to hear what the field was like. One kid played a movement out of the Artie Shaw clarinet concerto that was both well done and, because of its jazzy flavor, popular with the listeners. The repertoire was otherwise pretty standard (clarinetists of a certain level tend to play the same pieces). It is the peculiar role of a parent in such a situations to want to wish the other players well -- particularly those you know -- but not too well.
She went on finally, and played very well. When she was about a minute from finishing, the judge waved his hand and said "that's enough!" to stop her. He then gave her commentary on interpretation and discussed esoteric fingerings with her. He said she had played "very nicely."
At that point we could have gone home. However, it was late enough that she thought we might as well wait for scores. She and her mother and her friend wandered off in search of a snack and I stayed on to hear the remaining clarinetists. It's always interesting to hear what a judge has to say.
Finally it was over and we had a long wait for the final scores to be posted. But at last they were. Sabrina scored a I. And, disappointingly, she was first runner-up. She'd lost to the guy who sits one seat behind her in the school orchestra.
As always, there were some peculiarities. The guy who was judging the double reeds (bassoons and oboes) didn't seem to get the scoring system. He listened to kids who were superb; one girl, a junior, had scored a I every year since the 6th grade. But he judged them on incredibly nit-picky details (I listened to him dressing down a player who had played brilliantly). In the end, this judge awarded a single I, a II, a III, and the rest IV's. The consensus is that he thought he was ranking them rather than scoring them. There were quite a few gloomy and disgruntled bassoon players walking around. To add insult to injury, the same judge had decided that none of the oboe players were good enough to go to state, so he selected none.
I also listened to a clarinet player who had a strange experience with the judge. (Who was a slightly odd fellow, definitely.) The kid was playing and when he was getting close to done, the judge waved his hand and said "Ok, you can stop," as he had done to Sabrina and some other kids. The kid was sort of stunned. "Sir, I'm not done," he said somewhat crankily. The judge explained that the kid had seven minutes to play and he'd hit his seven minutes. At this point the mom erupted in a barely controlled rage. "He's practiced this piece many times and it's less than seven minutes long!" she protested. The judge said to no one in particular, "I've played this piece before." The kid asked the judge if he could finish and the judge somewhat reluctantly agreed. "Can I start the movement over?" the kid asked. "No!" the judge said. "Start where you left off." But the kid was flustered. In the end he got a I-. One can't help but think that arguing with a judge in a music competition is apt to be as productive as arguing with the ref in a football game.
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