I’m a cellist.
I started playing in 6th grade. By high school, I was playing quite well and had made principle player—or First Chair. Huge deal in the orchestra world.
In high school, the competitiveness in orchestra is confined to skill. I got all perfect scores during the competitions during my solos, and for my senior year, I got an offer for a full ride at Georgia State School of Music after a rigorous audition playing this (sheet music) and this (I could scan the sheet music but it looks like fucking insanity—just know it was hard and I had cramps in my hand frequently).
The scholarship was only offered to 15 students, and I was one of the students who got in, but I couldn’t take it because I didn’t get into GSU based off of a two point issue on my math SAT (racist political bullshit, but that’s another story).
Anyway, that’s over $30,000 I had to give up off of GSU’s politicking, so I went to Augusta State instead. When I auditioned there, the director was exponentially more blown away than my fastidious judges at GSU. He gave me a spot in the cello section and like always, I had to earn my right to be principle player.
I never made it that far.
See, I was one of the two Black people in the orchestra, and the other girl was a violist. And not only that, I was the only female cellist. Our principle player in the cello section was everything I hated about the orchestra world: arrogant, sexist, racist, and just fucking arrogant. He was stupid talented, but he was a real dick about it. And me, being extremely passionate about my art (this was one of the few things that kept me from becoming another high school shooter along with kung fu classes), wanted to trade music tips with him. You know, helping one another out because unless we’re playing a concerto with solos, no one is really going to notice your vibrato, son. Just sayin’.
So he was scrolling his iPod with one of the other players and I caught a snatch of the first movement of Elgar’s Cello Concerto. Anyone who has ever loved classical music must know it, if not, the opening is here and it’s pretty distinct…played by the Legend Himself.
Anyway, I got excited because the cello concerto is one of my absolute favorites (second only to Corelli’s concerto in g minor and Vivaldi’s Double Cello Concerto in g minor). I walked up to him, smiles and all, and said: “Oh hey! I have that on my iPod too. It was really hard to find kids in orchestra who dug that deep for good concertos.”
He just stared at me, and the look on his face was disgust. It was as if he couldn’t believe I had the nerve to not only address him, but comment on his taste in music. So he gave me one of those “IDGAF” shrugs and turned his back on me. It stung, because you know, I was still new at the school and didn’t know anyone.
Later that week, we had our first concert of the season. I wasn’t too much of a fan of the selection. It was really simple stuff, and no fun frilly things in the sheet music for those of us who hang out in the bass clef. So, it occurred to me that I didn’t have a ride home after the concert (we only had one bus, and it stopped running at 6 PM). So I tried asking for a ride, but I went largely ignored. None of the students lived near my apartment (or they were lying and just didn’t want me as apart of their ‘group’). One of the white girls looked at me like I’d just pulled a gun on her.
So I walked the four miles home in my concert dress. Luckily, my cello case had wheels, so it wasn’t too much. About halfway there it started to rain.
This is why iPods exist, and I wasn’t really too broken up about it. I made it home safely, albeit a bit soaked.
But I never went back to that orchestra again afterward.
