thirteen ways

I landed in Chicago on the 2nd of June. My flight was pretty bloody awful: I was seated next to a screaming child, and the video entertainment program was on the blink. A great friend from my Oberlin days, the wonderful Marcy Stonikas, put me up for the weekend before the audition. I was jet-lagged out of my mind, which, combined with some serious butterflies, made the pre-audition weekend something of a torturous experience (improved by some hardcore sleeping pills, provided by my generous host!).

I rarely play at my best during auditions, so it was a very pleasant surprise how comfortable and “at home” I felt in front of eighth blackbird. After giving safe, nervous performances of two solo pieces (Brett Dean’s purgatorial Demons and the surreal opening flute solo of George Crumb’s evocative Vox Balanae), I relaxed pretty easily into the fake “rehearsal” situation. Their curiosity about my accent sure helped, as did my insistence about the inherent superiority of “quavers” and “semiquavers” over “eighths” and “sixteenths”. My memorization of Derek Bermel’s funky Tied Shifts held up well, and Molly’s instructions as to where I should move (”always walk with conviction and purpose” she repeated like a mantra to the slothful Aussie) were clear and helpful. The Pierrot Lunaire excerpt became a competition: how soft could the ensemble play. All said, the rehearsal was great fun, and it was a genuine disappointment to have to leave the studio.

The “interview” segment at Hop Leaf Cafe (sporting the best Belgian beer list in the city), was fun, and this was where I unleashed the full fury of my pre-prepared “dirty joke”. It was a friend from Oberlin, Dave Reminick, who convinced me to tell an old favorite - “Benny the boil sucker” - a long, drawn-out disgust-a-thon, where the only guideline is the strength of the listeners’ stomachs.

In the following 24 hours, as I waited to hear back, I tried to convince myself that even if I didn’t get a trial “it was really worth coming, even just to have played with the group, and to be able to say I gave a good bloody rock solid go”. This was pretty futile - the bullshit detector in me didn’t buy it for a second.

I had a week off after Lisa told me I was coming with the group to Cincinnati, so I decided to make a little trek back to Oberlin College. It was great to be able to spend some time with my old legendary new music mentor, Tim Weiss, and his wonderful family. I also spent a relaxed couple of days at the beautiful Hocking Hills National Park.

My trial week was at the Music 06 new music festival at the University of Cincinnati School of Music. Some rich old lady had given $90 million to build an immense, well designed and beautifully kitted-out music school. As I kept saying during the week - if you throw enough money at something, it can be really hard to stuff it up.

eighth blackbird has been ensemble-in-residence at the festival for six years, and the week-long event gave me the opportunity to show a diverse range of skills, in masterclasses, forums, coachings, rehearsals, performances, and personal dealings with other composers and performers. It became clear early on that the eighth blackbird flute audition wasn’t just about finding a qualified flutist, but also finding a functioning member of the company.

It was an amazing thrill to have my dad in Cincinnati for the concert. He’d been on holiday on the West Coast, and forked out for a ticket to come and see me in action, and to give me the advantage of a home crowd! He also made the good point that “If you get this job, I’m not going to hear you live for a long while….”

Rehearsal preparation during the week was insubstantial, so by concert night I was pretty much shitting myself. Duvall laughed as I came off after the first (memorized) piece - he said later that he has never seen someone look so deeply RELIEVED.

Following a week’s holiday, hanging out with friends in New York’s sweaty June heat, I headed back to freezing cold Tasmania. I expected to wait, jet-lagged and nervous, for about three horrible, long days, but Lisa called me at my Tassie Symphony desk the day after I arrived home.

I did jump up and down for joy. Up and down. Up and down. My brother made me swear that I would leave work and go straight to the pub as soon as I heard the news. I’m sorry to say that I let him down….