The Band-Personal Narrative

Suddenly, the band hushed, and an anticipatory silence coated the concert hall. Pressed against the cold silver mouthpiece, my lips tensed. Caressing the brass delicately, my left hand slithered down the side of the baritone, shadowing the delicacy of the silence. My right hand settled its fingers on the valves, expectant, awaiting its cue to perform. Breaking into a sweat, my face basked in the intensity of the stage lights. I rehearsed this moment in my head thousands of times; we rehearsed it as a band dozens of times. The conductor turned and angled his arms toward me. I sat in anticipation. He raised his hands. I breathed. When his baton reached the bottom of its path, indicating the first beat, I buzzed my lips and played an A natural: it was my first solo.

When I chose to play baritone in 5th grade, I knew what kind of role I would play in the band. A baritone does not

It was my opportunity, my moment that required preparation. The commonly held notion that the baritone should always stay in the background sickened me. I craved to be featured, to lead the band, to woo the audience with my fluttering fingers and enticing embouchure. And now, the chance to display how skillful and melodious a baritonist can be had come. This opportunity would surely not be squandered.

With or without an instrument in my hands, I tend to find myself stuck in the background noise. As an underclassman in high school, I kept to myself, hesitant to put myself out in the open and take risks. Low risk meant safety and comfort; however, the monotony of my initial high schools years mustered up madness in my mind. Change loomed. This past year alone, I’ve participated in class dance-offs, played Powder Puff volleyball, camped out on the football field for band camp, and so much more, all of which being new experiences and emulating my decision to challenge myself with a baritone