“Ambidexterity” a personal essay by Alan Lin ’19

Chameleon Jazz Band

Freshman Alan Lin wrote this “Call to Adventure” personal essay for Ms. Mahoney‘s English class about his audition for the NA jazz band Chameleon. It was one of 60 pieces out of 3,000 submissions selected for publication by Susquehanna University’s 2016 Apprentice Writer, volume 34, a national magazine of the year’s best high school writing.  Enjoy this wonderful piece!

September

Reeds were wetted, ligatures were tightened, and doors were opened. I gingerly stepped past the moderator into the audition room, three judges’ backs staring back at me. Poised behind the lone music stand in the repurposed classroom, my muscle memory kicked in. Flurries of semi-confident notes crept out of the horn of my alto sax: scales, jazz etudes, improvisation, and the like. A sigh escaped me as the mouthpiece dropped from my lips. Whispering a quick “Thank you,” to the moderator, I scurried out of the classroom, into the bathroom, and vomited into one of the open stalls. Well, not quite, but that was what my brain wanted to do after that blunder-ridden audition.

I had never intended to learn the alto sax. It had always appeared to be a heavy, unwieldy lump of instrument to me. I myself much preferred the intricate silver keys and subtle African blackwood curves of the clarinet. Unlike the alto sax’s awkward plastic pads, my fingers molded over the clarinet’s engraved holes with ease like an NBA player swooshing in a foul shot. But, when you get accepted into a school with a jazz band as fantabulous as NA’s, you got to do as the Romans do. Now, you may think that my motives aren’t genuine. They very well might be, but learning alto sax made me eligible to play clarinet in the jazz band– I was learning alto sax to play clarinet.

May

I forgot to bring my sax to my first sax lesson. In my defense, I didn’t even know it was my first sax lesson: my first lesson with jazz band director Mr. T had been exclusively on clarinet. But still, I felt pretty dopey as Mr. T fumbled through the back closet of the band room for a backup sax, backup mouthpiece, backup reed, and so on. Fully suited up, I placed the cumbersome, large reed onto the mouthpiece, tightened the neck strap, and brought the strange instrument to my lips for the first time.

I blew into the mouthpiece with a smidgen of force, drawing no response from the horn. Anxiously, I applied more and more pressure into the instrument.  A single sound finally escaped its bell: a squeak. My eyes widened as if I was caught in the plot twist of a cliché horror movie. The mouthpiece dropped from my lips. A sigh escaped me. Mr. T placed a reassuring hand on the back of my shoulder.

“Loosen your embouchure. Think of a round tone. Try again,” he told me like a swinging reincarnation of Mr. Miyagi. I gave him a small nod and turned back to the horn.

“OK,” I thought to myself, “Loose. Think loose thoughts. Baggy pants. Solids and/or gases that don’t have surface tension, unlike liquids.”

Once again, I blew into the mouthpiece, this time with a rounded embouchure and a rounded mindset. A shallow cry escaped from the end of the instrument, more in tune to the note directly below it than its target. A painful wince crashed down onto me and I immediately tightened my mouth, bringing the note up into tune like the cart of a roller coaster reaching the peak of a hill. And unlike that roller coaster cart, it could only go up from here.

September

I vaulted out the door the gray Honda SUV I carpooled to NA in and prepared to gun it to the band room: audition results were out. After pushing past crowds of upperclassmen and actually entering the school , I was already out of breath. Pretty embarrassing, considering all the cross country training I’ve endured, or at least tried to. However, before I could make my final sprint, I heard a voice calling out my name.

“Alan, Alan!” called the mysterious voice, “You made Chameleon!”

The voice belonged to friend and fellow auditionee Tyler, who had made Chameleon himself on his trusty trumpet. My body responded with a monotonous “Wow, cool,” as I was running on 5 hours of sleep and no coffee. My brain, however, shed tears of joy. Loud tears.

The past five months of me have been comprised of transition after transition. From the straightforward classes of middle school to Newark Academy. From the pure, straight tone of the clarinet to the raw power and vigorous vibrato of the alto sax. From the technicality of classical music to the freedom of expression found only in jazz. From the known to the unknown. And yet, I’m ready for more.