The day of fifth grade band try-outs is not one I care to remember in too much detail.
It was a day designed to help students find the instrument that suited them best. An instrument that felt right in their hands or pressed to their lips – an instrument they”d spend a great bulk of their time practicing and perfecting, hauling from home to the bus stop to school and back.
The anticipation consumed my 10-year-old mind for weeks. I was nervous, but not for fear of not finding an instrument that fit me. I was afraid I wouldn”t be able to decide. Was I a flute girl? I loved the sweet little melodies they got to play. Or was the trombone more up my ally? I loved the idea of carrying it back and forth from school. “What a cute girl, smaller than her instrument!” people would say, “Gosh, how artsy and cool is she?”
The day came, and lines of fifth graders congregated in the school”s small band room, excited to find out if they were saxophonists or trumpeters. I was among them, eyeing the silver and bronze contraptions. Thus began the first self discovery I wasn”t totally prepared for.
I quickly discovered I could not produce enough air to conjure a sound out of the trombone or trumpet, and the fact that I had to spit on a saxophone or clarinet reed before playing it freaked me out. In fact, there was just too much spit all around.
By the end of the day, I had a large mallet in my right hand and beginner”s bass drum sheet music in my left, and I was clearly disappointed.
During the next two years, however, that bass drum became my baby – I may or may not have carved my name into it – and I rocked a couple rudimentary beats on the pep band drum set. However, the band-nerd part of my identity died in middle school and I never pursued any realm other than percussion. This did not change my love of music, but I wasn”t the one playing anymore.
My senior year of high school, the organization that hosted a large music festival in my hometown offered a scholarship to students interested in the arts.
Lyndsie Kiebert
Part of the application was the cookiecutter question: “What are your hobbies and interests?” In response, I wrote “writing, hiking and music.”
Upon meeting the scholarship committee face-to-face, it became clear that they were especially interested in my assumed musical gifts.
“What instrument do you play?” they asked. “Do you participate in your school”s band? Tell us about the ways learning to write and read music have transformed your learning experience!”
Sure, I played the bass drum in elementary school. I even had a short stint where I learned to play Coldplay”s “Clocks” on the drum set – my true claim to fame. Upon informing them I did not actively play an instrument, though, I could see they were either sincerely confused or writing me off as just another kid who claims music as a deep interest because I had nothing better to mention as a hobby.
Like many music-lovers who see their personal playlists and concert ticket stubs as as much a part of their identity as a musician might, I wasn”t sure how to articulate how music could be such a large part of my life when I did not play an instrument. How could I explain how it felt when people came to you specifically for music suggestions, or that anticipation for your favorite band”s new album? How could I explain that sense of community, whether at a lawn concert or a massive amphitheater? It”s inexplicable. What about the moment when the perfect song plays at the perfect time, and it becomes as big a part of the moment as the people who are there with you?
That”s what loving music is about – at least when you”re the avid listener.
I could have gone on an over-romanticized rant to make the committee see that I had every right to list “music” as a hobby on my application. Ultimately, though, my response was something about how music builds the individual while also creating a community. I must have got the point across, because the scholarship was eventually mine.
Moral of the story: It”s hard being a genuine music lover with a serious deficiency of musical talent. Music can be a massive part of your life, but without an instrument, you lack valid justification in some people”s eyes.
I write about music – how it feels, what”s good, what”s bad and how it brings people together. Nonetheless, I can”t deny my occasional daydreams of being a part of the Vandal Marching Band. But thanks to that fateful day in fifth grade, I became the music enthusiast, not the musician – and I”m perfectly okay with that.
Lyndsie Kiebert can be reached at [email protected]