Angels in the Architecture
Part 2: Molto Ritmico
Chapter 4: Connecting Phrases
Kumiko quickly found that joining band at Kitauji demanded for greater commitment than previously required at Kita. The internal hierarchy within Kitauji's renowned wind band was a highly-mobile system of meritocracy. Traditionally, the entire ensemble participated in four blind auditions every school year- once to determine part assignments for the Sunrise Festival, a second time to divide the full ensemble into A and B competition bands for prefecturals, and then two other times to reassign seats for the Kansai regional and All-Japan competitions. Any earned seat could be lost on any audition. But at the same time, any player had the chance to advance themselves, regardless of their current standing or year in school.
The first of these auditions was scheduled extremely early in the school year and also notoriously difficult- not because the music was too complicated, but rather because each section was given an enormous packet of excerpts to prepare to a competitive level within a very short time. Kumiko heard from other band members that it was Hashimoto-sensei's way of weeding out the slow learners from the fast ones, as well as deciding which players had the best sense of teamwork.
"I can see why he'd want that," said Midori to Kumiko, after their second day of band orientation. "Sometimes people who are really talented join the band, and they can play all the notes perfectly in Flight of the Bumblebee, but they fail on the excerpts."
"Why?" said Hazuki, flipping through the large audition packet the tuba section received. "'Excerpts' are just bits of music pulled from band parts, right? These look pretty easy."
"Exactly," said Midori. "They get tricked into thinking that."
"Really?" Kumiko interjected, looking at her own euphonium packet. Hazuki had a point; most of the music chosen by Hashimoto-sensei seemed quite simple, consisting of accompaniment parts or lyrical solos, such as the euphonium solo from Holst's First Suite in F. Kumiko had already played most, if not all of these, in middle school. These excerpts seemed quite far-removed from the level of music Kitauji normally tackled for competitions.
"It's not going to be easy," Midori insisted. "We used to do this at Seijou. When you play excerpts, you can't just think about yourself. You have to think about how your part fits in with the whole band. Like for you," she said, taking Hazuki's audition packet and flipping to a page with boring-looking quarter notes, "Hashimoto-sensei isn't going to judge you for wrong notes, because everyone'll probably do that. You know, since we only have a few days to prepare."
"Then what's he looking for?" Hazuki asked. "Aren't you supposed to just not make mistakes?"
"Well, you'll lose points here if you drag behind the tempo, or if your beat isn't steady," said Midori, "because your job in the band during this part is to keep the tempo going. That's the most important thing there. But it's different for every excerpt. So you don't have to be talented; Hashimoto-sensei just wants good team players."
I'll work harder, thought Kumiko, just for these few days. Flying expeditions and lighting practice could wait until after auditions were over. After all, it didn't matter if she were successful at learning how to create flames if people wouldn't know (if Reina wouldn't know), so she resolved to aim for success in something she could actually take credit for.
That night Kumiko set four alarms and lay in bed, glowing with pride that she had taken some sort of initiative to work harder in high school by setting those alarms. Of course, came morning Kumiko ended up pressing the snooze button for all four alarms, and eventually her mother barged into her room and yelled at her to stop. After that Kumiko nearly dozed straight back to sleep. But despite the odds, she managed to drag herself to Kitauji high school at six AM sharp, ready to practice.
She'd settled herself with her new euphonium in an empty classroom near the band room, just beginning to work through the first of the audition excerpts, when the door behind her slid open.
Kumiko sputtered and paused in her playing as Kousaka-san strolled in, carrying her trumpet. Her purple eyes regarded Kumiko's audition packet with mild curiosity as she parked herself on top of a desk beside Kumiko.
"Holst?"
Kumiko nodded and swallowed. Was Reina here to criticize again? Or maybe here to continue their cringeworthy exchange from the other day? In any case, she started mentally grasping for excuses to leave the room so she wouldn't have to deal with Kousaka-san's intensity any longer.
But all Reina offered was, "Maybe you could try connecting the phrases." The trumpet player leaned forward, black hair cascading over Kumiko's shoulder and sweeping jasmine scent around her, and pointed at the sheet music. "Here, between these measures," said Reina gently. "You always break the solo into two-measure phrases even though all the others are four measures long."
A little shocked by how friendly Kousaka-san was being, Kumiko hesitated before replying.
"How do you know the other phrases are supposed to be four measures?"
"Because of where Holst wrote the connectors for the rest of the brass," said Reina, straightening. Her flowing locks brushed against Kumiko, who had the sudden fleeting urge to run her fingers through Reina's hair. Kumiko ignored the weird impulse and tried to focus as Reina explained the significance of connecting phrases and how it might impact Hashimoto's judgment of Kumiko's playing, but she was too distracted by the shock of how kind and helpful Reina was being mixed with the churn of unanswered questions whirling in her mind.
"Did you get all that?" said Reina, wrapping up her explanation.
It took Kumiko a second to realize it was a question and that a reaction of some sort was required.
"Y- yeah," she said, probably unconvincingly. "Got it. Mhmm."
Reina raised an eyebrow at her. Before she could say anything, Kumiko blurted out, "Ne, Kousaka-san? Why did you say 'it was over' last year if you're still doing band now?"
She had to ask. She had to ask now, or there might not be another chance to clear up why Reina had yelled at her because it would be too far down the road, too removed from their mutual apologies from the other day. By then such a question would no longer be pertinent or acceptable.
Hesitating at Kumiko's abrupt change of subject, Reina seemed to dither for a moment. Kumiko started to panic, wondering if her boldness would trigger another outburst from the trumpet player and destroy their temporary peace.
"Well," Reina said eventually, "it was a family thing. I made a deal with my stepdad to stop playing in high school if we didn't make nationals, but he changed his mind. So it's okay now."
A deal? thought Kumiko. What kind of a deal is that?
"Why didn't he want you to play in band?" she pressed.
"Just my grades," answered Reina- almost too quickly. "He was just worried about me."
Kumiko's gut feeling told her that the situation wasn't right. Then she remembered something bizarre.
"Weren't you the valedictorian in middle school?" she said. "You gave this speech and everything at graduation."
Reina's face flushed slightly pink.
"W-well," she said, "he was just really worried."
Wow. She's a terrible liar for someone who's so intense all the time, thought Kumiko, taken aback by how transparent Reina's poker face was, even worse than her own. But maybe this shouldn't be much of a surprise; perhaps it was simply the other facet that came with being a brutally honest person.
Kumiko continued, "So you're at least allowed to stay in band in high school now, right?"
Reina's cheeks were still tinged with a gentle blush.
"Mostly," she said, voice faltering slightly.
Kumiko was about to inquire what Reina meant by 'mostly'- but then the warning bell for first period sounded.
Reina seemed to be relieved as she bid a curt goodbye and darted out of the room, timid like Kumiko had never seen her. It was a alarming side of Reina that Kumiko never presumed could exist in Kousaka Reina- the cold, talented, indignant lone-wolf of a trumpet player. But then it also begged the question of what was going on in her home that could cause someone like Reina to scamper at the slightest prying.
Feel free come to my office if you have any questions about the audition in two days, Hashimoto-sensei had said during their first ensemble meeting after school. Just make sure to only bring questions that your section leaders can't answer.
Desperate to make a better impression on her new band director than on day one (god, she'd been so embarrassing that day, making weird noises), Kumiko spent all day in class secretly mulling over her audition packet, grasping for with a good question to take to Hashimoto-sensei about her excerpts. She was determined to approach him with something profound and thoughtful that would make the band director stumble, and then after that she would blow everyone out of the water with her audition scores. Yeah. That was the plan. Kumiko was bent on starting her high school band path on the right foot.
After school, she got in line with Midori-chan and the rest of the band students queuing up outside of Hashimoto-sensei's office, clutching her sheet music with sweaty palms. She heard other students in line gossiping about how the clarinet section potentially faced drastic re-rankings this year since the Kita freshmen proved to be ridiculously talented. Other students were trash-talking the clarinet and trumpet seniors, and some were simply wondering which excerpts Hashimoto-sensei would pick from the packet for the audition.
"Wait," said Kumiko, just now reacting to what she'd heard. "We don't have to play all the excerpts?"
"Nope," Midori affirmed with a bright smile. "But that makes it harder, because you have to know everything really well. Even if he only calls two excerpts out of fifteen."
"I actually like that better," said Kumiko. "So the audition isn't be as long." Honestly, she wasn't the type to get particularly nervous on auditions, but the way Kumiko saw it, a shorter audition meant a smaller chance of messing up. The longer she had to play, the greater the window for potential error.
"Uh, it's not so good for us," Midori said. "The upperclassmen are already familiar with Hashimoto-sensei and his preferences, so they're more likely to guess what he'll ask for on the audition. But first-years just have to learn everything really well."
Oh, true. Midori had a good point. Kumiko sheepishly realized that she hadn't considered this before. But all it meant was that she had to work harder, and that in itself was nothing new. In the next two days, she would push herself with every minute of practice, just like Kousaka-san always did.
Soon it was Midori's turn to consult Hashimoto-sensei, who greeted her with a large smile. The band director's usual scruff had been shaved to a five-o-clock shadow, and he was lounging in a swivel chair beside a desk piled high with sheet music, paperwork, and snack wrappers.
"Kawashima-san!" he said. "Our one and only contrabass. So sorry that you don't have a senpai to follow."
"It's okay," Midori answered with a smile, and politely launched into her question about the auditions. Kumiko heard something about bowings and shifting and vibrato, before Hashimoto-sensei told her to emulate the tubas and focus on tuning and rhythm.
"You know, I'm not a string player, so I'm sorry I can't help you more with that," said Hashimoto-sensei. "But don't worry, I'm not as picky as the string orchestra adviser when it comes it technique. All you need to do is be a good team player for the winds. Now, do you know when your instrument is most important?"
"Hai, I do!" said Midori, squeaky voice so adorable that Kumiko could taste sugar in her mouth. "Contrabass supports the woodwinds in quiet parts."
"Nice answer!" said Hashimoto-sensei cheerfully. "You're basically just a really quiet tuba, without being a contrabassoon. Those sewage pipes sound like indigestion," he quipped. Several students in line giggled. Hashimoto-sensei continued, "So in these excerpts, here and here," he pointed, "I'd like to hear you play with a steady sound. But it's up to your judgment when you use vibrato. Did that answer your question?"
Midori nodded. Hashimoto-sensei beamed brightly at her and finished with, "I can't wait to hear you play! Good luck now. Next!"
Swallowing as Midori left the office, Kumiko approached Hashimoto-sensei, gripping her sheet music with sweaty palms.
"Hello, thank you for your instruction," she greeted meekly. "I was just wondering, in these parts with staccato marks over the slurs, do you want us to slur or tongue the-"
But Hashimoto-sensei waved her off before she'd even finished her question.
"Eh, go find Tanaka-senpai," he said dismissively. "She's the principal eupho. Wears red glasses. She can tell you all about portato. Next!"
Midori glanced at her sympathetically and offered a few words of consolation that Kumiko barely heard. She drifted out of the office to make room for the next student, then slumped against the wall in a daze. Just like that, Hashimoto-sensei had quickly rid himself of her, even though Kumiko's question was one that Niiyama-sensei would have patiently explained. Truly Kitauji was on an entirely different level than Kita middle school.
Once again, Kumiko feebly reaffirmed to herself that she would simply counter today's failure by working hard. She told herself that her audition results two days later would make up for the disappointment, unaware of what was to come.
