The Unfun of Masterclasses

I was at my horn lesson a few weeks ago when my teacher informed me that he had signed me up for a masterclass with a famous French hornist. I would play a prepared solo for him and he would give me tips. It was an opportunity too good to pass up. My teacher's excitement was obvious, but unfortunately not infectious.

My thoughts on the subject: what?

First of all, I never like playing alone in front of people. Only in large groups do I feel comfortable playing my music loudly; the focus is not on you, and if you screw up no one notices. I have done city and state solo contests since I was in first grade and have hated every moment of it. Old, frowning men stared as I attempted to plunk out a memorized melody onto an out-of-tune piano. Then, they gave me a score telling me what my talents were worth. Not a hay-day.

Secondly, I am going to be the least experienced person there. The other students signed up are either in college or teachers themselves. I imagine Mr. Famous listening to their near-perfect etudes, offering a token of advice for the aspiring musicians. Then I come in, plunk myself down, and gurgle out a tune on my horn that sounds more like a wookie mixed with a batch squealing. Once I have played my final note, a moan of a dying cow, he will stare at me and then proceed into a rant in a foreign language. Wonderful.

Third, I only just asked what I would be doing at said class. The answer I got was not reassuring. Not only would I have to play my solo for the man, himself, but for the entire class. In front of everybody, my abilities will be picked apart. To make matters worse, I have to stand. In all my years of playing the French horn, I have only played standing about ten times; each time either within my home or for a simple warm-up. It doesn't sound like a big deal, but it is very hard - it throws off most techniques that work sitting down. Finally, I am to be "prepared for anything", as the more specific events of the class are being kept as a surprise for us to enjoy when we get there. The anticipation is killing me.

I thought I was over getting guilt-tripped into doing things I didn't want to do. Yet here I am again, headed to a masterclass that sounds about as good to me as licking the floor. Oh well. It couldn't really be that bad.

Could it?