Here’s my last essay for ENG 105. It’s supposed to be a personal narrative. Finally, here is my story with ASU in my own words. Hopefully I won’t ever have to talk about it again.

Why I’ve Come to Hate ASU

Our final band concert marked the end of my high school days. We performed the first piece with an unrelenting burst of energy. For me, it was nothing short of a blur. Before I knew it, there was applause; I stood up from my seat, saxophone in hand, and took a bow. Thunderous applause. From tier to tier, the hall was filled with the cheers of my peers and family. The floor below me vibrated with the applauding of feet made by the rest of the band. It’s still difficult to realize that I was the only one standing—that this was no ordinary performance—this was my music—this was Carnegie Hall.

Since the seventh grade, I have dedicated my life to music. Why, I’m not sure—from what I’ve gathered from other famous composers, music chose them. I’ve enjoyed singing and playing in all-state choir and all-state band and acting in musicals and writing music for theater and independent film and the Phoenix Symphony Orchestra. You would think that music would be in my blood. Truth is, my mom sang a little bit in choir and my dad cranks out an old Styx or Billy Joel tune on the piano from time to time but can’t sing to save his life. Music seemed to be the best thing for me. I had the next ten years of my life planned out and there was, to my ignorance, no other alternative.

They say that once you get to college, nothing else you did before then matters. I think this is because, in college, you are only a number to most people. If this is true, my number must have been thirteen. I was late in realizing how the Herberger College of Fine Arts here at ASU actually worked. Unlike most schools, ASU doesn’t have a separate composition studio as it does a vocal and instrumental studio (there’s an obvious reason for this). ASU has a reputation of being a highly respected performing school—not necessarily having a highly respected composition program when compared to the likes of USC, Michigan, or Juilliard. Because of this, they require a vocal or instrumental audition before admitting someone into the composition studio hoping to deter “computer composers” who can’t actually play an instrument. After all, someone who can’t play an instrument obviously can’t write music.

By the time I realized ASU’s policies, there were no open audition dates. I would be placed on a list and be contacted should there be a cancellation. Indeed I was contacted and given an audition date of a certain Saturday—the same Saturday as my regional honor band performance. To not attend this would mean forfeiting my chance at being chosen for the all-state group—a band made of up the finest instrumentalists in the state. I declined the audition date and submitted a recorded audition instead (and later made the all-state group).

Weeks passed and I had heard nothing about my entry status into the school of music. It wasn’t until ASU orientation that I was told I had failed my audition and would only be admitted as “pre-professional.” I talked to everyone at ASU and they all seemed to have the same uninterested response: I can’t help you.

That semester, I still took music theory. I still took the composition seminar. I still had hopes that my plans for college wouldn’t be completely shattered by my “less-than-impressive” taped audition. Still, each day, I put on a smile and kissed the asses of my music professors (who shared my personal emails with each other and whispered things like, “who does this kid think he is?”). I know this because my private composition teacher was an ear to this.

Time finally came for our first composition recital of the year. I had a short three-song cycle on the program which turned out to be a fresh hit among the other music students in the audience. After the concert, I was approached by one of the more reasonable composition professors.

“Was yours the one I liked?”

“Was it?” I tried to remain humble.

“Yours was the second one, right? I just wanted to say that we’re proud to have you here at ASU.”

I was speechless. It had taken them nearly half a semester but this was the first (and last time) that someone actually made the effort to make me feel welcome here—that maybe this was the place for me. Yeah, maybe we just got off to a bad start. I’m not ready to re-audition here in the fall but I’ll work on it and take lessons and re-audition in the spring, prepared. Then maybe I will finally feel like part of the ASU music family.

For a time, I was happy—for a time, I was making more plans for ASU. The fall auditions had just closed the week before when I was called into the fiery pits of the undergraduate admissions office. I brought my cross and holy water.

“We see you didn’t re-audition last week.”

She didn’t have to say more. I knew. “No, I was planning on re-auditioning in the spring.”

“Well, I have a big problem continuing to let you take classes if you haven’t passed your audition.” Her eyes gazed as fiercely as a middle-aged woman could into mine. I nearly turned into salt.

“I will talk to your professors and get back to you.”

She never got back to me. And from what I’ve learned, she never talked to my professors.

They had basically kicked me out of the school I was never in. I turned to my former band director for advice.

“Just play their game.”

On some level, I knew he was right. I knew this was life and I knew I’d have to deal with the grown-up drama. But why couldn’t I just go somewhere else? It’s one thing if the world’s greatest composer gives you a hard time; it’s another if a nobody does.

“You’re already doing what most composers only hope to do when they get out of college. And even then—”

I later found out that he gave a seminar to a group of graduate students at ASU and talked about how “fucked up” ASU’s system is when my story was brought up.

A year ago, I thought I had my life planned out. Without music, I lost my reason for even being in college. Suddenly, getting a B or C didn’t seem like the end of the world as it did in high school. The professors are still the same and I’m still not in the school of music. In fact, I’m now a mathematics major for no other reason other than I had an inspiring teacher (and got an A) in Calc II first semester. When will teachers learn that their job is not only to teach but also to inspire?

The past seven years felt like a waste. Who am I to think that I can even be a so-called composer? Composers are the link between God (if there is one) and music. To even consider that I should pursue composing as a career is suicidal. Maybe I was destined for something else. Math? God, I hope not.

Maybe astronomy. After all, Carl Sagan was my hero growing up all through elementary school and junior high. I decided to put in his old television series Cosmos into the DVD player. Just before an episode finished, I got an email:

Dear Michael,

Congratulations! I am pleased to officially inform you that you are the First Prize Winner in Category 2 of The Frank Ticheli Composition Contest for your work, SHADOW RITUALS.

The First Prize has an award of $2,500 with publication by Manhattan Beach Music. I will be contacting you to discuss your work (when are good times/days to call?) and will be sending you a publication contract along with your check.

Welcome to the Manhattan Beach Music family of composers!

Just when I thought I’d give up on music, it comes back teasing me like the girl you knew you could never have. It’s like some kind of happy ending to a pathetic story. The moment was profoundly gratifying and humbling in every way possible and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to shove it ASU’s face and say “look at who you jerks kicked out!” Just to see them, for a minute, be dumbfounded (and maybe even learn my name) would somehow make all the drama worth it. But, for some reason, a part of me doesn’t even think they would care.

I thought that college would be what made me into who I am—that, somehow, after four years, ASU would spit me out of its womb and I’d be ready for a successful career in the world. For a time, I felt it destroyed me. The only thing I remember from my composition professor (besides his bitterness towards other, more famous composers he has known in the past) is this: composition is the most backstabbing career you can choose. At least he was right about that.

I can’t help but reflect on what my band director said about me “already doing what most composers only hope to do when they get out of college.” College can’t make you a success—you have to make yourself a success. College is only there to teach you the skills and inspire you to become great. I am humbled to know that, at my age, my career is just beginning—that I am becoming what so many like me only dream to become. I am a composer.