Diary of a Soloist

By: Athena Zapantis

The band begins with a brass hit

more like a hit in the face!

They are swinging back there

and I am not.

I stand up to solo and breathe in

Play a note—but wait

I’m swept away by the chord changes

What could be next?

G minor seventh here, a two-five there

I know what to do

But not when there’s a thousand ears

bound to my horn

I call it melodic

call it “tasteful space”

But that’s only ‘cause I don’t know

what to play on this stage

I play that lick I’ve heard a thousand times

Add some chromaticism

Spice it up with a growl and

finish with some tasteless altissimo

Now I sit

I’m the black sheep

among these superior players

I flash a smile to the audience and pretend I belong

I drown out the roar of applause

and instead focus on my next entrance

Hold on—a pat on the back!

A “nice job!” from the white sheep

Could it be that I pulled it off? Could it be that I played well?

Could it be that I’m a fine soloist after all?