Chapter Eight
THIRTEEN YEARS AGO
I KNEW COLLEGE WOULD be a big change, especially a conservatory with a reputation like Juilliard, but I wasn’t prepared for this.
It’s not so much the classes. Those are incredibly hard, don’t get me wrong.
It’s everything that happens outside of the regular classes.
To stay on top of my course load and to keep from looking like an idiot during everything from Music History to Ear Training to Composition, I have to spend almost every spare second either in the library or practicing.
And it’s not just percussion that I have to keep working on—so much of what we cover in our classes all comes back to the piano.
I look at the sheet music in front of me, then at the notes I’ve scribbled in my notebook.
Nothing makes sense anymore. Exhausted, I call it a night a few minutes early and pack up my things.
Rebecca, Anthony, and I planned to meet each other to walk back to the dorms together, so this is as good as it’s going to get.
I’ll come back here in the morning before practicum.
I find Rebecca and Anthony waiting for me near the end of the hall, by one of the larger practice rooms that houses a full concert grand Steinway.
They both look as exhausted as I feel, with shadows under their eyes, the latter with his cello case dangling at his side, the former clutching her trumpet case to her chest. All three of us have backpacks slung over slumped shoulders.
“Ready?” I ask as I approach.
Both nod and glance in my direction before turning their attention back to the big practice room.
Brows pinched in confusion, I look through the glass door to find Oliver hunched over the piano, wearing dress slacks and a button-down, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s being watched.
His fingers fly over the keys between rapid page turns of the music.
My ears strain to identify the music, but I can’t place it.
“What’s he playing?” I ask.
Rebecca’s eyes slide to mine. “Liszt. La Campanella.”
My stomach sinks. It’s one of the most notoriously difficult piano études. Something I can’t even fathom playing.
“He’s double majoring,” Anthony adds with a touch of annoyance. “Piano performance and composition. I thought Juilliard didn’t even allow freshmen to opt in for a double major.”
“They don’t. Normally.” This time it’s my turn to sound annoyed.
I wanted to double major in percussion performance and composition, but my advisor talked me out of it, citing the intense music and academic rigor required.
Most students need an extra year to complete a double major, and I can’t really afford four years at this school, let alone five.
Rebecca mumbles a distinct “fuck it” under her breath before opening the door to Oliver’s practice room.
He doesn’t look up, doesn’t even flinch as the sound spills into the hall.
He just keeps on playing, solely focused on the music in front of him.
If he’s messing up, I certainly don’t notice.
All I hear is the bright radiance of the notes played at a brisk staccato pace.
All I see are his long fingers flying up and down the keys while his head nods gently to the rhythm he must hear on his own.
Minutes ago, I was struggling through a different Liszt piece. One that is way less technically complex. A strange combination of envy and respect floods my system, warming my skin from head to toe.
Oliver Barlowe is hugely talented. That is an objective fact. It sucks, but it’s true.
When he finishes, he looks over his shoulder at the three of us crowding the doorway. His eyes find mine right away. He runs his hands through his already messy hair as we stare at each other.
Maybe I’m so tired that I’m hallucinating, but I could swear that he looks so…
sad. Usually Oliver regards all of us—including me—with a cool indifference.
I’ve never seen him look anything other than focused in classes, or just flat-out bored whenever he appears in a social setting, which is rare enough as it is.
But tonight, he looks so young. His brown eyes are open and searching, like he’s lost or something.
A boy dressed in his dad’s clothes, way out of his element. It does something weird to my heart.
And so, four weeks into the semester, I say my first words to Oliver: “You sound good.”
“I fucked up the entire middle section,” he replies flatly.
He shakes his head, turns back to the piano, and starts playing again. Rebecca, Anthony, and I understand we’ve been dismissed.
DEADLINE EXCLUSIVE:
Chris Ross Brings in New Music Talent for Lineage TV Show with Limelight & A24
BY LISA MORRISON, TV EDITOR
AUGUST 17
DEADLINE can exclusively report that Chris Ross has hired two music composers to score his first television show Lineage, which is currently filming in New York.
An anonymous source shared that Oliver Barlowe, son of legendary composer Robert Barlowe, will partner with industry newcomer Celia García to write the music for the show.
“Everyone on the production team is so excited to see what these two come up with,” the source said when speaking with DEADLINE. “It’s high time we get some fresh musical perspective.”
Oliver Barlowe has made a name for himself with multiple independent film credits and a slew of original works for the London Philharmonic, whereas García’s career has largely been in corporate media.
Industry vet Gustav Schneider was originally slated to work with Ross on the project but had to drop out, citing “scheduling conflicts.”
Both Ross and studio heads at Limelight state that production is still on schedule, with a streaming date in spring of next year.
García is represented by Talent First Agency, Oliver Barlowe is represented by CAA, and Robert Barlowe is represented by WME.