In spring 2023, I had the honor of serving as one of the music directors of Brandeis’ very own student-led orchestra, Top Score. For the uninitiated, Top Score is a 30-piece orchestral ensemble, which plays iconic tunes from movies, video games and TV shows. As an introverted slime, and as a non-music major with no prior ensemble conducting experience, becoming a conductor was a massive undertaking for me. However, after seeing what the group had accomplished in previous semesters, I figured it would be a fun and worthwhile endeavor.

When joining the ensemble in fall 2022, something that particularly sparked my interest was the idea of writing an arrangement for the group to play. Prior to joining, I recall sitting in the audience of a Top Score concert and listening to the ensemble perform a student-written arrangement of themes from “Sonic Unleashed.” How awesome is that? Conducting your very own music arrangement with a full orchestra? I wasn’t familiar with the source material, but I thought this was the coolest thing in the world. When I went back to my dorm that night, all I could think about was the countless number of pieces I could arrange for the group. What if they played Nobuo Uematsu’s legendary main theme from “Super Smash Bros. Brawl”? How about something more obscure but equally epic like “Liberi Fatali” from “Final Fantasy VIII”? Having written many different arrangements for various personal projects, I figured joining this ensemble could help make my arranging dreams become a reality.

In November 2022, I attended a Distant Worlds concert at Symphony Hall in Boston, where they performed a great selection of orchestral arrangements from the “Final Fantasy” video game series. It was an emotional experience that left me in tears as I exited the hall. This was the night I realized I had to arrange a “Final Fantasy” piece for Top Score. The piece I ended up choosing to arrange was the main theme of the series, as I thought it would be simple enough for me to make a satisfactory arrangement, and also simple enough for the ensemble to play well. Also, you can’t go wrong with the main theme.

In December 2022, I got to work. Listening very closely to existing arrangements of the piece, I chipped away at the score. Writing the melody, figuring out harmonies, solidifying the bass part, adding countermelodies, determining the best instrument voicings, maintaining contrapuntal motion, inserting dynamics and articulations—it’s more steps than you’d think. On top of that, I had to make the sheet music legible and playable for each instrumentalist. This involved conducting research on instrument ranges and such.

Fast forward to spring 2023. I have been promoted to music director. Copies of “Final Fantasy” are in print, and it is time for me to direct my first rehearsal. This was it—my arrangement was about to come to life! My restless nights of transcription and mental preparation have boiled down to this very moment. Having heard my arrangement in my head countless times, my expectations for the group were astronomical. And that was my first mistake.

What happened?

It wasn’t that Top Score is an incapable group—far from it. We’ve got a fine congregation of dedicated and enthusiastic musicians. It’s just that, when you’ve grown so attached to the way a piece of music is supposed to sound, hearing it any other way just throws you off the rails. This was my experience listening to my arrangement of “Final Fantasy” being played by the orchestra. I simply did not like how it was sounding. I worked so hard on this project—where did I go wrong? It could have been the instrument balance. Maybe I had chosen the wrong piece to arrange. Or … maybe it was all in my head.

If you’ve ever participated in a choral or instrumental ensemble, then you’ve probably had the joyful experience of performing a piece of music that you’ve never heard prior to joining the ensemble. In this scenario, the only version of that piece that exists in your head is the ensemble’s interpretation of the sheet music in front of you. You have no expectations going into the piece—you play it exactly as it’s written with no outside influence. You are blissfully unaware of any mistakes in the arrangement or the performance. I believe this is a sacred sensation, and it’s one that you can never get back once you’ve had considerable exposure to the piece. A musical virginity, if you will.

The concept of musical virginity can also be applied to the audience. A traditional wind ensemble may prepare a program of little-known wind band literature, and the audience would have no idea if the group is playing the repertoire faithfully or not. They have no control over the outcome of the performance or the quality of the art. A lay audience will only hear music.

Believe it or not, a conductor may also feel like a musical virgin from time to time. When I conducted a medley of songs from “La La Land,” I had not seen the movie nor had I studied the music beforehand, and therefore I was unaware of how the songs were supposed to sound and the contexts in which they were supposed to be presented. It was my first exposure to the soundtrack—I just read the sheet music and waved my arms. It sounded brilliant. In a way, I was a musical virgin all the same.

Enter the arranger. I cannot fathom a world where the arranger has not lost their musical virginity to the piece they’re arranging. When I arranged “Final Fantasy,” I had to sacrifice my innocence and listen to the piece a hundred times over to get a firm grasp on the smallest details. Was it worth it? Yes. But I had to pay a price. I lost my musical virginity to that piece.

So what?

So, why am I saying all of this? What exactly does it mean to lose my musical virginity? Well, it’s the reason I’ve been so hard on myself with my arrangement. Over time, I have come to realize that there’s nothing inherently wrong about my arrangement, nor is there anything inherently wrong about the way the orchestra interpreted it. Rather, my dissatisfaction arose from my overexposure to the piece. Arranging and listening to “Final Fantasy” a million times created an expectation for perfection and nothing less. Losing my musical virginity meant giving up a passive appreciation for the piece in favor of a hardcore infatuation. I had a vision for the ensemble, and I felt that I’d be doing a disservice if I hadn’t fulfilled that vision. However, what I failed to realize from the start was that, well, nobody really cares. To the lay performer, “Final Fantasy” was just another fun piece to play. To the lay audience, “Final Fantasy” was a nice little chorale opener. The only person who had an issue was me. Clearly, I had created a problem where there were none.

Every other piece I’ve played in Top Score has sounded fantastic. The reason? I was a virgin to those pieces. Top Score was my first exposure to those arrangements, so I had no comparisons to make. It’s no wonder that “Final Fantasy” was the only piece where I’ve felt otherwise.

The notion of losing musical virginity may seem obvious, but as an arranger, it can be very easy to forget about its consequences. Overwhelmed by the scope of my arrangement, I felt pressured to justify its existence by preparing a sonically flawless masterpiece of a performance. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be paying proper tribute to the original composition. But I have since realized that I’m absolutely overthinking everything. Arranging and conducting a piece is a very ambitious thing to do, and I should be quite proud of my accomplishment, regardless of any comparisons that may be made. 

The lesson I’ve learned? Rather than staying fixated on the little things, sometimes it’s important to take a step back and look at the bigger picture. At the end of the day, we’re all just a bunch of nerds who came together to make some music. And we all had a great time.

Now, I can only imagine how I’d feel if I composed my own music …

Editor’s Note: At the request of the author, this post was anonymized on Nov. 3, 2024.