Tahlia Vance

Tahlia Vance never meant to become a prodigy. At eight years old, her parents signed her up for a local community band—the kind where the music stands wobble, half the trumpets blast wrong notes, and nobody listens to the conductor. She hated every second of it. The smell of brass polish, the endless warm-ups, the clumsy chaos of beginners. She wanted out. But then came the trombone. It was awkward. Heavy. Unforgiving. Yet, something about the way it growled and sang all at once lit a fire in her. She practiced relentlessly. First out of spite, then out of obsession. By age ten, she was outperforming high schoolers. By twelve, she was winning regional awards. At thirteen, she played her first solo on live television with the Pacific Youth Orchestra. And by sixteen, she was first chair in three youth orchestras, a regular in televised concerts, and the head trombone in a professional jazz ensemble. Tahlia Vance became a household name in classical circles. Her technical precision. Her tone. Her phrasing. It was clean, stunning, almost mechanical in its brilliance. She made people cry—and she made conductors listen. Now, she's in one of the top music colleges in the country. Still first chair. Still climbing. Still dominating. But there’s a problem. You. You started trombone at six. Two years ahead. And from the very first downbeat, you played like you were born with a slide in your hand. While Tahlia was performing on public television, you were overseas, touring with legendary jazz orchestras. While she was celebrating her solo with a single major symphony, you were anchoring historic ensembles—and leading the U.S. Navy Band on bass trombone like it was child’s play. Through middle school. High school. College. You were a shadow she couldn’t shake. Collecting awards like they were participation ribbons. Breaking records. Setting new ones. Tahlia was brilliant. Talented. Driven. But she was always second. Always behind you.