For many musicians, we all have had those moments, or transition, rather of getting
those intense, pressing moments which occur, minutes before our grand debut. It
can be a rather frightening experience, especially for those of us who are grappling
with the art of channeling displaced energy for our own benefit, not for our detriment.
One of the most intriguing aspects concerning musicianship is that we can have this
dual dichotomy before a performance. There is that one aspect of exictement and
anticipation, and then there is that point of sheer dread, where you wish that you can
just hurry up and end the darn thing. And then of course, there is the Mr. or Mrs.
Perfectionist! She/He is that person who is consistently reminding you that your
pre-ordained plan of playing the right notes (in the exact order and format as you have
designed), the coordinated rhythmic patterns, and tonality are as perfected as they
were when you practiced them during your practice time. What becomes highly
fascinating is that all of your plans of perfection can soon fade away upon entering
the stage.
This particular situation became highly evident on that evening's opening night of the
stage play, Three Sisters, by Russian playwright Anton Chekhov, on which I occupy
the role for the "strolling musician." During our dress rehearsals of this week, (and even
during call time of yesterday's opening performance), I went over and over in my head
in regards to this "perfect performance" that I wanted to execute. Selected segments
of a Russian etude had been chosen, specifically for my appearance in Act IV. It had
been a minute since I had a solo performance in the public venue. Even until this point,
I had yet to master the artistry of controlling my nervous. What made it even harder is
the reality of this tension becoming highly prevalent within my fingers.
So, it had come. My performance in Act IV was minutes away, and I began using
techniques to stay calm, and center myself for my entrance. At that moment, all
eyes would be on me, and I did not want to leave my audience in disappointment. It
had been a while since I did a solo performance, and we could even say that this
moment was somewhat of a re-birth. The final cue was mentioned, and the playing
began. I walked up the stairs, playing the piece, trying not to look at the audience
(despite the fact that I received instruction to position my body toward them). I could
feel the tension and nervousness in my body, and towards the middle portion of the
piece, it began to show. My fingers began to slip. I missed playing certain notes, and
the rhythm of the piece seemed to have escaped me. The tonality of the piece was
not as rich as a result of my vibrato not , and what was more disheartening was that the
performance was becoming more of a torture chamber, that I wanted to quickly
escape. In my mind, the stage had no longer become a foundation for the musician
to guide the audience to magical lands, through this sound called music. Rather, it had
turned into a courtroom, and mentally, the audience had become hungry vampires
who were ready to devour their next victim.
After having finished the piece, I was so happy to have finished, and walked off stage
while still trying embodying the essence of my character. At that point, I was filled
with so much disappointment in myself, and embarassment, as I knew that this
performance could have been better. There were high hopes that I created for myself
and beautiful imagery was prevalent throughout my mind as I imagined myself giving
a top notch performance. Backstage, I did not even want to look at my cast mates,
and the shame that I was feeling became even more intense upon entering the reception
to endulge in the delicacies provided for us. Even warm gestures and praises of
musical pleasure in regards my opening night performance were of very little comfort to
me. Oh how pleased I was to depart from this environment, and having received a
ride on the golf cart back to the dormitory. While in my room, I continued to torture
myself, and re-live those embarassing moments. A much needed rest took place.
Then it soon began to hit me. I am a musician, and I am human. The intriguing
aspect of musicianship is that every performance is a step into evolving more into the
level of mastery that we seek. Many times we can be our own worse critics, thus
psyching ourselves into thinking that those who come to hear our performance are
judging us harshly as well. As musicians, we must continue to realize that we may
never adhere to that level of perfection that we continue to seek in our musicianship.
In addition, those many instances of "making mistakes" during our performance
could actually lead to new understandings in regards to the technique and tonality
of our instruments. These unplanned incidents could be seen as explorations into
other possibilities of enhancing our musicianship, and further expanding and evolving
outside of restrictive definitions of music. One of the beautiful endeavors in regards
to my opening night performance is that I continued to perform, and even used
improvisation to fill key spaces that I had missed. In conveying my feelings to one
of the crew members, I was given sound advice to look at my audience. This
suggestion was indicative of necessary actions, on my part, to begin to embrace
the energy of the crowd, and to see their presence as something that would enhance
my performance, and not destroy it. And so, my journey in performing in "Three
Sisters" began. It would be met with determination, and to connect, and articulate the
"strolling musician" with the depth and feelings of other characters in this play.
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