Performance nerves. Performance anxiety. Stage fright. Whatever you choose to call it, it’s
something most musicians have to deal with, and it can be awful. It can precede a performance by hours or even days, or it
can be a moment of heart-pounding, gut-wrenching fear just before the performer
steps onto the stage. It’s an adrenalin jolt that some performers manage to use
to their advantage; a rush of energy that some can learn to channel in such a
way their performance is enhanced.
I’ve never known a performer who didn’t
experience it to some degree, because we all want what we do to be flawless,
perfect and awe-inspiring. That’s asking a lot of ourselves, but it’s what we
strive for. It’s rare for a performer to finish a performance and be totally
satisfied with it. The nerves are usually vanquished when the first notes are
played or sung and the performer realizes he is going to live through this. He
thinks of the music, and it begins to be an experience that’s enjoyable if not exhilarating.
After all, we do this because we love to do it, to share our music.
The musicians in my books experience
stage fright. Jamie Logan, the tenor who strives to conquer the world of opera
in You Are My Song, describes it as a
combination of fear and excitement he experiences just before the curtains
open. But that’s when he’s a mature artist: as a younger singer, he had serious
trouble with stage fright. I think Jamie has learned how to use that adrenalin
rush to his advantage.
Eli Levin, the main character in Eli’s Heart, sometimes has terrible attacks
of nerves. In this excerpt from the book, he has one of the worst cases of
nerves in his young life when he has limited time to prepare a difficult and
demanding piece which he plays with a string quartet. He practices like crazy
(well, that’s not new – Eli always
practices like crazy). He cuts a class or two to practice, has trouble sleeping
and isn’t his usual loving self with his wife.
The piece is the Brahms Piano Quintet
in F Minor, and if you’re intrigued there are quite a few performances on
YouTube. One I especially love is with the great pianist Arthur Rubinstein and
the Guarneri Quartet.
**********
Eli asked Krissy to sit in the
auditorium for the first half of the concert, two Bartok quartets. She wanted
to stay with him, but he told her he’d really rather she didn’t. She tried not
to look hurt, but he saw in her face she felt he was shutting her out. She was
right. He needed it to be him and Brahms right now. He studied the score, his
hands trembling.
At
intermission Walter told him not to worry, it was going to be great. Krissy
found him and walked into his arms, and he held her tight. She didn’t say
anything, just held him as close as she could. He relaxed enough to feel he
could walk out to the piano. “Hold these for a minute, will you?” He handed her his glasses as he wiped his
face and hands with his handkerchief. It distressed her to see his hands
shaking. Have I ever been this nervous
before a performance? he thought. Krissy replaced his glasses and kissed
him, and he relaxed a little more. She smiled and touched his face, love and
concern in her eyes, and went back to her seat.
As
Eli waited to go onstage with the Quartet, he tried to turn his thoughts
inward, to find that place in himself where he had gone so many times to find
the muse. He knew she was there; she was always there. He caught a glimpse of
her and held onto it as he walked onstage. He sat at the piano, opening the
score. He looked at the score as he heard the strings tuning, focusing on what
Brahms was asking from them to bring the printed notes to life.
Think about the music,
Eli said to himself. Think about the muse.
He heard the music in his head. His hands were no longer shaking; they were
steady as he lifted them. He looked at Walter and nodded slightly; he was
ready. On Walter's signal Eli brought his hands down on the keyboard, a
brief thought crossing his mind: Here we
go. He felt and heard the opening unison passage, all of them moving as
one. Eli attacked the keyboard for the
rapid arpeggios that followed, playing them cleanly; he heard the strings
accenting what he was doing. He caught Walter’s signal as they began the main
theme, and the music swept through him. He became caught up in the beauty
of what they were doing together and the connection he felt with them.
The
first movement went almost perfectly, and he began to feel more confident. Eli
loved playing with these men. He was part of a team; it was the musical
equivalent of playing in the infield with the New York Yankees. The nerves were
gone. By the time they began the third movement ... the Scherzo ...everything felt right. His fingers flew over the
keyboard with surety, elegantly arcing phrases, weaving the piano part
perfectly with the strings. This was
why he played; this incredible feeling of making the music soar. There was
another rush of adrenalin as they approached the end of the final movement;
after the last strong chords there were glances and smiles exchanged on stage.
Eli breathed a huge sigh of relief, feeling slightly giddy, elated by the joy
of having lived music here in this hall with Brahms, with his colleagues, with this
audience. The audience stood and responded with enthusiastic and prolonged
applause.
**********
Links
to my books can be found on my website at www.susanmoorejordan.com
