My musical guru, the late Arnie Lawrence, used to say that if you channel stage fright into excitement, it can enhance your playing. Easier said than done.
For some reason Arnie objected to the word, "performance," as if it implied something artificial, as opposed to playing from the heart. But I don't think "performance" is a bad word at all.
Last night at our home we hosted a performance by the young and gifted classical pianist and composer Nadav Greenhut. Nadav, whose name in Hebrew means "generous," agreed to play the first Schumann "Romance," originally written for piano and oboe, a piece that isn't hard technically, since it doesn't have a lot of fast passages, but which is very hard musically, partly because it is quite slow, and the soloist is very audible.
I didn't play it as well as Ory Schneor does in the performance linked above, but I did a credible job. I'm getting close to producing a sound that I like on the flute. Nadav and I worked very hard to prepare the piece. We met three times to rehearse it and spent more than an hour each time -- for a piece that lasts about three minutes! And that doesn't count the times that we each worked on our own to master our parts.
In general, and I've written about this before, the investment in time that goes into a musical performance is vastly greater than the duration of the the performance. Think about a symphony orchestra, for example, and the number of years each of the musicians has put in to get to the high level required for the position, and then the hours of rehearsal specifically devoted to the piece being performed. This also holds true of a jazz improvisation. It demands years of skill-development. This concentrated time is what you're hearing.
I'm not used to performing as a soloist. I mainly play in groups, and often, when I play baritone saxophone, in a supportive role. So it was doubly challenging for me: I was playing the flute, to which I'm relatively new, and I was playing as a soloist.
The audience of about twenty-five were sitting in our living room, mainly friends of ours and of Nadav's, so they were far from hostile, which made it easier for me to play. The main problem I had was in breathing correctly for the phrasing of the piece. Because I was nervous, I didn't take deep enough breaths, and I had to interrupt some of the phrases in the wrong places. Also, as I listen to Ory Schneor, I realize that I wasn't as flexible rhythmically as I should have been. The Romances aren't meant to be played in strict time. But I wasn't so disabled by nervousness that I couldn't play at all, and I avoided most of the errors I tended to commit when I was practicing, though, of course, I made a few new and unexpected errors while playing before the audience.
Even after playing for only three minutes, I was exhilarated at the end, both relieved to be finished, and also high from the experience. Playing in public demands concentration. It also has a kind of inside-out quality. I found myself both deeply invested in what I was doing and also observing myself from the outside, noticing both mistakes and also places where I was pleased with what I had done, as if someone else were playing.
Nadav played the entire program by heart, pieces of his own as well as pieces by Haydn and Chopin, except for the Schumann where he was accompanying me. I'm very weak at memorizing music. Nadav said to me on the subject, that, since music was written by a human being, another human being ought to be able to memorize it. That sounds right to me, but I think it's too late for my brain to acquire that skill.
Playing for other people makes your music real, and the tension it requires improves your playing. I would rather listen to a live performance by less than the greatest musicians in the world than a recorded performance. Hearing Nadav play in the intimacy of a small room was clearly a thrill to everyone in the audience, and we got great pleasure in hosting the event.
For some reason Arnie objected to the word, "performance," as if it implied something artificial, as opposed to playing from the heart. But I don't think "performance" is a bad word at all.
Last night at our home we hosted a performance by the young and gifted classical pianist and composer Nadav Greenhut. Nadav, whose name in Hebrew means "generous," agreed to play the first Schumann "Romance," originally written for piano and oboe, a piece that isn't hard technically, since it doesn't have a lot of fast passages, but which is very hard musically, partly because it is quite slow, and the soloist is very audible.
I didn't play it as well as Ory Schneor does in the performance linked above, but I did a credible job. I'm getting close to producing a sound that I like on the flute. Nadav and I worked very hard to prepare the piece. We met three times to rehearse it and spent more than an hour each time -- for a piece that lasts about three minutes! And that doesn't count the times that we each worked on our own to master our parts.
In general, and I've written about this before, the investment in time that goes into a musical performance is vastly greater than the duration of the the performance. Think about a symphony orchestra, for example, and the number of years each of the musicians has put in to get to the high level required for the position, and then the hours of rehearsal specifically devoted to the piece being performed. This also holds true of a jazz improvisation. It demands years of skill-development. This concentrated time is what you're hearing.
I'm not used to performing as a soloist. I mainly play in groups, and often, when I play baritone saxophone, in a supportive role. So it was doubly challenging for me: I was playing the flute, to which I'm relatively new, and I was playing as a soloist.
The audience of about twenty-five were sitting in our living room, mainly friends of ours and of Nadav's, so they were far from hostile, which made it easier for me to play. The main problem I had was in breathing correctly for the phrasing of the piece. Because I was nervous, I didn't take deep enough breaths, and I had to interrupt some of the phrases in the wrong places. Also, as I listen to Ory Schneor, I realize that I wasn't as flexible rhythmically as I should have been. The Romances aren't meant to be played in strict time. But I wasn't so disabled by nervousness that I couldn't play at all, and I avoided most of the errors I tended to commit when I was practicing, though, of course, I made a few new and unexpected errors while playing before the audience.
Even after playing for only three minutes, I was exhilarated at the end, both relieved to be finished, and also high from the experience. Playing in public demands concentration. It also has a kind of inside-out quality. I found myself both deeply invested in what I was doing and also observing myself from the outside, noticing both mistakes and also places where I was pleased with what I had done, as if someone else were playing.
Nadav played the entire program by heart, pieces of his own as well as pieces by Haydn and Chopin, except for the Schumann where he was accompanying me. I'm very weak at memorizing music. Nadav said to me on the subject, that, since music was written by a human being, another human being ought to be able to memorize it. That sounds right to me, but I think it's too late for my brain to acquire that skill.
Playing for other people makes your music real, and the tension it requires improves your playing. I would rather listen to a live performance by less than the greatest musicians in the world than a recorded performance. Hearing Nadav play in the intimacy of a small room was clearly a thrill to everyone in the audience, and we got great pleasure in hosting the event.
