Episode 06: Little Beacons
“It’s up to you to create that precious moment in which the whole garden falls silent in anticipation, a moment dedicated to and focused on your performance. ”
Countless things impact the course of a concert, and a thousand different aspects influence what kind of feelings such a concert awakens. Let's have a closer look at them together in this episode.
So, are you playing on a raised stage in a concert hall for five hundred people? Or are you playing in a small room for twenty-five guests who are sitting so close you can see them smiling?Is the concert taking place abroad, in a strange city where you don't know a single soul? Or are you playing for a familiar audience in the town where you used to study? "Ah damn," you mutter to yourself, "everyone I know has come, probably wondering how I improved since the last time they heard me."
Another one. Imagine that you've been playing the twelfth concert in a row with the same program.
Or, imagine that it might be the first time that someone else besides your deaf aunt hears you play this new repertoire.What else? Let's see. Have you slept well? Are you warm and comfortable? Do you have icy fingers? Are your hands sweaty? Has the crew tuned up your piano? And what about that lunch you ate against your better judgement?You get me, don't you... I could go on like this forever.
My goal today, however, isn't to bore you to death but to tell you how to survive concerts without going crazy when the time comes. Sounds better? First advice:
Play.
As soon as you get in the stage of the first certainty, when you feel a bit of confidence, start playing the whole piece. And not only to yourself!
But whom, you might ask? Who can I play to at this stage when I'd rather no one would hear me at all? It's simpler than you might think, you only need one human listener – yourself.
Go on, turn on your recorder. Trust me, it listens to you better than you'd think. It's your harshest critic. Alternatively, gather all the plants you find, place them in front of the piano, bow to them and do your best. I'm not joking, it's a proper recipe. No matter how unforgiving the recordings are or how sorry you feel for your flora, it'll help you pinpoint what you need to work on.
So how should you listen to your own recordings? The gap between your impression when fully immersed in interpretation and what you hear afterwards from the tape is often hilarious.What you need is to learn the steps that lead to honest self-reflection.
Firstly, start recording. Secondly, play, fully immersed in music. Thirdly, relax, brew yourself a tea, sit back comfortably, and listen to your interpretation as if you were listening to another artist. Remember, it's not you, it's Tom or Jerry or Rebecca.
What do you think about her approach? How's his dynamics? What about her agogics, pedalisation? The best thing to do is to pick up a pencil and take notes, giving advice to that strange interpret you've just listen to and who most definitely wasn't you.
Gradually, through exercise, you create your very own opinion on the composition, and you'll gain confidence. At that point, there's nothing that should stop you from playing it to a live audience. Don't worry, if you come up with your own concept and grasp of the piece, the best thing to make headway is to open your mind to the opinions of others. Two heads are better than one. And four ears are better than two.
Practically, any discussion will broaden your horizons.
Otherwise, it doesn't matter whether you agree with their verdicts or not, they're bound to bring new insights or to reinforce your convictions. Both are great. In any case, you'll spend a non-negligible time thinking hard about the composition and that in itself counts as a plus point. Your goal should be to become so familiar with it that playing it will feel like being in a safe haven for you. So familiar that wherever and whenever you play it, your music will hug you as a safety net and you won't take notice of any external nuisances.Concerning the gig itself – the more often you climb on stage, the sooner you'll find your balance, the holy centre of your playing in which all the annoying aspects cancel each other out and leave you free to perform as best as you can.
Yes, sometimes my hands are shaking. True, some people really like to open a pack of candies during the most delicate parts. It's hard not to notice.
What you can do is take all this for granted. Think of it as an integral part of your surrounding, like a garden around your house. You wouldn't get pissed at the birds tweeting outside your window because the noise they're making is a natural part of it. You don't even notice it. It's up to you to create that precious moment in which the whole garden falls silent in anticipation, a moment dedicated to and focused on your performance. No distractions can ever penetrate it.
It's not easy by any means. I've fought the obsession to fully control my environment myself. For instance, there was a time when I was determined to get rid of the last little speck of dust on my keyboard. It had happened to me a few times in a row that I noticed a tiny particle on one of my keys while playing, and I totally lost my countenance. Imagine, such a small outer element could have thrown me out of my meticulously built music space.Naturally, because I'm sly as a fox, I came up with a bulletproof solution. From now on, I will make 100 % sure the keyboard is clean before every performance.
Done. Problem solved.
Except it wasn't. It obviously happened again. And what did I do? I blamed the speck for my spoilt performance and for my blackouts. Oh yes, I went all the way and rationalised the heck out of it: It's crystal clear, I didn't play as well as I could due to the crumb that threw me off.One day I stopped halfway through a piece during a class with my professor.
I told him "Let me start again, there is a mess on the keyboard, and it always knocks me sideways." I will never forget his answer.
He said: "Nikol, go to hell with your mess and just play."
Two things came to mind at that moment. Primarily, I felt instantly ashamed that I let something so trivial to annoy me. At the same time, I felt a wave of relief. Oh yes, I was saved! All the specks and crumbles can go to hell.
Forget about ideal concerts, something will annoy you, it's probable. Every day is different, each space has its shortcomings, no audience is ever the same. It's up to the interpreters to build their reassuring walkways lined with little beacons that guide them. Because if you want to transmit the best that is in you, you must light up yourself first.