How to overcome stage fright

Some of my confident piano students admitted to “nerves” or “stage fright.”

This is not uncommon for first time performers.

I said to them,”You’re used to sitting in the audience, as a student. I’m used to standing in front of the class. It’s natural that you’d experience stage fright when we swap places.”

We brainstormed on how to overcome stage fright.

One student said that taking drama class helped a lot. There are exercises in impromptu acting which helps you think on the spot. You are forced to stand in front of an audience you can’t see because the spotlight is directed at you.

Another said practice. The more you practice, the more you know the piece and the less likely you will mess up.

Yes, practising the piece you’re going to perform is important. But you should also practise giving performances.

I told the class that I once pursued a bad habit of looking for grand pianos in hotels. I would force myself to go to the piano and play something from memory. The audience was anonymous and so was I. I had nothing to lose but everything to gain.

I also recalled forcing myself to make announcements at meetings or ask questions at conferences. Once upon a time, I worked on the trading floor for dealers who were impatient and intimidating because of the large sums of money they were managing. It was scary to join their late morning meeting, make an announcement and become the center of attention for 3 minutes. I was sure they’d rather go get lunch.

The important thing is to overcome your fears.

Long ago, I remember my hands and fingers getting antsy, sweaty, and even numb. I can’t remember when I stopped feeling like that.

They say it takes 10,000 hours to get good at something. How many thousand times does it take to overcome stage fright?

Concert etiquette for performers

When you google “concert etiquette” you get tips on how to behave as a member of the audience. This article is not about that. It’s about how performers should behave so that the audience will appreciate the performance.

I asked my piano students how they felt when the performing student didn’t bow or look at them when he/she got on stage and off/stage. They weren’t quite sure.

I showed them how to get on stage, how to bow, and how to end a performance by standing up and bowing. I told them they could lean their left hand on the grand piano to steady themselves. But the important thing was to spend a little bit of time looking at the audience and show modesty and bow for acknowledgement — that you appreciate your audience being there.

I asked the next student to bow before she played and bow afterwards.

The students in the audience said that they felt recognized and appreciated as the audience. It also seemed like a real concert.

How difficult is it to show some basic etiquette before and after you give a performance?

One student remarked that rock musicians don’t do that always.

The thing is, I said, the performer is not the most important person in the room. The audience is.

Without the audience, it’s not a performance.

I next talked about mistakes. If you make a mistake, don’t show it. Don’t grimace. Continue.

I learned that lesson long ago —- poker face. Don’t make a big deal out of it. Your audience isn’t there to judge you and count the mistakes you’ve made.

Next: how to overcome stage fright.

TEDxMaui 2013

I was introduced to TED.com a few years ago by a fellow Rotarian in the Netherlands. I’m convinced that it really is an idea worth spreading, and one that needs such a viral introduction at first. I probably would not have stumbled upon it had he not told me about it.

The value of videos on TED.com grows over time because it becomes a database of useful and inspiring presentations & performances all over the world, largely through TEDx. The way the presenters engage and empower the audience on topics that are timeless and yet timely is one reason why it will live on.

We performers have much to learn from its success.

TEDx are produced in different locations around the world. Maui started its own in 2012 with presenters somehow related to Maui or Hawaii.

On Sunday 13th January 2013, I attended the last 3 segments of the TEDxMaui 2013 production at the Castle Theatre of the Maui Arts and Cultural Center (MACC).

I was most impressed by the ability of certain speakers to convey a knowledge or skill that I had originally considered complicated in a way that made me learn and see the beauty of its simplicity. The elder explorer who taught the audience how to navigate the Pacific Ocean by the stars gave us a taste of that extraordinary craft of ancient Polynesians. The Hawaiian musician Mahala made us chuckle and laugh while he showed us the secrets of the slack key guitar, in particular, his view that each of the 6 strings represented a different instrument.

The lights were not off as typical of most performances. They were ON — because the audience was just as important as the performer(s).

Audience engagement is more important now than ever before.

My burning question was this: why was TEDxMaui able to attract a full-house at the 1,200 seat Castle Theater but not Dame Kiri Te Kanawa?

Real-time crisis management of concert performers

Recently I found myself describing the busiest period of our duo’s life as that of real-time crisis management. Each concert was real-time. Each concert held surprises. We could never fully anticipate  what might go wrong. It took a lot of practice (giving concerts) to get good at dealing with the unexpected.

Some things were in our control, such as giving ourselves enough slack to get to the concert venue, but the even the reliable Dutch train system has defied our planning. We always had to get used to the piano at the venue, its interaction with the guitar, and the acoustics of the hall or room. Our performances were never “broadcasts,” except those on radio. They were interactions, for we affected the audience as much as they affected us.  Any number of things could go wrong. Ambient noise and what seemed normal in the venue’s routine (such as the sound of refrigeration) were not acceptable for optimal concert performances. Yet we had to put up with that.

Real-time crisis management implied adjusting to surprises and solving problems on the spot. When a piano leg broke just before our concert in northern Spain, we found a remedy and gave our performance as if nothing was amiss.

Our rule was never to cancel a gig and never be late to a concert. Even when traffic made it nearly impossible, we kept our word, such as the arduous journey in getting to the south of the Netherlands.

In 2008, we gave about 60 piano guitar duo concerts. In 2009, we gave 36. In 2010, we gave 61. These did not include our concerts as soloists or duo or trio with other instruments, including choir.

In 2011, we gave only 3 piano guitar duo concerts. In 2012, none.

During our active concertizing period, our daily routine consisted of practicing by ourselves, rehearsing together, booking concerts, driving to concerts, performing, and returning. The Dutch have a custom of giving fresh bouquet of flowers. During busy periods, we ran out of vases. Some audiences gave us bottles of wine, boxes of chocolates, and even organic produce from their gardens. Our reward was a fine performance with appreciation shown in the audiences’ faces. And of course, the cheque.

Given this sort of lifestyle, i.e. that of real-time crisis management, it’s not surprising that we didn’t have time to look beyond the concert stage.

Piano guitar before a concert

In 2010, it was clear that the Dutch government was going to make generous cuts to the arts. Our orchestral friends were protesting in the streets.

We set a couple of goals. Go to America. Robert would pursue his doctorate in music while I would revamp my career in other areas that would bring more certain income to allow me to live in Maui near my family. What next? We need to learn the art of planning to get there.

Reasons for attending a concert in Maui

In Maui, where classical concerts are few and far between, the place to meet other classical music aficionados is at such events.

Today, Haydn’s The Creation is being performed at the Maui Arts and Cultural Center (MACC). The MACC is to Maui as the Concertgebouw is to Amsterdam and Carnegie Hall to New York.

The soloists, a large choir, and an orchestra were put together specifically for this grand work. It is happening right now —- as I type. Why am I not on stage or in the audience?

For someone as keen on music as I am, I should be at every such event at the MACC or elsewhere on Maui. To find myself writing this blog instead of attending this concert is baffling.

I had toyed with the thought of going there. I was asked to substitute as accompanist for a few sessions but my workload prevented a resounding “yes, I’d love to do it.” I next heard of it when several singers mentioned the performance. Eventually I brought up the subject in conversation.

It would be a simple $25 to secure a seat. I had asked my mother if she wanted to go. She wasn’t sure. Someone else invited me to go with her family. My initial yes changed to a no later in the week. The thought of going with others to an event was very appealing. I could even make a date of it with any number of other “single” music lovers.

Why this vacillation? Why not a definite commitment?

As this is the only concert in town —- the only remotely classical work on the island of Maui for a month, it seems obvious for all who appreciate classical music to attend it.

If I were hungry for classical music, I would go to this one-off event — Sunday 19th August 3:30 pm at the Castle Theatre at the MACC. As the theatre seats 1,200 people, there is little risk of selling out.

There I would meet other musicians, classical music connoisseurs, on stage or in the audience. It would be the world I belong to and the one I have been accustomed to.

There lies the rub.

I am not hungry enough for classical music to give up my Sunday afternoon. Now I am beginning to understand why it is so hard to get people to come to a concert. If it’s not a free concert, one weighs all these other activities that are equally or even more compelling. For me, sitting outside, typing on my iPad keyboard, with a cold glass of homemade iced tea is far more relaxing and worthwhile than sitting indoors among strangers in a cold, air-conditioned hall for 2 hours. How often during the week do I get to sit outside? None.

Free concert for freeloaders

We arrived at the public library at exactly 2 pm, just when the concert was to begin. It was an old habit from my conservatory days —- never arrive too early to have to wait, but arrive just before it’s to begin. In this case, we had been cycling through colorful neighborhoods visiting open studios of artists. It was a beautiful sunny day, and giving up 1.5 hours (from our open studio journey) to a concert seemed almost a waste.

Except it was free. That made it worthwhile. The open studios were free. We even had a free lunch provided by one of the artists. Had it not been written in our plan, we would have skipped the piano concert and spent the rest of the afternoon on our bicycles.

There were many leaflets on the table in the concert hall. We grabbed the single A5 sheet program and the library newsletter.

A black grand piano stood on wheels on stage. From the sign “Please do not play the piano” it would appear that the piano lived there. It was not rented or brought into this space for the occasion. As a pianist, it’s my second nature to locate venues that have resident pianos, especially grand pianos.

A man welcomed us to the concert and announced the name of the pianist. We clapped and watched a young lady try to open a heavy door from the side. Out of courtesy and respect for the young pianist, we clapped until she arrived at the piano bench and bowed.

While she played, I started to hear other sounds.

The shuffling of paper.

The opening of candy wraps.

The sucking and popping of candies.

The movement of chairs.

When the music got louder, the ladies behind us started to talk. “Is this Chopin?”

I got so annoyed that I decided we should move our seats during the intermission. We waited. Just before the second half, we made a dash for the front row. We were no longer sitting in front of the candy-slurping ladies.

The second half was several decibels louder than the first half. Whereas the first half was lyrical, the second half was deliberately fast, furious, and intense. The audience sensed it. This gave some the license to talk, move, and annoy us even further. The lady behind us began to open, squeeze, and close her old plastic bag. I cringed.

The Korean pianist was excellent. She played selections from Albeniz, Grieg, Chopin, Tann, and Beethoven effortlessly. She even gave an encore of Chopin’s famous Scherzo. I couldn’t wait to talk to her after the concert.

The audience? I gave the audience an F. I couldn’t wait to get away.

But how could I possibly complain? It was a free concert after all. The audience could do as they please. I daresay this was probably the main reason I chose to organize concerts in my own home. Such audiences are not welcome. I set the rules.

No shoes.

No leaflets.

No candy wraps.

No plastic bags.

And you have to pay for the privilege of attending a house concert.

Concerts for free or nearly free

Search for “classical concert etiquette” and you will get guides like this one and numerous others. These articles are well-written. It would be superfluous to write more about this subject. In thinking about advice for first-time concert goers, I recall how I became an avid concert goer. It began with the word FREE.

When I lived in London and learned of the free concerts at the local music college, I was curious if I could or should attend. I would show up for a lunch concert. Sometimes there were more people on stage than in the audience. I would make eye contact and feel somewhat uncomfortable because I had seen them before. Perhaps elsewhere in town or at a previous concert, I was not sure. The discomfort could also be described as a kind of guilt. It was a free concert. What did I do to deserve a free concert? It was sheer indulgence for me —- I had the time and interest and desire. The discomfort could also be described as a kind of trespass. I was neither a student nor an employee. I merely lived in the neighbourhood.

After I became a “regular,” someone from the college introduced himself to me and talked to me.  I gasped. I was not invisible after all. Somebody noticed that I had been faithfully attending these free concerts. Was it time to cough up and pay? [It's so English not to say anything unless you are introduced. Self-introductions are an American phenomenon.]

It wasn’t until I enrolled as a full-time conservatory student in the Netherlands, that I saw the concerts from the other side. The concerts were always free. There was no budget to administer tickets. There was hardly a budget for publicity. The free concerts were never full unless it was someone’s final exam, opera, orchestra, or composition concert.  There could easily be more people on stage than in the audience. There were regulars from the community. I would give them a nod and sometimes a grin. We acknowledged each other as conspiring in the same indulgence of classical music.

As a composer and performer, I wanted to see more people in the audience. Yet as a student, it was not for me to change the policy of the school. The doors were wide open for anyone to come to concerts. But the concerts were not actively promoted. The shops around the school did not have posters of the concerts. The shop keepers and assistants didn’t know about the concerts. The conservatory once welcomed Mozart, Schumann, and Brahms. That was history. The teachers were busy teaching. The students were busy studying.

And that’s how I clocked up thousands of free concerts. Every conservatory and music school seemed to have the same policy or lack of a policy when it came to concerts. Free.

Audience at final exam concert in Utrecht Conservatory, 2008. Photo: F. vd Meer

University of Hawaii Maui College (UHMC) is situated directly across from Maui’s equivalent of Carnegie Hall (New York) and Concertgebouw (Amsterdam) and the Royal Albert Hall (London). Its largest concert hall seats 1,200. The smaller hall seats 250. There’s also an outdoor stage. When I first arrived on the island, I assumed there was a connection between the two. Just as Amsterdam Conservatory gets to use the Concertgebouw and Muziekgebouw aan ‘t IJ  and the Royal College of Music has access to the Royal Albert Hall, I thought UHMC had access to the Maui Arts and Cultural Center (MACC).

Well, it doesn’t work that way. UHMC is not a conservatory. Yet the MACC is very much a world-class facility with state-of-the-art acoustics and instruments. Perhaps the association is not about sending students to perform on stage but to fill the seats with last-minute discount tickets, as is offered elsewhere. While students cannot afford higher priced tickets, they can tolerate the uncertainty of not having a ticket well in advance.

In England, there are always last-minute standby tickets (lowest price for whatever is available) about 30 minutes to 1 hour before the show. These are offered to students, unwaged, low-income, and pensioners. One of the perks of studying in London was attending concerts at the South Bank, Wigmore Hall, Royal Albert Hall, and countless other venues, on a last-minute standby student discount. Could such a perk be offered to the 4,000 students at Maui College? If they know of this discount, they can look out for it.

** From the point of economics, one could argue that those that can afford to pay for a ticket will not necessarily buy the most expensive ticket. Thus the best seats risk being unsold. To avoid such front-row seats being empty, offer these to those who are flexible with time and tolerant of uncertainty yet can’t afford the high prices. The rationale is that these seats would otherwise not get sold at all.

Going on TV and radio

The prospect of appearing on TV and radio is extremely daunting. In some ways it’s harder than appearing live on stage.

Why?

When I get on stage, I can see my audience. I can gauge their reaction. It’s a two-way street.

On TV and radio, it’s an invisible audience. It’s a one-way street. It’s a broadcast. But how is this different from blogging?

One way to overcome stage fright is to practise until it disappears. In fact, that’s my formula for everything: repetition until you get good at it.

Programming music like planning a menu

It occurred to me, while choosing music for my forthcoming Valentine’s Day Concert, that the process of programming a concert is not dissimilar to planning a menu.

One is constantly thinking of the audience (guests). Will they like and appreciate what they hear (taste)? What is the theme? Should there be one? What should we begin with? Something to warm up, open up their hearing (taste buds), etc. What’s the right balance of the familiar (safe) and unfamiliar (new but risky)? What should be the order? Alternating fast – slow – fast – slow (cold vs hot; salty vs sweet; wet vs dry). What is the right number of pieces (courses)? How long should each piece be?

As I ponder over the choice of work, I remember a research study I had conducted with a Swedish violinist on programming music for elderly audiences. It’s not about tempo but everything about mood. What kind of mood do we want to convey to the audience?

Does the chef think of evoking feelings or memories in the guests who taste his menu?

Once upon a time I was told to programme music chronologically, for that’s how music has evolved. Begin with a piece from the Baroque Era, move through the Classical Period, Romantic Era, before braving the new world with a contemporary piece of a living composer. This is the not only formula.

I have examined the order of pieces in the concerts I’ve attended. Sometimes it’s good to start with an unfamiliar piece, even one from an unknown, living composer. Enough unfamiliar pieces call for a resolution of the unknown to a convergence in the familiar. Take the audience back to their comfort zone.

Probably one of the most powerful concerts is one in which the pieces are connected, via a common thread or storyline following a theme.

I should speak to a chef whether programming music really is like planning a menu.

When busking becomes an outdoor concert

In my previous blog post, I mentioned busking as a barrier-free way to perform to an audience without the guarantee of payment. In Utrecht, Netherlands and the London Underground, a busking license is required. Aside from adverse weather conditions and the odd listener, busking has much lower transaction costs than a concert, which has to be organised, publicised, etc.

My harpist friend Peter Murphy uses busking as a shopfront for listeners to hear him play, chat with him, and book him for higher-revenue gigs of greater certainty, e.g. weddings. He became so successful in London that he appeared in a special documentary on UK television.

When does busking become a concert?

Dutch guitarist Robert Bekkers and the soprano Mirella Reiche had agreed in advance when, where, and what they would be playing. Yesterday, he gave me their set list for this afternoon’s performance outside the central library in Utrecht. He told me they would play at 2 pm.

I am now free to publicise it and draw an audience. I can even tell them to donate into his guitar case. I can tell this audience that his share of the donations goes towards his forthcoming studies with maestro Eliot Fisk in Boston where he is headed next. All this additional information dispersed in advance for publicity to draw an interested crowd on Market Day (Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday in Utrecht) large enough to make an outdoor performance worthwhile is what turns busking into an outdoor concert.

As with all outdoor performances, good weather is key to entice people to come and stay. Unfortunately summer in Utrecht, Netherlands is not winter in Tucson, Arizona.

Consider a pre-notified and publicised event: an outdoor concert outside a restaurant in Tucson in February 2011. That was not busking — but where was the audience?

Robert Bekkers gives solo guitar concert outside a restaurant in Tucson, February 2011 Photo: J.Rhoads