Performance Practice
How my approach to performing is helping me in overcoming fear and insecurity
In a recent post, I mentioned a question I was posed by my therapist a few years ago:
“Why music?
Why do you do it?
Why is it so important to you?”
These very simple yet powerful questions offered a gateway to a much longer discussion around purpose, meaning and drive; one of which was along the lines of “how does it feel when you perform?”
In that moment, it struck me that without really knowing it, I had become much more comfortable with the notion of performing at the piano.
In some ways, it was a confusing realisation to come to - playing music in a live setting has always been such an important part of my life, from all the experiences of musical growth and development in my school-years; the bands of my late-teens; studying music at university and everything which comes with that; years of being involved with music in a church setting; through to playing for and alongside countless other artists, musicians and bands in a session capacity.
I was highly experienced, yet the thing which I was, in theory, most adept at, was actually the thing which most terrified me.
It quickly dawned on me it was not so much the act of performing which had been the issue - in the moment, it had always been something I absolutely loved. Instead, it was very much what I was performing and the context in which this took place - amidst a multifaceted range of reasons and painful experiences - which led me to feel so utterly inadequate; a failure, masquerading behind a nominally decent enough level of musicianship to get by, but which would never allow me to produce performances which would captivate, delight, inspire and enthuse audiences for its virtuosic brilliance and dazzle.
If you’ve subscribed to The Cut Through for a while, you’ll know I’m a big fan of semantics (and indeed spellings, grammar etc) and what we can learn a lot from how words and text are arranged.
Indeed, it is somewhat ironic how an artist such as myself who makes lyric-less music pays so much attention to words. However, as someone who does make and create music without words, it’s more important than ever for every word and phrase you do use - in whatever context - to convey as much meaning as possible.
Here’s one for you.
I’d like to draw reference to the way that ‘practice’ as a noun is spelled differently to its use as a verb; ‘to practise’.
(There are instances where I know there are different approaches to the English language - and, indeed, perhaps ones which do not always make the specific distinction above - but I think it is a helpful and informative difference, not least for us musicians who have spent our whole lives being aware of what practising truly is, or should be).
Playing music in a live setting has always been such an important part of my life; from the bands of my teenage-era (in which I was a guitar-strumming frontman, believe it or not), to a range of musical experiences during university, to playing for and alongside a range of singers, songwriters, artists, bands and projects across a bewildering range of genres and musical styles.
There are many more examples. You’ll have to collar me on my next tour to find out, though!
In the first half of this year, I can honestly say I have never played better. I ruminated on this in more detail last week. It is just working; very well.
Every aspect of my performance has improved to such an extent that I am now so much more confident, both about myself as a musician, and in what I’m going to do when I step out on stage.
So much so that I would say live performance is one of the most, if not the most important elements of my professional and creative practice.
There’s something odd about this, though, and yes…it’s down to words again.
I think it’s fair to say, most of the time, we all tend to assume we naturally get better at something by doing it more often, with more focus, perhaps with better or new methodologies or approaches.
Simply put; by practising.
Of course, I do practise playing the piano. Not as much as I should.
(actually, maybe I prefer the phrase “not as much as I could”).
But having performed my own music more than a hundred times since the pandemic, I am so much more aware of how important and essential performing has become to my overall practice as a musician - i.e. the way in which I am being a professional musician.
Performing has been a saviour for me. It has been an important thing to reclaim from the doldrums of past pain; for my own wellbeing and sense of self. It has also shown me just how important the connection between performer and audience is, and why, fundamentally, it is this which is what makes it all so worth it.
In my performances this year, I have been speaking more openly during my shows about my desire and commitment to the gradual removal of the invisible, yet often present line/barrier/divide between performer and audience.
I know this won’t be for everyone, but it definitely works for me.
Why?
Because it takes me away from the mindset of performance feeling like a gilded-exalted-performer-on-a-stage, dictating and demonstrating their musical genius and prowess to their adoring yet unknown audience; towards something more pure, more wholesome, more meaningful, more communitarian, and - dare I say it - more transformational.
When I was teaching music in a primary school, I often felt exhausted at the end of the day. Not just because it was a demanding environment, but because I realised I was spending my entire day performing.
Of course, the primary school environment dictates a certain age-appropriate delivery style - the enthusiastic nature of which was, shall we say, not always something that came completely naturally to me.
This realisation about adopting something of a performative nature and characteristics proved to be helpful, though, especially as I became older and more experienced. In many ways, getting through the day relied on a constant, high-level of performance, especially the part about carrying on when something goes wrong!
The distinction though, between simply finding a way through something and the all-out joyful realisation of ones own potential in performing their own work is stark.
Previously, my view of performing probably centred around the construction of and implementation of a false me; putting myself on hold for a while to become something else.
An act.
A show.
But at this point - and as a result of what one might describe as an intense period of practising being more open and honest as a way of solidifying my own unique approach to performing - I might be tempted to argue that my performance practice (how I am on stage) is the very opposite.
Not much of “a show” perhaps (*puts down indoor pyrotechnics*); but the truest versions of my music and myself as I can muster.
Which truly is the best thing I can give, and why every performance matters.
I couldn’t agree more and it’s exactly the same for me.