life in the darkness

I just thought I would give you an example of stage anxiety that I get before going onstage. I have mentioned this in previous posts, but I will do so again.

It starts at the rehearsals. The night before, it’s difficult to sleep, whether it be with excitement, nerves or just difficulty in general. Your brain is buzzing. Vocal technique. Words, music. What am I to do in this part? How do I execute that high note? Then there are the usual. What if it cracks? People will hear it! I’m exposed! No hiding from anything! Verdi does not have Mercy! You execute, or you fail! The familiar competition will be there too! I have to set the bar high. The clock is ticking. 5 days, 4 days, 3 days. Accompanist rehearsal, which is even worse if it’s someone you do not know. I do not feel at ease. What is their temperament like? What if I fail? Will they put me at ease? Will they be scathing. OR will they just be silent? Do I tell them what to do? Should I dictate the rehearsal? Accompanist follows the singer. Yes, but in some cases, you follow the accompanist. If the accompanist is someone I know, I still feel anxious, but not as much. In my head, I hear the words of Adrienne. Quieter here. Remember vowel modification here. Not too much pressure here. Not too much weight. It helps that I hear her in my head. It’s strange I know, but I like to imagine there are singers from the past in spirit, listening with their keen ears too. Callas, Freni, pavarotti. What would they make of the performances? Where would they guide me? What would they say about my technique. My inspirations, would they be keeping their students calm? Would Callas have been patient? Would she have been quite severe? With a blind student? Perhaps not. She may have understood that I can hear better and understand things, but probably would have got slightly put out if I questioned her on her own methods. Purely for my own execution.

Today I was going through older recordings of my performances. I could hear the weaknesses. The pressure in certain parts;, No longer was it painful to hear, like it was in the past. In the past, it was painful to hear my older performances. It was painful to have my appearance described, knowing I was too painfully thin to wear what I wore then at the time. It used to bring me to tears. I feel different now. I feel more secure vocally. Although when people say they can hear little bits of Callas in my voice, I take it as a compliment. Yes, oh yes please! Thank you very much!

There were times though, when I almost panicked onstage. The time I lost my place in a christmas concert, because of the fact I was thrown off guard. The concert had started early and I wasn’t told. I’d planned my day but then received a voice mail, saying I was late to the rehearsal and could have missed it. That made me very unsettled. When you’re unsettled before a performance, it has the potential for disaster. Sure enough, there was one. I arrived at the second verse, only for my mind to go blank. My accompanist stopped. I stopped. what am I to do? Where do I go from here? I started to feel sick. Oh goodness! If these were paying audience members, the scathing remarks would be everywhere! The guardian reviews would be disastrous!! I must keep going! I told myself, compose yourself! Think! Keep going! I took the audience saying: I think we can do better. Let’s try again! Shall we? To my relief, they were quite affectionate and I received warm murmers of “Awww” and applause. I got through it, then rushed from the hall! All I wanted to do was run away from that disaster! That was terible! Awful! People were trying to speak to me, but I pushed past them! I couldn’t speak! I couldn’tbreathe properly! If I spokeeatears would burst from my eyes!! I had to leave! Running into the residential building, I opened my door. Walked in, then shoulder charged it closed! Enraged at myself, I began to cry! I sobbed uncontrollably! I couldn’t console myself, even with the fact I’d got through it. I’d still done it. I then walked into Rachel’s room next door. My brilliant accompanist. I sat next to her, then yelled: “I’ve ruined everything” I’ve let you down! I’ve let myself down! I’ve let my audience down!” I’m sorry! The tears were still flowing from my eyes! Not even a hug and a consoling voice from her, telling me I didn’t let anyone down, was calming me! For me, failure is not an option. The psychology of failure is far too much to bare! I have to achieve perfection in a performance and if I don’t, it’s like a psychological kicking to the ground! All those times working, for nothing! I struggle to take it. I’ve never been one for failure. Even though people tell me, you still did well. That makes no difference!

For me, I will be excited when Robert comes to see me singing again. When he records me at our home. When if I fail, he will be there to console me. The warmth of his hands around me, and warmth of his voice, telling me: Sammy, don’t beat yourself up. Sammy, stop. His pullover getting wet with the salty tears from my eyes. But the hug and strenth of his voice and comfort will help me. But if I become professional, I’ll definitely ask him to be my manager. I’m pretty sure he will get rid of nasty press. Shielding me from their scathing glair. Shielding me from their stabbing remarks. From the scandle that may hit the headlines from the past they would dig up! And there is plenty. I will admit. The stress will be there yes. Yes, I will have to protect myself neurologically and psychologically, but I can do it. With the help of friends, my partner and family, I could do it if it was to be that I become professional. With the support of my vocal teacher, who I have already asked to keep me when she retires. I need her knowledge. I need her calmness before performances. I need her guidance. I do have confidence, but it’s slowly coming back. There is a strong person there, waiting to emerge into the spotlights of L’ascala, of the met, of Covent Garden. If only! Maybe? Just maybe I might one day sing there? Who knows. Possibly? I had the dream years ago, which is still there. Who knows.