Having just heard a group of conservatory student jury examinations, in which a 5-minute performance presents a make-or-break situation, I’m thinking of The Moment, that situation in which something important hangs on one’s performance right here, right now, right at this very moment.
Folks in the performing arts are only too familiar with The Moment: it’s every performance we give, every audition we take. But let’s face facts here: the stakes aren’t all that high for performers. The worst that can happen is that we receive tepid (or no) applause, a nasty review, or if we fail a series of moments, then we might need to rethink our career options. Nothing much but our own egos are on the line.
The Moment isn’t restricted to the performing arts; it’s a critical component of many professions. Surgeons rank very high on the list for needing to be ready for the arrival of that all-important moment. The incision, the stitch, the shunt or bypass. A fine surgeon must be in the groove at a level almost unthinkable to your average musician, dancer, or actor. There is a life at stake here.
Other examples include the battlefield commander ordering troops into (or out of) engagement, the trial lawyer summing up either a defense or prosecution to a still-unsure jury, and the the bomb specialist cutting that one wire. Those are critical moments indeed.
That said, everything is relative and, to the student in the throes of a five-minute jury exam, The Moment is most indubitably real and compelling. It has to be good, right now, and with no burps, skitters, or false starts. Right now.
There is no sure-fire method for surviving The Moment, but something comes dang close. That something is preparation. If there is one single distinction I can make between the dilettante (which includes many students) and the successful professional, it’s preparation. The professional attitude is one of exceptional, thorough, deep, broad, and intensive preparation. A student who shows up for a jury with the music so well prepared as to be seamlessly memorized, with every jot and tittle in place, is a student who is invested in the notion of pure professionalism. That student’s opposite, the kid who bombs with a hastily or barely-prepared performance filled with booboos, bugaboos, and bugbears, is rapidly headed for nowhere. It’s so very simple, and yet so very hard for some students. But I did prepare, really I did, they bleat. Precise questioning inevitably reveals sloppy, incomplete, or inattentive preparation.
Unexpected shortcomings can occur in performance. If you are the only person in the room who is aware of them, then your preparation was very likely sufficient. If your peers and professional supervisors are aware of the problems, then the integrity of your preparation is suspect. If everybody knows that something has gone wrong, then you’re just not prepared.
A wise old bird of a piano teacher spoke briefly and succintly about performance anxiety. She said: it comes down to two things. Either you don’t know your music well enough (or think you don’t), or you’re thinking mostly about yourself instead of the music.
There is a story of a famous modern cellist who, as a child, was obliged by his father to keep working on the same few measures in a piece of music for weeks, if necessary, until it was perfectly learned. We’re talking about hours and hours and hours a day here. For weeks. For a few measures. For all his music. But he knew his music practically down to the DNA level, and that insistence on absolute preparation left him with a mindset that would brook no carelessness. Combine that with astounding talent and you’ve got a world-beating cellist.
Preparation: intensive, broad, deep, wide, detailed, fussy, all-encompassing. It’s the way to get through The Moment.