I know this is because it's been a bit overused commercially, but more importantly because The Pathetique was one of the only things I actually managed to pull off remotely well in my infamous Senior Recital in music school.
I still don't know what came over me that day. I sat down for the first piece - Brahms' Ballades. I looked at my hands, to begin a piece I'd played a hundred times - and there was nothing. Blank. I stuttered, I stumbled, I played nonsense notes until something came to me, but the piece was lost for all intents and purposes. Another torturous 14-minutes on what had to have been a tortured Steinway... (tortured audience. tortured me)... and I was finally able to turn my attention to the Pathetique. And it was all rather pathetic, so... here's to time travel.. and bloody hindsight...
Ah...
That minute kept me off stages in any meaningful way for years after that. And firmly assured me that I would definitely not be pursuing the classical performance realm in graduate school.
There's a little chunk of my guts in cyberspace, eh? The performer with stage fright, spooked by a dead German composer.
But let's face it, who's NOT been spooked by a dead composer at some point or another?
All the tales of sturm und drang and fury... unrequieted love and recollections of bloody battles? Ghosts everywhere... I only ever wanted to play Beethoven and Brahms in school. Occasionally I'd lilt along through Chopin's romantic yearnings, or Debussy's brush strokes... Ives when I could find another set of hands. Couldn't bear much of Schumann or Liszt. Can't remember why...And none of this means anything, really, except that I was spooked by a dead composer years ago on a stage far, far away..
And he still haunts me.
Someone's humming in the kitchen, and I'm in California, on a piano bench wearing a flowered dress and new shoes. And they're waiting for me to play.
Posts
What about Rachmaninoff?
ReplyDeleteReminds me of when I learned to do chopsticks. I practiced and practiced till my fingers were sore and when, finally, the day arrived for me to show the results of all of that practice I froze, choked up, couldn't do it.
ReplyDeleteSo I did the only thing I could do under the circumstance,
I turned to the waitress and asked for a fork.
Hope the tour continues to be a good one.
Chessley
It’s our great fortune
ReplyDeleteThis LudBeet Specter,
Was tamed along the years
That now sweet tunes
Of ivory nectar
Fall graceful on the ears.
Perhaps this ghost,
Composed of fearing,
Returns to do no wrong,
That he, like most,
(Though hard of hearing),
Enjoys your haunting song.
T.J. Schwab
APR2010
__________________________
My spook ironically was during Coward's "Blithe Spirit" while waiting for the ghost of my dead wife to make her entrance - was never the same on stage after that one.
Perhaps it is inappropriate to opine within this thread that ones spectres will never go away once they infiltrate our souls, regardless of the "whens" or "whys" of their birth within our psyches. Inappropriate only in the sense that we who perform live need, want, beg assurance that the punishment our spectres inflict upon us will, at some point in life, die forever.
ReplyDeleteWe who find ourselves on varied public and private stages in life, however, before audiences large or small, whether immersed in the thousands of musical notes tattooed in our memories soon to be played, sung, or performed otherwise, or standing before an audience to deliver an impassioned speech or complicated PowerPoint proposal, know all too well the terror and gut-wrenchiing panic that kills courage in an instant.
In my own life before large audiences (which began in the 4th grade and continues to this day) I have known but a handful of folks who dispatched their own spectres to a parallel world never to be met again while performing. They are rare. The rest of us schlubs must own the strength and courage of St George to slay the dragons of doubt within us, owning enough internal magma that allows our sometimes-timid souls to move on against anything in our paths, including the dragons that would slay us or the spectres that would haunt us and convince us we would rather perish than continue.
At one point in my difficult, yet passionate, fight against my own demons, a "talkin' doctor" was importuned to come to my aid. I wasn't "cured"; but I was taught how to "live" with the demons and spectres and dragons that appear from time to time. And sometimes it seems that, the more we are on stage, the greater these things rattle the cage to be loosed to subdue the internal jailer within who owns the keys to the night's destiny.
The fight is always exhausting. In the final analysis, when the last note's echoes have ceased or the last syllable has been spoken, the reward is always wonderful. The knees will remain weak for hours; the heart rate slows only after a couple of pints of beer shared with friends who know what the demons and dragons can do. But they also know more than anyone other than oneself, the epochal battle that was successfully waged only moments ago. At least in my observation, the post-battle peace is what keeps us going back to the potential inferno and do it all again--week after week, night after night, year after year in spite of knowing that the caged spectres are omnipresent and ever-dangerous.
Before that night in Korea almost 20 years ago, I refused to do things on stage that I once loved to do. Giving a speech or a briefing was never a problem. But if I were asked to sing or dance alone, the demons loosed themselves long before I even gave my inner enjoyment of such things a chance to know the challenge of performing for folks who might really be interested in hearing me. In that time, there was a group of young folks, among whose names are Krista, TJ, John, and and a few older ones who helped re-cage the demons and keep them caged for the succeeding 20 years. They (the demons) often clambor to be released again; but as long as I can I will own them and not the other way around.
Krista, obviously I can't address myself to your demons. But few would know they are there because of the ease with which you bring your soul to your performances. It is always great to hear your voice. It is always nice to read your wonderfully descriptive posts. I don't comment often; but there is much philosophy in what you write and sing, and I do enjoy reading them. To Marsha and me, it is a good thing. We very much enjoy that the chasm between generations does not exist among us. We fondly remember a month or so many years ago when that chasm closed forever between young and old who busted their own ghosts and slew their own dragons of the moment so that great memories were made that will last forever--without ghosts.