Lessons from a Failed Performance
12 hours ago, I performed poorly on stage, and I’ve been in evaluation mode ever since. As a teacher, I obviously believe that everything has a lesson or two in it, so here’s what I learned from my last performance.
1. Set yourself up for success by allowing your full focus to be on performing.
Yesterday, I clearly took on too much. The event was a concert for my students, and I managed the set up process, was the event Emcee, and was an assistant for the pianist. I even played the piano for a song, entertained the crowd, managed the sound system for part of it, and was the liason to the event venue. Handling all of those important pieces of support for my students were wildly more important to me than prioritizing my own singing performance. As a result, very little of my energy was focused on my own performing. And, as I was reminded on that day, performing truly takes a backseat to nothing and no one else. If you don’t give it your full attention, it will not work. So, the lesson I learned here is that if you are going to perform, find others to manage anything that exists outside of your performance that day. And, if performing is not your priority, don’t try to make it an add-on. It revolts. You have to be fully present.
2. Understand the difference between knowing the mechanics of singing and being in “performance shape.”
While I have a very deep understanding of how to sing, analyze music, and perform, I personally only perform once every couple of years. I’ve chosen other priorities in my life, but when there’s something fun to sing at, I sometimes forget that knowing how to do something and having the muscle stamina to do it are two very different things. I talk a lot about this with students as they first learn — to be aware of the gap between the mental learning curve and the physical strength/stamina building curve — but I didn’t acknowledge the fact that any performer will lose strength and stamina when they aren’t using those muscles regularly. So, the lesson here: everyone (including teachers who want to perform occasionally) need to regularly practice (2xs per week)…and regularly practice in actual performance situations (as the management of adrenaline and anxiety has to also be consistently practiced in order to stay in “performance shape”).
3. Know your triggers and your blindspots. And, then be reasonable with yourself.
Speaking of anxiety, I now understand the importance of not underestimating it. And, the importance of knowing and attending to your own emotional triggers. So, for example, I know I get crazy nervous singing in front of my students. As someone who insists on doing things that scare her, I’m proud of myself for risking doing it, but I’m not impressed with myself with the unreasonable way in which I managed it. For example, I probably did not have to sing a very difficult, two-octave song in a high-anxiety situation. An easy, one-octave song would have done a better job of allowing me to focus on the goal of facing a fear. But, sometimes our blindspots get in the way of us finding reasonable approaches. For example, my blindspot is my hubris — I believe that I can and should be able to handle everything that I want to handle (see #1). I almost never think that anything is too much for me. But, now, because I’m more aware of that blindspot, I can add in a process to make sure that what I’m asking of myself is actually a reasonable request. Lesson here: It’s usually easier to see other’s blindspots than our own, so have a person or two who can be a source of centered feedback for you, so you can review performance plans with them prior.
Public vulnerability sucks, but, as performers, it’s something we have to learn to deal with in healthy ways. It’s clearly a lifelong process — I’ve been in the performing arts field for over 30 years, and this performance shows me that I’m still learning how to manage it. I think being both honest with yourself and forgiving of yourself is important. While obviously I wish my performance was fantastic and that rose petals fell unexplainedly from the skies while the crowd rose to its feet, I think having a visceral experience of a failed performance will make me a better teacher. It’s easy to forget what performing can be like when you don’t do it often, so I’m grateful to have been able to gain and share these insights. I hope they are helpful, and I hope I remember them next time!
Oh, and if you are wondering how my students did — they were fantastic, and I was tremendously happy for each of them. The day is a true success in my mind. Bonus lesson here: Not everything has to be perfect to be great :)
