Footwork…

I had my first gig in almost a year yesterday. It’s another milestone, but what’s really fun is that now it just seems like another step on the journey.

My latest Alexander Technique lesson was incredibly helpful. While I’ve been unable to work I’ve had all sorts of anxieties about what would happen next, what it was I should do, how I could strengthen my body to prevent further injury and how I would support myself financially. In a sense, an injury in the back can be seen as representing this need for support. During the lesson, my teacher John gave me an exercise which involves rotating my body with and against the direction of the bow stroke, feeling the rotation from my ankles. This gives not only a sense of continuous and flowing movement, it also gives a real sense of support from the feet. I found my tone and articulation improved immediately.

The other idea that has made a huge difference is that of the simple power of awareness. “Don’t try to concentrate,” he explained. “As soon as you have noticed that you’ve slipped into auto-pilot or tensed up, you’ve already done the work. You don’t need to go in heavy-handed and concentrate or relax. The secret is in the awareness; the quality of your attention.”

After years of worrying about my technique and talent, I suddenly had a new concept altogether. I realised that my mistakes are not a failure of technique or a lack of ability, they are purely a consequence of a dip in the quality of my attention. Developing that complete sense of absorbtion in what I am doing has been a revelation. I’m in love with my sound. Practising is a joy and I can’t help wondering what it would be like to experience that joy at every rehearsal and concert, every one-off gig. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the next time someone says, “So you play the violin for a job? That must be amazing!” if I could say, “Yes, it is. I’m very lucky.”

So I’m continuing to work on this quality of attention, and every time it slips I have to find my feet again; find that support. And each time it becomes easier.

The Practising in Flow website contains useful articles about this idea of being fully engaged in your playing. I found it takes courage; you have to believe that what you have to offer is valid; but the more I practice this awareness the better the results. We all have to start somewhere. It’s just a question of doing the footwork.

Keeping Your Nerve

Keeping Your Nerve - Confidence Boosting Strategies for Musicians and Performers

Kate Jones/Faber Music

This little book is an encouraging and promising guide to understanding and overcoming stage fright, written by ex-music student and now counsellor for musicians, Kate Jones. It’s just the right size to slip comfortingly into your instrument case to refer to as anxiety strikes and it contains helpful hints and anecdotes from well-known performers such as Joanna MacGregor, Elvis Costello and Steven Isserlis on their own methods of accepting and working with performance anxiety.

Unfortunately, in my experience, it’s one thing to know in principle how someone else deals with stage fright, it’s another thing entirely to find your own way to work with it. The point I found most interesting, which would obviously have required a much bigger book to cover in depth, was made by pianist Stephen Kovacevich for whom the key to getting over nerves was to develop a greater understanding of himself. He came to realise that at some point in his youth he had not felt entitled to his own feelings about performance – as a child his experience was that he would be judged for a less successful performance. Basically, he came to equate his performing achievements with how accepted he was as a person.

For students going through Music College at an age where their vulnerability and susceptibility to criticism is heightened, crippling anxiety can develop as technical prowess grows. There is little opportunity in pressured conservatoire environments for students to develop an idea of who they are or what the music means to them – it can easily become all about what the exam panel thinks, of what is the ‘correct’ way to play Bach, of how they are doing in relation to the ‘competition’.

This little book gives lots of good advice, but to those who have developed a deep rooted problem with anxiety it is missing the vital advice which could have easily followed on from Kovacevich’s story; that there are people who can help you rediscover why you perform and return the autonomy that pressured study environments have the potential to erase. If your nerves are founded on a fundamental lack of self belief, it is not particularly helpful to know that Steven Isserlis suffers and overcomes his stage fright. He is, after all, Steven Isserlis, and therefore ‘better’.

Another problem with the book is the great emphasis placed on knowing the music well. It stands to reason that you might be less nervous if you are actually prepared, but I have personally suffered some of my most damaging nerves when I am most prepared. It is necessary to learn not only to prepare, but to be truly present in the room while you play. A common effect of stage fright is the terrifying feeling of being cut off from what you are doing, as though you are playing through a veil or a glass pane. This is not helped by preparing the notes, but again by building the self belief that what you are offering is valid.

The practicalities of learning the music thoroughly are not covered either. There is no acknowledgement of the situation of the vast freelance population who are frequently only reading the music for the second time in the performance. Do they not get nervous? Again, it’s a matter of physical preparation, of being alert and fit enough to do the job, but a level of self-belief is intrinsic to playing in these conditions. It becomes common for people to have a drink to settle the nerves, or for physical tensions to shorten their careers.

This is a cheerful, positive book which I think would be a great help to those who are already fairly able to deal with their nerves and just want to know what causes nerves and how best to rationalise and work with the feelings. For those who really suffer from performance anxiety, a short appendix directing them to the British Association for Performing Arts Medicine would have been a valuable addition.

Keeping your nerve is all very well, but there is something you can do if you feel you have lost your nerve altogether.

Read and misread…

My article on musicians’ injury problems and the importance of teaching healthy practice is the cover story of the August 1st issue of Classical Music Magazine. There’s a nice review of the content in the editorial as well. Check it out for information on where to turn if you have a problem. I hope it’s helpful.

I’ve been trying to trick myself into practising the violin without tensing up. I’ve discovered that it’s oddly much easier to concentrate if I read a magazine while I play. It’s quite an effective use of time which enables me to read all the music magazines – thereby completing valuable journalistic research - and simultaneously practice without over-focussing. I’ve been playing scales whilst reading about Lang Lang’s difficult childhood and insane practice regime as glossed over in Classic FM Magazine and serenaded BBC Music’s report on the demise of the professional music critic with snippets of Bach. I wonder what I would play if I was reading the News of the World…

On a tenuously linked subject, I noticed this weekend how irritating it is to be misread. I am only recently single, and so possibly a little prone to be subdued in social situations. It doesn’t mean I appreciate personal remarks from people I’ve never met before. There seems to be a strange breed of guy who thinks it’s his business to analyse women in order to show that he’s a sensitive, intelligent person. It’s quite bizarre.

Picture the scene: A crowded bar, late at night; me, sitting with my friend in a corner minding my own business, missing my ex boyfriend and feeling a little tired. Mr Sincerity initiates a conversation:

‘So…’ he says, ’You don’t dance much and you just sit there looking demure. What else do you do?’

I don’t know how to answer this. Is it a pick up line, an attempt at being engaging or just plain rude?

He continues…

‘So which of these guys is your type?’ he says, waving his arm expansively towards the sweaty mass of Camden’s drinking classes. ‘Come on, I’ll find you a nice man. Which of them is your type?’

‘Er…none. I’m not interested.’

‘Do you like that guy there? Come on, you must have a type!’ he insists.

‘Errr…no. I’m not interested.’

Thoughtful pause…

‘Why? Oh! Are you a lesbian? Because I can find you one of those too. I’m good at picking them out.’

What a useful attribute. I’m so glad I met you.

‘No.’

A few minutes later…

‘So your ideal guy…How much energy would he have?’

‘Well, scientifically none. Absolutely none. He would be formed of no energy, he would not be energetic, because right now I am not interested!’

Confused pause…

‘Oh right. So are you one of these fiercely independent women or something? I bet you’re an Aquarius! Are you just really fiercely independent and happier being just you? Are you…?’

Fortunately I managed to restrain my wild desire for this charming guy. I turned back to my friend and finished my drink.

All by myself.

Don’t throw your hand…

Week three of the experiment.

More than ten months since my back injury forced me to stop playing.

John, my Alexander Technique teacher, has gone on holiday. It’s an extreme example of the antithesis of his craft. None of his body is in the place where it is most effective and useful.

Yes, I’m being unreasonable, but I was really enjoying the progress I had made. I really just want to be able to play, to the extent that on Wednesday I made the mistake of bashing through the first movement of the Mendelssohn concerto. Surprisingly, after nine months not playing anything and about ten years since I’ve played that particular piece, my left hand still knew it pretty well. Unfortunately, I’m struggling to even get the bow in a straight line. My right hand really does not know what my left hand is doing. I’m not much comforted by the fact that there’s a precedent for this phenomenon.

My shoulder hurts.

By the weekend I had got myself into such a state of nervous anxiety over my inability to relax my neck and allow my upper arm to move with the bow that I spent Friday night with my head poised over a bottle of beer. Interestingly,  the psychological and physical restrictions of my upper arm movement were easily solved with the cunning use of a straw.

Back to open strings then.

I have a feeling that I am still getting somewhere. I think the fact that I now feel like I can’t play anything is a sign that I’m beginning to lose some of my tendency to over-control, but it’s really frustrating and very tempting just to get depressed. A nastly little muscle tick kicks in every time I try to get to the lower half of the bow. It’s very difficult to let it go, because it’s more of a psychological reaction to pain I’ve had in the past than a manifestation of what’s going on now.

I’m reassured this is quite normal and only to be expected.

It doesn’t make it any easier.

Meanwhile, I’m cheered up by the fact my article, Injury Time, which is a report on orchestral musicians and injury, the work of the fantastic British Association for Performing Arts Medicine and the research on wellbeing from the Royal College of Music will be in the August 1st issue of Classical Music Magazine.

One thing I found whilst researching the article is that musicians often feel ashamed of injury problems – as though to have an injury is somehow an indication of lack of talent or stamina.

The most important thing I have learned since last September is that to have an injury is not an indication of failure; it is an opportunity to put things right, to discover the value of music, to discover strength, passion and patience.

So when is John back from holiday?

Not making it happen…

The penalties of playing the violin, according to the late, great Yehudi Menuhin, are the ‘frustrations and physical and mental deformities of so many violinists who have knocked their heads against a wall, who have demanded instead of entreated’. [Violin and Viola by Menuhin and Primrose].

‘Physical and mental deformities’…?

This doesn’t leave much room for artistic recovery. Is it not possible then once physical and psychological problems have set in to undo bad habits,  relinquish unhealthy techniques and rediscover a love for one’s instrument ?

Deformity is the wrong word. I like misalignment. Things haven’t become irreparably twisted; they’re just not connecting in the best way. The body hurts and convinces the brain that it’s not up to the job - pain leads to performance anxiety and depression and the body stiffens up even more.

After only two Alexander Technique lessons I’m convinced that the old adage about bad habits being the hardest to break is complete rubbish. It may be the case with, say, smoking – it’s a bad habit but it feels good - but bad muscular habits, bad technical habits, they’re really easy to break, quite simply because the natural, easy way of moving feels so much better. It just takes thought, awareness and patience. 

Practice this week has been a very calming experience. ‘You need to abandon your old ways of controlling,’ said John. ‘Trust that you will find a better way by allowing your body to move more easily. What happens if you don’t try?’

What happens if I don’t try?

This was particularly helpful because it’s a question. Give yourself the instruction, ‘Don’t try,’ and you become knotted up trying not to try. Ask yourself, ‘What happens if I don’t try?’ and it becomes a game during which you have time to listen for the results. My result was a surprisingly resonant tone of the sort I’ve been trying to find for years.

That’s the difference between activity and action I suppose. So much practice time is wasted in activity – meaningless, unmusical repetition rooted in a lack of trust.

Don’t make it happen, let it happen. It’s so much more fun.

Pipe Dreams and Practice Notes…

I’ve been very impressed with my progress since the first Alexander Technique lesson. In place of the wobbly board, I was given a length of building pipe to stand on while I practice. Having received some very odd looks travelling home on the North London Line with a violin and a large cylinder of plastic, I spent the first two days practice falling off the pipe.

After much perseverance and with a stubborn refusal to acknowledge that I was only reconnecting with my feet because they hurt so much from standing on (or abruptly leaving) the pipe, I managed to play my three-octave G major scale with only a few mishaps.

The next day I played the first eight bars of the Sarabanda from Bach’s D Minor Partita, and after 20 minutes I was a veritable acrobat: An acrobat with extremely tired ankles and very perplexed downstairs neighbours. My experiment with the Giga was not so effective. Landing on the floor with bump after non-legato bump, I couldn’t help considering that the exercise had at least done something to put my experience of bow-shake into perspective.

Today was day five of the pipe and I have achieved true mastery. I can now stand on the pipe, play sections of the D Minor Partita and concentrate my whole focus on all the niggling, negative little details I’m supposed to be overriding. I can stand there holding my breath, tensing my entire upper body and bracing my knees, and still make a go of playing the violin. Even David Blaine would be reckless to undertake such a challenge.

Perhaps I need to learn to let myself fall before I can start to believe in being grounded. Maybe it isn’t important that I stay on the pipe - maybe it’s more useful to discover where the floor is.

Or maybe I just need a bigger pipe.

Finding my Feet…

I picked up the violin again on Saturday. After six months with no desire to play, and during which time the closest I’d got was to occasionally dust the case, it hit me quite suddenly that I felt like playing again.

I had been wondering if or when it would happen. Nine months ago, a teacher I had gone to for a lesson asked me, ‘Do you have to play the violin?’ Not in the sense that a parent asks a child, ‘Must you do that?’ but meaning did I have to do it? Could I be quite happy doing something else?

At the time I didn’t know the answer. After 25 years playing and many injury problems my relationship with the instrument had become very negative. But I hated the negativity. I knew I must have played for a reason, I just couldn’t find that feeling.

Strangely, although my parents were never pushy, it took my mother to accept that I might not ever play again before I felt it was ok to give it a go. I suppose when you’ve done something since you were a small child it becomes part of your identity, and sometimes it needs the people close to you to accept you without that before you can explore it again.

Anyway, after four days practice I could already feel the old muscle inhibitions which had made life miserable before. I took the advice of a good friend and arranged to see violin and Alexander Technique teacher John Crawford. I have just been playing for an hour, standing on a wobbly board, finally free to breath, hear the sound and move without pain. For that hour I thought less about the pain in my shoulder than I have in five years, and it hurt less than it has in all that time. John explained to me that by focussing on small problem areas the body actually becomes more tense. I literally found my feet – thinking about being supported by the floor, being aware of my legs. I realised for the first time that when I move to put the bow on the string, years of negative beliefs cause me to physically flinch, pulling my shoulders in as though I’ve been punched in the stomach.

While it was a nice boost to the confidence to have my three-octave G major scale described as ‘very classy playing’, the real sense of achievement came from the sense of wellbeing and freedom to play. I’m finally going to have to put some rosin on the two inches of bow-hair nearest the heel!

Having experienced Alexander Technique lessons at Music College, where I spent 30 minutes trying to stand up and sit down correctly until I felt like I might faint, I was a bit sceptical, but John’s approach was so pertinent to the violin and the psychology of performing I felt the pieces literally sliding into place.

I think most of the time I try to do too much; to be good at everything. I’m never going to be able to apply the theory to every part of my life – my posture is terrible, I stand on one leg and sit like a question mark at the keyboard (although a question mark is often how I feel when I try to write) but if I can apply some of the methods to that one part of my life I will be happy.

My writing tutor used to look at my ideas and ask, ‘Does it have any legs?’ John looked at me while I played and asked, ‘Do you have any legs?’ The stereotypical image of creative types is that they’re floaty. I realise now that nothing can grow if it’s not attached to something.

Not so dear diary…

I was reading my diary yesterday, hoping, I suppose, to discover it was a literary gem; one entry after another of startlingly insightful witticism.

It’s not. In fact, it’s really very boring.

Several years ago, I discovered that writing was a useful tool for clearing my mind of irritations and anxiety – what The Artist’s Way calls morning pages, except I never wake up in time to make them such.  I’m no less irritable or anxious having realised this, I just have books full of all the things I used to rant at my mother about or send in those manipulative, bunny-boiling text messages to errant boyfriends. It’s all in the book. Sadly, it will never sail onto the bestseller lists, Bridget Jones-style, because, quite simply, it’s dull. Nobody wants to read an internal monologue. We’re all too busy trying to silence our own.

Subjects covered in my diary:

Myself

My feelings

My fear of failure

The failure of my relationships

Anger

Frustration

What’s wrong with men

How I’ve clearly done nothing to deserve this

Subjects missing from my diary which will clearly make it an international bestseller/ highly successful Hollywood film staring Keira Knightly as yours truly, opposite Johnny Depp, maybe in Pirate garb:

Johnny Depp

Exciting social occasions

Glamour

Shoes

Culture, drama and excitement culminating in the ultimate fabulously wealthy happiness of yours truly, following a whirlwind recognition of our hero’s quite unique talent

Rum

Steps to take to redress the balance, thereby creating the next autobiographical masterpiece:

Meet Johnny Depp

Develop an eating disorder

Spend final savings on shoes

Move to Caribbean

Drink more rum

Stop just writing down the crap bits

Have a more interesting life

Obvious result of hard work/drinking rum/hanging out with Johnny:

Become overnight sensation thereby no longer having time to write diary, which would be a great shame now life is such a social whirlwind. Employ autobiographer.

The wonderer returns…

It’s been ages.

Reinvention is hard work. It leaves little time or room for anything, it seems, and now I’ve emerged from my journalistic cocoon it’s a little like 28 Days Later…

Well… Ok… In the sense that Waterloo Bridge is still bustling with people, most of whom are not displaying signs of being actually un-dead, it’s nothing like 28 Day Later. You got me. What I meant is, everything seems to have landed on its head.

The weirdest thing about removing the shoehorn with which you’ve been forcing yourself into one career and trying something new is it really messes with your sense of identity. More curiously, it doesn’t half confuse everyone who knows you. “You went to study journalism? How awful! When will you start playing again?”

“I don’t know. I’m rather enjoying this right now.” Cue atmosphere of confusion and concern.

I suppose it must be difficult. People like labels. Violinist. Made in England. Use by October 2009. But it’s not like I’m vaporising; I’m just trying out something new.

It’s hard to know what to talk about at parties. “What’s your job?” “I don’t really know right now.” “How’s things with your boyfriend?” “Well, it all got a bit difficult and we’re not together any more.” “So, what will you do?” “I haven’t the first idea.” “Do you need another drink?” “Bloody hell and for the love of God, yes, before I die of boredom, anxiety and other diseases related to your general complete lack of imagination… I mean, please. I’ll have a gin. Make it a pint.”

So, recently single, newly qualified as an unemployed journalist, still receiving texts asking if I’m available for a gig next week when I’ve been unavailable for nine months, and rapidly running out of money, I think the only thing to do is laugh.

It’s one thing to change career. It’s another thing to do so just as the employment market collapses. I suppose at least I can be grateful that I’ve never had the cash to invest in property development. Then I’d really be in the clarts!

Indefinite Articles

It’s almost four months now since the dramatic collapse of my back during an orchestral rehearsal. I was beginning to enjoy my life as a lady of leisure, but now the panic is setting in. I’m about to embark on a post graduate course in journalism and as the start date approaches I can’t help wondering why I didn’t chose something easier.

I’ve recently been reading the autobiographical books of several writers, notably Jeffrey Bernard and Alan Bennett. Whilst I cannot imagine two more different personalities, they have one thing in common. Neither of them seems to enjoy writing. I think I’m beginning to understand why. All my good feelings about writing for a living stem from the last article I successfully finished and sold. Now I’m attempting to begin a new piece, this time with the added pressure of it being commissioned so I can’t duck out, I find myself wondering whether I’m making a terrible mistake. It seems every bit as difficult as playing the violin ever did. A bit like practising, I find I have to go over the same thing ad infinitum until it finally comes right, only to come back to it the next day and find it’s not finished at all. There’s always the same option as is open to the freelance musician- to fudge my way through missing out the difficult bits- but that doesn’t suit my perfectionist nature. The question I’m left pondering is this; does something always become hard when it starts to matter? Is it indeed true, as Jeffrey Bernard quotes Francis Bacon as saying, that the only way to get through life is to regard almost everything as being utterly unimportant? Having said that, I went to see the Bacon exhibition at the Tate just after Christmas and I’ve never seen such an unpleasant collection of paintings in my life, so perhaps not.

Anyway, on the bright side, my back is getting better, though I’m not so sure about my stomach. Apparently my tissues are not good quality. I’m not quite sure how this came about. Maybe my gut is failing to digest the fillet steaks, Pol Roger and Marks and Spencer beef wellington I feed it, which considering how much luxury I deprive myself of to look after the damn thing is remarkably inconsiderate. I’m constantly swallowing homeopathic remedies too. Though I’m not convinced they contain anything more than sugar and pixie farts they must be doing something or I wouldn’t be paying so much for them.

I’ve just come back from seeing my cranial osteopath. It’s an odd experience but it seems to work. She just holds on to my head for ages and I can feel my body willing itself to relax. She says the swimming’s helping, though I didn’t manage to go at all over Christmas, not through lack of inclination but because the swimming pool in Morpeth where I spent the holiday was damaged by flooding last year. I do so hope nobody got wet.

I’m starting Pilates next week too. I’ve found an instructor who’ll come to my house. I’m pretty happy about that. I always thought only people like Madonna could afford such luxury, but when you have no money it’s amazing what you can stretch to.

On that premise and with no ideas I should be on the verge of a fantastic article.