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Talismans and Tokens: Rituals of Performance

Performance itself is a ritual – it happens in a special place, at a special time, for which the performer wears special clothing to distinguish him or herself from the audience, and the audience observes particular customs during the entirety of the performance. These rituals of performance are familiar to all who perform, no matter what the genre of music, whether at Sydney Opera House, Hollywood Bowl or a local music society, and are crucial in helping performers and audience enter the right frame of mind to engage with the performance and the music.

Individual performers also have personal rituals associated with performance which are used to help allay performance anxiety and act as “good luck charms” to enable the performance to go well. From lucky jewellery or shoes to a red handkerchief casually tucked inside the piano, these talismans can be highly significant. Most of us know deep down that these items hold no real power, that superstitions such as wearing a particular necklace or shirt cannot really influence the performance and that a concert is more likely to go well if we are properly prepared for it. Yet we invest meaning in these tokens, believing them to have special powers, and take comfort from having them with us. Such rituals are common to sports people as well: tennis player Serena Williams always wears the same pair of socks for the duration of a tournament.

It’s easy to scoff at such superstitious behaviour, but research has shown that these behaviours do actually have a beneficial effect on performance by increasing confidence, self-belief, setting higher goals for oneself, and self-efficacy (belief in one’s ability to do well at the task in hand). However, it can be risky to invest too much in lucky charms or special rituals to the extent that one develops an obsessive dependence on them and may feel anxious and lacking in confidence without them.

On a more practical level, most musicians employ pre-performance rituals ahead of a concert which help them focus mentally and keep them grounded, especially if travelling a lot, which can disrupt one’s regular routine. Here is pianist Alexandra Dariescu:

My ritual starts in the morning with a positive attitude. You never know what can go wrong on the day of a concert (flights canceled, trains running late, piano missing…) so an optimistic outlook is incredibly helpful. I like to practice slowly in the morning, on the score, looking at every detail and refreshing the memory. If there’s a rehearsal with an orchestra, I usually save energy for the evening performance. Lunch consists of fish, rice and lots of veggies. A nap is always welcome but if I can’t fall asleep, I lie down and breathe 3 in 7 out, a ritual I’ve had for years. I also visualize the hall, coming in and feeling free.

And Stephen Hough:

On the day of a concert, I have morning practice from about 10:30 to 1 PM. Then a substantial lunch, sushi is a favorite, and if a pudding is irresistible only a bite (or two). Then a walk, ideally somewhere where the spirit can soar, so a park, a museum, a surging cityscape. Then a nap, bedclothes thrown back, as if nighttime with the curtains firmly closed, phones unplugged, pillows fluffed, and unconsciousness for at least an hour. I set the alarm clock and at about two hours before the concert, I am out of bed. Then, with the kettle on, I travel with my own and the best tea bags I can find. I also usually just eat half a cookie to lift the mood a little. I Shower at full throttle–it takes the same time to brew a cup of tea as it does to wash your hair. I sip my mug of strong tea as I check emails. Then, dressed, I head over to the hall. I like to arrive about an hour before I’m due onstage. I like gentle, calm backstage practicing, most often on pieces other than the ones I’m playing that night. Then into concert clothes about ten minutes before going out from the wings.

(from The Musician’s Lounge, official blog of Utah Symphony)

While most musicians admit there is no “magic formula” to guarantee a successful performance every time, a consistent pre-performance ritual, combined with thorough preparation in practice, will ensure a concert goes smoothly. Certain pre-performance rituals are common to all musicians, whatever their genre, including resting ahead of the concert to keep mind and body relaxed. Any disruption to these rituals can leave one feeling disoriented and it is important for concert organizers, venue managers, colleagues, and friends and family to appreciate the rituals and not interfere with them. Of course some aspects cannot be controlled, such as delayed travel, the weather (too hot/too cold), or illness, but once again good preparation enables one to cope with these exigencies and not allow them to derail a performance

In the final minutes before going on stage, many musicians use visualization techniques – imagining themselves walking across the stage to take their place at the piano or in front of the orchestra and hearing the first notes of the first piece in their “mind’s ear” before they begin to play. Recalling a past successful performance, and the positive feelings associated with it, is also a useful ritual and one which pianist Polish Piotr Anderszewski employs.

…there are the occasions when none of the above is possible. And, strangely, those are often the best concerts. Ah, the frustration and joy of the glorious unpredictability of being human!

Stephen Hough

 

 

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Who or what inspired you to take up composing, and pursue a career in music?

At the time, I really didn’t think about it much. My family are scientists and doctors who love music and played LPs in the house most of the time. So I grew up surrounded by music, but never imagining that it could be such a big part of my life. My curiosity led me to find a piano teacher, and eventually my parents saw I was serious and supported me to take lessons in piano and solfege. The curiosity grew and I was improvising soon after I could play. So, the desire to create has been there all along, and I was surrounded by a supportive family.

Who or what were the most significant influences on your musical life and career as a composer?

I consider my surroundings very important to what I do. I write music which I’d like to share with my family and people I feel close to. it’s more than a profession, it’s part of my personality, part of my life. The fact that I grew up around non-musicians makes me appreciate the natural, life-long relationship which can develop between people and music, when one might not necessarily be part of a musical family. Having said that, if it were not for the music I listened to as a child, I might not have been inspired to make this my life, so Bach, Schubert, Brahms, are very important, eternal inspirations, as well as all the performers who I’ve worked, particularly those I’ve known since my student days – Maxim Rysanov, Kristina Blaumane, Roman Mints.

What have been the greatest challenges/frustrations of your career so far?

One of the aspects of this profession, which I’m constantly having to learn about, is the way you pace yourself. I need to find a peaceful state of concentration in order to create, it takes some time to slowly shut the world off and begin to work. Once the music is written, there is the complete opposite – talking to musicians, explaining your work, communicating what you’ve been working on for months in a few minutes during the tight rehearsal time. It’s a complete gear shift, and each time it takes some effort to be in either gear.

What are the special challenges/pleasures of working on a commissioned piece?

There’s nothing like a deadline to help the creative process! The possibilities are so endless that having some guidelines, like instrumentation and duration, help some of the decision making. But I also really enjoy the research part of the project, so for example I chose to compile the text for my Immortal Shakespeare cantata. The research into the plays and choosing the right text which would fit the structure of the work took a considerable amount of time, which I enjoyed.

What are the special challenges/pleasures of working with particular musicians, singers, ensembles and orchestras?

For me, the best thing about working with musicians who you know and even more importantly, who have played your music, is that you don’t have to explain as much. There is only so much you can achieve with notation, one composer’s articulations (or lack of) might be interpreted differently to another. For example, much of my string music is played ‘on the string’ and to a musician who hasn’t played it before they might first read it and play off the string and not give it a second thought. Long phrases, nuances of dynamics, trusting the music to do what is there and not asserting too much on it- are all qualities which I value in musicians who I have worked with repeatedly.

Of which works are you most proud?

There is a story to each piece, and like many composers I feel there is a reason for each work and these works can take on almost human characteristics (like Mozart’s ‘Haydn’ quartets, for example, which he famously called his ‘children’). So, I wouldn’t wish to have favourites, but I know which were difficult to create and took longer than I had planned. My double piano concerto ‘Together Remember to Dance’ is one such work. Just when I thought I had finished the first draft, I had a total change of direction for this work and had to start all over again, with just months before the musicians were due to get the parts. Instead of sticking with my first idea, I jumped straight into a new direction and I was extremely happy I did that. I feel it’s a powerful and uplifting work, and that’s what I needed to write and the soloists – Arthur and Lucas Jussen completely inhabited this idea and communicated and performed the work perfectly.

How would you characterise your compositional language?

I would like for my compositions to communicate, to be accessible, but also make you think. Music with a mind and heart, I hope!

How do you work?

Slowly.

Who are your favourite musicians/composers?

This is, unsurprisingly, a long list which keeps growing and is often affected by who I’m working with or listening to at that moment. Certainly the composers I grew up listening to-  Bach, Schubert, later Ligeti, Britten and Messiaen… I get real pleasure from playing Rameau’s harpsichord works for myself (on the piano, though I’d love to one day have the space and chance to buy a harpsichord). Phrasing and timbre, nuance are performance aspects that my ear is always drawn to and there are just so many exceptional musicians. Some I have been lucky to work with, as I already mentioned, I’d add Janine Jansen and some very fine choirs too! Currently I’m enjoying (re-)listening to my recordings of Bill Evans, Andras Schiff, Nina Simone, Ibrahim Maalouf, Laura Marling…

As a musician, what is your definition of success?

Success for me is to have the freedom to create what you wish, and be able to make a living.

What do you consider to be the most important ideas and concepts to impart to aspiring musicians?

Even if it means having a small circle of devoted friends who you talk to about your music, try to communicate and share your passion. It’s a difficult profession, so we need support from people around us, and finding those ambassadors will absolutely make life easier. Also, be kind- in choosing this life we often develop high levels of self criticism. Try to be kind to yourself and to those around you, as perfection is not art.

What do you enjoy doing most?

There are two moments which I adore: the moment when I know how the piece I’m working on will be shaped and it’s just a matter of writing it down; and sitting on the train/plane before travelling to a premiere/concert. And there’s everything in between…

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Every situation can be perceived as complete happiness, I think in order to really savour that happiness you have to feel inner contentment and feel you are where you need to be. Then, even eating an apple on the sofa can be perfect happiness.

 

Born in the historic town of Plovdiv, Bulgaria to a music-loving family of doctors and scientists, Dobrinka Tabakova moved to London in 1991, where she has lived since. Here she studied at Alleyn’s School and the Royal Academy of Music Junior Department, specialising in composition, piano and conducting. Early on, the composer John Adams praised her music as being “extremely original and rare”. She attended summer courses at the renowned Centre Acanthes in France, as well as the Prague and Milan Conservatoire summer compositions courses, alongside her composition degree studies at the Guildhall School of Music & Drama (GSMD) in London. On graduating with distinction BMus and MMus at the GSMD, Dobrinka was appointed Composition Fellow there, where she continued her activities as President of the Contemporary Music Society. In 2007 she was awarded a doctorate in composition from King’s College London (KCL). Her composition teachers have included Simon Bainbridge, Diana Burrell, Robert Keeley and Andrew Schultz as well as masterclasses with John Adams, Louis Andriessen, Alexander Goehr, Marek Kopelent, Philippe Manoury, Alessandro Solbiati, Olav Anton Thommessen and Iannis Xenakis.

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Part of the generous line up of concerts at this year’s London Piano Festival, Pavel Kolesnikov’s afternoon recital was entitled From Grandeur to Intimacy and featured music by Couperin and Schumann.

At first sight one might struggle to find connections between these composers, but Kolesnikov successfully demonstrated that the common thread is an ability by both composers – refracted through the lens of Kolesnikov’s sensitive, committed playing – to create profound intimacy and emotional depth – so much so that it borders on grandeur.

Kolesnikov’s approach is understated, idiosyncratic, mature and elegant. Limiting physical gestures to an occasional hand lifted gracefully from the keyboard, his physical stillness allows one to fully appreciate the beauty and natural poetry of his soundworld – at times so delicate, so tender, that I felt close to tears.

Couperin’s Suite in G minor felt unexpectedly modern with its crunchy harmonies and colourful dissonances, highlighted by some lovely, carefully-placed “finger legato” and overholding of certain notes – a technique drawn from harpsichord playing, which, combined with judicious pedalling, brought a wonderful range of tonal nuances on a modern piano. The short dances which comprise the suite were graceful and introspective, often improvisatory in character, thanks to the pianist’s fresh take on these courtly miniatures, and Kolesnikov sustained an incredible, almost tangible build up of tension with his restrained, concentrated approach. This was carried into the opening of Schumann’s great Fantasie in C, Kolesnikov allowing only a fractional pause before commencing this piece. Now, in the impassioned opening measures of Robert Schumann’s musical love missive to his beloved Clara, the tension released for a moment to allow this personal outpouring of emotion to flow and swell. Here is love in all its aspects – from breathless excitement to heart-skipping joy or whispered tenderness and introspection. Intentionally improvisatory in its structure and approach, the three-movement format of the work was indicated but the transitions between the movements so subtly and elegantly handled that there was never any interruption to the narrative flow, and Kolesnikov capitalised on this to present a reading which was deeply romantic, rich in expression and emotional breadth, and also highly personal.

Not yet thirty (and he looks much younger), Pavel Kolesnikov plays with an impressive maturity and individuality of approach of a musician twice his age, something which strikes me every time I hear him. Do seek out his recordings (on Hyperion) or hear him in concert. Definitely a “great” in the making.

(Picture credit: Viktor Erik Emanuel / Kings Place)

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There’s a new “Watergate” scandal playing out in the elegant rarefied surroundings of London’s Coliseum, home of English National Opera. To be more exact, the scandal is happening on the steps of the opera house…. Opera-goers are being asked to empty their unsealed water bottles before entering the venue. This is to comply with a policy introduced by ENO after people smuggled colourless alcoholic spirits into the venue via innocuous-looking water bottles and proceeded to get noisy and rambunctious (or “drunk” in common parlance) during performances of ‘Bat Out of Hell’ earlier in the summer (this was not, I hasten to add, one of ENO’s more outré performances, but a production by another company leasing the Coli).

Judging by the Twitter storm in response to ENOs policy, you’d think they were strip-searching people on arrival. Words like “Nazi” were bandied about to describe the attitude of ENO management, and its staff were accused of being “aggressive” in their requests. The amount of middle-class indignation and virtue-signalling was something to behold, and was used as an excuse for more of that now rather tedious sport of “ENO-bashing”, beloved of some of the reviewing/opera-going fraternity. By Sunday morning, the non-story had reached The Daily Telegraph.

I was at the Coliseum on Friday evening, attending the first night of a new production of Strauss’s Salome (which itself created quite a Twitter storm – my review here). I arrived at 7pm and managed to smuggle my water bottle in, surreptitiously hidden under my dove-grey pashmina….

Actually, I made that last bit up. My water bottle (a refillable sports design) was in my handbag, and my pashmina was swathed around my neck as London was quite nippy that evening. I opened my handbag for the security check at the door and went to collect my ticket from the press desk. I wasn’t aware of any member of ENO staff behaving in an “aggressive” manner towards patrons – in fact, everyone was charming and it was lovely to be greeted so warmly by Teddy on the press desk, who admired my rather appropriate pink-tasselled necklace. The foyer and bars were abuzz with the usual first-night anticipatory conversations. Up in the dress circle bar, on learning that there was no interval, I purchased a glass of white wine, served in a plastic glass so that I could take it into the auditorium (more classical musical venues need to do this, please!). On the bar was a large urn of water, free to anyone who cared to take it – servez-vous!

My friend and blogging colleague Jon Jacob has already written intelligently about “watergate” on his own site (and very kindly quoted me), but I’d just like to add my own thoughts on this issue.

  1. ENO’s policy is clear, clearly advertised and actually fairly standard: most venues and establishments like ENO ask patrons not to consume food and drink which has not been purchased on the premises.
  2. Imagine if some punters had smuggled in vodka or gin in water bottles and then proceeded to get hog-whimperingly drunk during a performance of, say, La Traviata (I can just see those innocent-looking water bottles being lifted to thirsty lips during the Libiamo! chorus). Then imagine if those same people disturbed the sober, well-behaved opera-goers and spoilt it for them….. I can hear the Twitter storm brewing already….
  3. ENO’s policy is not, as some have suggested, a cynical attempt to extract money from punters via the bars inside: sure, you can buy an alcholic drink if you wish (and for Salome, ENO/s bar staff have concocted a special ‘Seven Veils’ gin-based cocktail. Yum!). But you can also obtain water easily, free of charge. So you can fill up your water bottle when you get inside and take it into the auditorium with you.
  4. Venues draw considerable income from F&Bs (Food and Beverage sales). That income goes some way to paying the salaries of bar staff and ushers and others.

Here is the inimitable Larry David, of Curb Your Enthusiasm fame, on the issue of water bottles at theatres and opera houses….. (some viewers may find this offensive).