Owning The Stage

One of the best chapters in Livingston Taylor's book Stage Performance cleverly entitled "All things in good time" and of course it's all about the importance of rhythm in a musical performance situation.

As a guy who sings a lot of a cappella music and hangs around with that crowd, I will say that I wish we gave rhythm even half as much attention as tuning and vowels.  I mean, an out of tune chord is not a nice thing to inflict upon the audience, but if we short-change our attention to rhythmical matters, I think we're missing out on a lot of opportunities.

"Liv" is of course an instrumental musician, and the folks who play instruments have got rhythm deeply embedded in their culture.  Singers have tuning jokes (e.g. "he couldn't find 'do' in a bakery") but musicians have drummer jokes: "How can you tell if a drummer is knocking in your door?  It speeds up."  And you can always tell what people care about by their jokes.

Rhythm has a special place in human psychology and neurology.  Beating on drums is perhaps the most ancient form of music, and maybe we got wired up to appreciate it because of all the rhythm in our daily lives: the rhythm of working, walking, heartbeats.  I could theorize all day but the fact is that rhythm has a hypnotic quality to us.  Three beats of even rhythm, and the brain tends to extrapolate it to infinity - the constancy is so comforting and pleasing to us.

On the other hand, to screw up rhythm is to put a whole audience on edge.  Remember, they are in your world, and giving themselves over to the created reality of your performance.  When you drop a beat, I bet some percentage of the listeners get arrhythmia.  It's very disconcerting.

Rushing is in some ways even worse.  When a group is rushing the beat, it feels like anxiety.  "I can't wait to finish this thing and get out of here!"  This problem comes up a lot with a cappella groups, who after all have no drummer to keep them honest.

And even though brains are wired up to detect the slightest deviation in external rhythm, it seems that brains are very poor at producing it.  If you are a singer, try singing a familiar rhythm song along with a metronome - you'll be amazed how that darned thing speeds up and slows down all the time!  Your brain's sense of rhythm seems very fluid.

The way to get around that is to allow physical involvement.  Your body has mass, so as it moves it tends to keep time.  Same principle as a pendulum.  I am a huge fan of Take Six, and I used to think they were just wired up differently from the rest of us because their "groove" is so amazing.  Then I saw them live and realized why - they move!  Then snap, they clap, they jive, they tap their thighs - whatever "moves them" and fits with the music.  No wonder they have such great rhythm!  Fortunately, it's something we can all copy if we care enough.  And I'm saying we should.

Another trick to keeping great time is to move your internal rhythm around a bit.  If your toe tapping fatigues your foot, move it to your hand.  If your hand tires out, start to step to the beat.  Credit Liv Taylor for this suggestion.

Another tip, also paraphrasing Liv Taylor, is to put your attention on the space between the beats, rather than the beats themselves.  There's a precise moment in time when the next beat should occur, and until then you can just rest!  The audience will rest with you, and it drives them wild.

Yet another in this smorgasbord of rhythm tips.  Understand the subdivision of the beat.  Is it divided in two, like a rock tune or a march, or is it divided into triplets like a swing tune?  Be aware of that subdivision, feel it in your body, and it will give the music a strong, solid feel, and it will also keep you honest on the beat.

Finally, pay special attention to counting on those dangerous long notes.  Most people stop counting 1-2-3-4 when they have a half note or a whole note.  Consequently I almost never hear a long note held for its full duration.

A cappella singers - I challenge you to spend just a quarter of your rehearsal time on rhythm for a while.  It will serve you well!

You must admit, there's nothing more important to a stage performance than the audience.  As the old joke goes, "thanks for coming folks - it wouldn't be much fun without you!"  Better yet, "it's great to be here everyone!  I just hope we get finished before you do!"

The first thing to accept about the audience is that they didn't have to come and see you.  They had other choices - they could have gone to a different show, or gone bowling, or just stayed at home and read a book.  And by coming to the show, if you're an amateur they are paying for your hobby - if you're a professional, they are paying your rent!  So first and foremost, they deserve your gratitude.  They have given up their money and their precious time, as well as their attention and energy.  Thank them from the bottom of your heart, every way you can.

Besides thanking them, you owe it to them to put on the best show you can manage.  So show up well prepared, and pour your heart and soul into it.  Don't hold back to protect your ego - if you do that, you've failed before you even started.  Nobody on either side of the deal gains anything from a half-hearted effort.

Remember that generally speaking, they don't care if you make a mistake.  If you forget some lyrics or hit a few wrong notes, forgive yourself instantly and get your attention back on the audience.  If it was a big enough mistake that they noticed, let them know you're forgiving yourself - let them in on the joke with a wink.  It's an opportunity to let them know you are human, and that you're a big enough person not to beat yourself up.  Allowing yourself to be fallible also makes you more likable.  So don't sweat it.

During the performance, remember that what the audience wants more than anything else is to be let into your world, and to be lavished with your attention for a little while.  They want a sense of connection with you.  They want you to take them to a safe place where they can crack the hard shell off their heart for a while and really feel something - the thrill of excitement, the glow of finding love, and the anguish of losing it.

After the performance, thank them again.  Bask in their applause, and accept it with humility.  Smile at people.  Shake hands.  Sign autographs.

That's the important stuff.  Fame and fortune and all that is good in the world of performance flow from that simple truth.

If you want to experiment a bit with performance energy, here's something to try.  (Please note: I'm a scientist, and I realize there may be no such thing as performance energy in the same way as there is kinetic energy or electromagnetic energy.  Think of it as spiritual energy if you're comfortable with that, or think of it as a metaphor.  Whatever you like.)

1. Walk on stage
2. Stop and face the audience
3. Be still

You don't have to freeze like a statue - just find a comfortable place on the stage and stop moving around.  But the stillness will give you some time to play.  Be open to the energy that the audience is sending you, and feel the effect of that energy on your body as you absorb it.  Do what comes naturally to you at this point - thank them for the energy!  Reflect it back to them.

Try feeling which parts of the audience are sending more energy than others.  Is there a strong, steady stream from the front rows, and only a trickle from the balcony?  Try reflecting more energy into the areas that need a bit of encouragement.

The stillness has more than one purpose.  Another thing it does is let the audience soak up your appearance and all your non-verbal communication, and get comfortable with who you are.  They can't release themselves to your singing or your music until they are comfortable.  They will also mirror what they perceive to be your inner state, and your stillness makes you seem confident and full of focused energy.  If you do stillness right, it asserts your right to be on stage in a way that is hard to deny.

As Livingston Taylor put it in Stage Performance,

"More than anything else, stillness is essential to establishing control.  Stillness is the straight line, the horizon from which all the angles and curves of a performance flow."

Once you're aware of the audience's energy, start paying attention to your own.  As a performer on stage, you're like the filament in a lighthouse bulb - everything you're doing is focused and magnified as it gets witnessed by the hundreds or thousands of people who are giving you their attention.  It's amazing how much energy you have to throw around.

I recall one time when Realtime was singing at the civic auditorium in Dortmund, Germany.  It's an amazing space, and it seats about 2,500 people in a small space by packing them vertically into four levels - one orchestra level and three balconies (if I remember correctly).  So the whole audience is much closer to the stage than in a typical theater.  On this occasion it was packed with some youthful and enthusiastic singing fans, and the energy was pretty amazing.  The applause would feed on itself, and go on for what seemed like forever!

On the spur of the moment, I decided to move some energy around.  I shifted my attention to one side of the venue, and they cheered louder.  Then the other side.  It turned into a bit of a competition, and an unforgettable stage experience for me.  That's one example what performance energy can be like.

Perhaps more important though is witnessing and learning to control the ebb and flow of performance energy during a piece, instead of between pieces.  That's where the real meat of a performance exists, at least if your material is any good!  And because during the piece the audience will give themselves over to that reality, they are also giving up control to you.  Treat them well!  You have more power than you may realize.

When I wrote my review of the classic performance book The Inner Game of Music, I knew that a lot of people wouldn't like it.  It wasn't the most glowing review, to be sure, and the book itself has a lot of ardent fans around the world of musical performance.  One such ardent fan is Liz Garnett, a friend of mine from the UK who publishes her own performance related blog, focusing mostly on harmony singing.  (Liz is also listed in the OTS Coach Directory)  So in light of her comments, I'd like to clarify some of mine!  Hopefully the back-and-forth will be useful for everyone.

I'll quote a few paragraphs from her article, and respond.  First we talk about Self 1 and Self 2:

[Tom's] first point of contention is the division between Self 1, the nasty inner critic, and Self 2, the honest musician who would do a much better job if Self 1 would only shut up and let them get on with it. Tom finds this device unhelpful, and thinks a more holistic, rather than ‘schizophrenic’ approach will be better for performers. But I think that’s actually the Inner Game’s point: the Self1/Self2 idea is presented as a way to describe an essentially dysfunctional state that the book aims to help us leave behind. Describing the split is necessary if people are to diagnose that they have the problem.

The first thing to realize is that we're discussing models and metaphors here, not hard facts.  Of course there is no Self 1 and no Self 2 - they are inventions of Tim Gallwey, which he defines as everything that works for you, and everything that doesn't.  Everyone has things that work for them and things that do not!  It doesn't take a stroke of brilliance to realize that we want to get rid of the latter.

Having said that, a metaphor has value if it works, and this one has worked for a lot of people.  There are many paths to the promised land!  I just don't find the Self 1/Self 2 breakdown a particularly useful model for me.

Next topic is what should the performer hold in their head.  Inner Game of Music author Green says it doesn't much matter - anything to distract you from your negative self-talk and head games.  And to some extent I think that's fine.  I think it would be better to have something up there that pertains to the purpose of the piece, which I have called the "scene."  Liz takes exception to that term:

The focus on the ‘scene’ betrays a very character-based, verbally-defined performance context. Plays have explicit scenes, songs evoke scenes: the performer has a concrete persona to inhabit in these artworlds. But instrumental performers (who are the ones who might be focusing on their instrument) often have a much more intangible set of musical ideas to communicate to their audience. The soloist who is going to build the long, highly structured stretches of musical time in a Brahms sonata into coherent experience needs focal points that will take them into that abstract imaginative world. It’s not ‘navel-gazing’, it’s an important mental skill for that artistic world, just as the ability to focus creating scenes is an important skill for the singer.

Again, if focusing on your instrument works for you, have at it!

I'm a singer, and hardly an instrumental performer at all (not since high school!), but even so I suspect that the very best instrumental performers have something going on in their heads that is more explicitly about the artistry, and less about simply distracting their Self 1.  If the goal is just to rid yourself of stage anxiety, and that's a worthwhile goal for sure, do what you need to do.  If you want to reach higher, it's not going to happen by itself!  It takes focus on the emotional content of the music.  At least, that's my two cents.

I suggested also that "relaxed concentration" may not be the ideal emotional state for all performances.  Liz kind of disagrees with that, and refers to a book called "Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience" that I have not read.  So I've ordered it!  I'll read it before I comment on it.  Looking forward to that one.

Finally, in my original article I didn't comment much on the trio of Awareness, Will and Trust, and that's basically because, let's be honest, I just didn't get it.  Liz feels it's very important, and I suspect she is right - I hope she will consent to write a blog article about it that helps me understand it better!

Thanks, Liz, for the lively discussion!

Most often the life of a novice performer is all about learning the ropes - getting comfortable with the culture and expectations around their chosen mode of performance, and acquiring and mastering the technical skills that are necessary to do what they do.  Singers learn how to breathe, actors learn how to memorize lines and project, dancers learn how to balance, and so forth.  That's all necessary stuff, and fine as far as it goes.

I was unfamiliar with Livingston Taylor's work as an artist, but he wrote a book called "Stage Performance" which, considering the focus of this here blog, was irresistible to me.  I'm glad I picked it up because it's a wonderful book about how to be a performing musician, and that makes it directly relevant to all my singer and musician buddies.  I mean, the acting stuff is highly relevant to them as well but it's not so easy to connect the dots sometimes!

Besides being a prolific musician and performer, Mr. Taylor is a professor at Berklee College of Music where he teaches a class on stage performance.  The class inspired the book.

The book is the inspiration for quite a few upcoming articles here on Owning The Stage.  Lots of great concepts in there, that I can't wait to test in my own coaching and in my own performing!

I've added "Stage Performance" to the resources page, which lists most of the books I've read on the topic of performance.  You can check out Liv Taylor on his web site, or like everything else these days on youtube.

What's the difference between an actor and a musician?  Most people who can play an instrument beautifully refuse to call themselves musicians, and most people who call themselves actors don't act!  Fascinating!

Besides that tongue-in-cheek comparison, I have realized a few more differences.  Perhaps they are common sense, and I'm just easily amused... you be the judge.

Actors are doing a good job when their focus of attention is on the scene, and not the audience.  The audience at a play fully expects to be ignored, unless there is a Shakespearean "aside," and that doesn't happen very often.  For an actor to play to the audience is a disaster - the art is destroyed for the sake of exhibition.

Musicians on the other hand are usually better off to pay attention to the audience.  People like it when they are played-to, or sung-to.  A concert is something "real" - nobody is asking you to pretend you're not sitting in a theater.  There is probably no elaborate set, to suggest an alternate location.  To stand on stage and sing and ignore the audience is an invitation for people to get up and leave, physically or mentally.  So it's a completely different game.

However, rules are made to be broken!  I love to experiment with musical performance that incorporates a bit of the theatrical mode, to introduce some variety.  Often Realtime will put up the "fourth wall" between ourselves and the audience, and focus our attention to the stage as we pretend to be a band, or even a singing group on a corner, singing for our own pleasure.  As long as the ignoring doesn't go on too long, people get it, and they can enjoy watching us interact with each other instead of communicating straight to them.  After all, this is the TV generation - we have a lot of practice being passive observers, voyeurs of entertainment.

Actors in musicals do something similar in musicals, when the "scene" is put on hold while the people on stage sing to the audience.  And audiences don't seem to have trouble with that.  When the song ends, the actors go back to focusing on and interacting with each other.

When Realtime is working on a piece and planning the performance, the ones that require the least work are the ones where we're being ourselves, singing about singing!  Tunes like "Come On Get Happy" don't need a lot of creative, out-of-the-box development!   You can see why:

Hello World hear the song that we're singing
Come on get happy
A whole lotta lovin' is what we'll be bringing
Come on get happy
We had a dream to go travlin' together
We spread a little love and then we keep movin' on
But somethin' always happens whenever we're together
We get a happy feelin' just a singin' a song

Not a lot of creativity required there.

Where it gets complicated is when we take on a new persona as part of the performance.  With "Birth Of The Blues" we start off as ourselves in the introduction ("I asked my Daddy but he said he didn't know..."), then we become nightclub singers at the chorus, in a "rat pack" kind of style ("They heard the breeze through the trees..."), and then when David Wright's arrangement really goes crazy, we turn into the band, only to return to being ourselves at the end, having come full-circle.

Playing with that focus of attention dynamic is a lot of fun.  You should try it!