Construcción simbólica y culturas juveniles

‘Melanie’ strode to the stage with a beaming smile and confident gait. She took the microphone from the stand and turned to the members of her band ‘ready? One, two three, four…’

Melanie’s was the last recital performance of the day. I had looked forward to hearing her rendition of ‘My Funny Valentine’ and then heading home after a long day of critiquing student performances. I looked up from the scores and program notes before me and smiled expectantly, waiting for her to begin. I

157

waited…and waited. There were a few coughs from the small audience assembled. The drummer whispered something to Melanie I didn’t catch. The other band members stood on the stage looking at their feet. Melanie looked down, then up, first to the guitarist on her left and then out to the audience. She looked terrified, eyes bulging and with a fixed downturned frown.

The drummer whispered to Melanie again and this time he intoned ‘one, two, three, four’ and the band started the soft but recognisable shuffle of the piece. Melanie missed the first entrance but the band kept on. The second time around she came in but with a muted and cracked voice ‘My funny valentine, sweet funny valentine’. Melanie still had a stunned and frozen expression as she started straight ahead into the audience. It was like she was not there, up on stage, singing. Words were coming out but only as rasped whispers. My heart went out to her.

The guitarist took his solo and the band prepared for another verse. As she was just about to launch in, Melanie clutched her stomach, shrieked and started running off stage. One of the panellists leapt to his feet and grabbed the empty bin at the foot of the stage and managed to get it to Melanie just as she began to throw up. The teacher put his arm around for her support and helped her out the door to the fresh air.

Later, after Melanie had recovered somewhat, we had a word with her. Although we both knew she was prone to ‘nerves’, as were many students, we had no idea that she suffered from chronic performance anxiety. She told us that the condition had become worse as the course had gone on and that she was currently seeking medical advice for anxiety. Melanie was particularly worried that her inability to complete the recital would mean that she would fail the subject. I assured her that now we knew there was a problem we could all work something out together.

There’s a great deal of talk about ‘nerves’ and the role they play in music performance. It’s often said that nerves are a way of knowing you care about your performance and of raising energy levels. This is often used as a way of mitigating the physical state that manifests for many performers. However when

158

the performer is unable to perform at all, to show their skills and talent, then it is clearly more than ‘just nerves’.

Melanie’s performance anxiety had obviously reached extreme lengths but when I reflect over the many years of assessing and attending student performances it’s clear a great number of students suffered from varying degrees of performance anxiety. How many times had the assessment panel commented that a particular student had not performed the piece as well as they had in rehearsal or in the lesson? How many students looked clearly uncomfortable or even out of place on stage? How many students clearly hated having to get up on stage and perform?

And yet performing in public is, and always has been, a cornerstone of music courses, including ours. Included in the criteria for assessment is the phrase ‘perform repertoire with confidence’. It’s almost as though preparation and knowledge of the piece might be the only aspects that contribute to the ability of a performer to ‘perform repertoire with confidence’. I think we have always assumed that students can be nervous but just have to learn to deal with it. It may be that some of us thought that ‘confidence’ was a natural skill that some possessed and others did not. Instrumental teachers try to assist students with performance anxiety, through various methods and with varying levels of success. However, the curriculum and pedagogy do not often specifically address performance anxiety.

Perhaps this is the way it had always been. I certainly don’t remember receiving any instruction of advice as a performer in the various choirs I participated in as a boy – even though I can remember feeling so nervous I thought I was going to wet myself! I can clearly remember my final VCE performance exam and shaking so badly I could hardly hold the bow let alone manoeuvre it confidently over the strings. I was so nervous at one of my gigs that I forgot to plug my guitar in and strummed silently as the band went on without me. And so it always was, but should it always be, this way? And if not, how we would we go about ‘teaching’ about performance anxiety and the approaches to manage it?

159