On Being a Fearless Musician

Someday I’d like to be a fearless musician.

I had that thought again recently watching a video singer-songwriter and friend Carey Farrell posted to her YouTube stream:

The coolest thing about this video (beyond the fact that it’s just a great song) is that it was made by a bunch of people who were never in the same room together. They recorded their parts, sent them to each other, recorded more parts, combined the sounds, and made a video. And then boom, they posted it. And they did all of this (including learning the song) in the space of a couple of days. Fearless. Fantastic. I want to be like that. (I think all of Carey’s YouTube videos are pretty fantastic. Check them out and check her out at www.careyfarrell.com. She’s pretty fearless about a lot of the things she does.)

I remember the first time I had the desire to be so fearless. Every high school summer, I attended the UW-Whitewater (Wisconsin) Piano Camp. It was something I looked forward to every year. I made friends that I still have to this day, and I learned a lot about myself as a person and as a musician. Now, I was a good high school pianist. I’d even say I was very good. But I was not one of those sorts who gave grandiose performances of Chopin’s “Fantaisie-Impromptu” or Rachmaninoff’s “Prelude in C# Minor”. Perhaps had I not been involved in so many other high school activities, I’d have had the time and energy to push myself to that level. Still, I played a lovely “Arabesque No. 1” (Debussy) and banged out some great Ginastera. But back in those days, I was far from fearless… and I often felt that I was some sort of failure because I wasn’t rocking the Rachmaninoff. 

The summer between my junior and senior years of high school, I met a girl at camp who was my age but who hadn’t been playing nearly as long as most of us at the camp. I don’t remember her name. But I do remember that she was fearless. She seemed to be missing the “caring what other people thing” gene that I carry as a highly dominant trait. She just dove right in and played and didn’t care that she had half the training of the majority of us. Here I was, hesitant to even call myself a “real” pianist, and this girl was turning cartwheels on the keys, proud of what she could do and not caring whether so-and-so was performing the “Waldstein.” 

Fast forward a couple of weeks, and that same summer I was a representative from my high school to Badger Girls’ State (I can still sing the BGS song… “Raise your voices, raise them high! Sing to Girls’ State and here’s why…”). As it turns out, I had a pretty rotten time. At BGS you set up your own state government (and county and city), write a constitution, vote on things, and really, just spend the week running a government. And I’m just not that kind of a leader. It wasn’t for me. (My sister, on the other hand, had a fabulous time when she got to go a few years later.) But there was a BGS choir. On that first day of choir rehearsal, the director asked for a volunteer to be our accompanist. There was no way I was going to volunteer. I mean… barely any time to practice! Sightreading! Playing for so many people who would expect perfection! Nope. Not me. Cower… cower… But who steps up but my friend from piano camp. She didn’t care about any of that. She just jumped right in. And I admired her for that tremendously. I still think of her when I’m confronted with a situation like that. She was fearless.

I’m decidedly not fearless. I’m much less fearful, though, than I was at 17… (cue Janis Ian). But there’s still a big part of me that says, “Am I doing this right? Is everyone staring? Is anyone watching? Listening? Caring? Not caring?” I still think far too much about what everyone else thinks. And so when the situation isn’t what I’m comfortable with, I may away. Or when I don’t shy away, that inner critic is still there asking those same old questions. I’ve learned that many times I can tell that critic to just shut up and let me play… but I’m not always loud enough.

But in my quest for fearlessness as a musician, I have learned a few things:

1. There will always be people who don’t like you. Or “get” you or “want” you or whatever word you’d like to sub in there. Those people are always going to exist, and that’s just the way it is. The trick is to remember that for every person who doesn’t like you, there’s bound to be someone who does. You’ve just got to figure out how to market to those people who do want you and who do understand you.
2. Fake it till you make it. Yes, that’s trite. But it’s also true. You may find yourself in a situation where you feel like you’re drowning, but in the music world, it’s likely that someone put you in that position. Someone else believed in you enough to put you in front of that mic or up on that stage, and so if you fake it and smile and do what you can do, you might just convince someone else that you belong there. And when you are able to convince someone else, then you might be able to convince yourself, too.
3. Sometimes the quest for fearlessness sucks. You’re gonna fall. You’re going to have bad days. At some point you’re going to get told that you don’t belong. (I was once fired as a children’s singer/entertainer… and once as an accompanist. And I also recall one particularly bad performance I gave in front of some pretty “important” people. It sucked. I cried. But after the sting was gone, I had to admit that I’d learned a few things about myself.)
4. You do have to be good at what you do. You can’t be a horrible musician and expect primo gigs. But you also have to recognize who it is that’s calling you horrible. Is itjust you who’s saying it? Get a second opinion. Is it a musician with whom you’re somehow competing (or who might frame your relationship as a competition)? Realize that other musicians can be insecure, too, and insecurity can make us all petty. Is it an instructor or a director? Listen up and then hit the woodshed. Is it a reviewer? Take what you want from it, leave the rest, and reread #1.

I’m not “there” yet — wherever “fearless” resides. But I’ve got to believe that I’m on my way.