Some time ago, a friend turned to me warmly and said "I'm sure you don't get nervous before shows anymore."
Of course I smiled confidently back and said, "Well, no, not really." Inwardly, though, I knew it wasn't true.
I do suffer from performance anxiety. I do even though I have the tools not to, when I've done my reading, when I'm approaching the show from a good and generous place, when I'm reasonably well-rested. In the twelve hours or so leading up to a performance, I feel queasy, jumpy and generally on edge. I find it difficult to eat. So there. I've admitted it.
And that's a good thing to do. It's helpful to admit it, accept it, acknowledge the feelings. Yes, I am nervous about tonight's show. It's not right or wrong, and it doesn't say a thing about my skill or experience or mental health. It simply is.
That's the first thing to do. Admit it.
Next, once I've stopped trying to deny the anxiety, I pause and breathe. I reframe. I am well in this moment. When an anxious thought crosses my mind, I notice it and let it go. If possible, I take 15 minutes or so to actually meditate, with a candle and calming music.
During the day of the show, I tend to rehearse a bit, not to learn to play the songs better (that's what the rehearsals leading up to today were for) but to remind myself that I love the songs. I do love them. When I sing them, I feel great...not anxious in the least. And when I'm singing them for others I feel even better. So I rehearse to get in tune with what I love.
Once I've reconnected with what I love about what I do, I decide to simply serve others tonight, to the best of my ability. That's what the songs are for: to make people feel better. Once I've decided to serve, I let go of my expectations, and simply show up and play my part.
It turns out that the theme of tonight's show is Love. As I was preparing for it, I came across this prayer in Marianne Williamson's book "A Return to Love":
"Dear God, please give my life some sense of purpose. Use me as an instrument of your peace. Use my talents and abilities to spread love. I surrender my job to you. Help me to remember that my real job is to love the world back to health. Thank you very much. Amen."
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
World View in a Set List
When songs are put together in a grouping, such as a set list, it's possible to see patterns emerge. Certain themes come up again and again. Particular chords are favoured. Melody lines are related. Sometimes songs seem to comment or refer to other songs. Recently the painter Robert Genn suggested in a letter that the same thing happens in painting. Artists are constantly "filling in the blanks" of a cohesive body of work or individual way of seeing the world.
I imagine this as if it's a jigsaw puzzle, but without the handy box-top that shows us the ultimate finished design. We don't know what the end is going to be. Is the puzzle going to be "solved", the picture "finished", the body of work complete by the time our life ends? Is the unfinishedness part of the picture? Are the gaps part of the answer to the puzzle?
One of the beautiful paradoxes of creative expression is that it helps to pay attention to both the "big picture" and the "little picture", and that it's difficult to do these two things simultaneously. As one spiritual teacher I know might say, "It takes practice".
When I'm thinking too much on the big intentions, lofty visions of my body of work and so on, I lose sight of the individual song or for that matter the individual note or chord. Only by paying close attention to them, by serving them in fact, can I lovingly coax a beautiful song into being.
On the other hand, when I take time to contemplate what the bigger picture on the boxtop might be--what is my concept of God, for instance, and what missing piece of the Universe may I be able to provide--the songs are stronger individually, they fit beautifully into cohesive set lists, and they are more useful in my life and the lives of others.
I imagine this as if it's a jigsaw puzzle, but without the handy box-top that shows us the ultimate finished design. We don't know what the end is going to be. Is the puzzle going to be "solved", the picture "finished", the body of work complete by the time our life ends? Is the unfinishedness part of the picture? Are the gaps part of the answer to the puzzle?
One of the beautiful paradoxes of creative expression is that it helps to pay attention to both the "big picture" and the "little picture", and that it's difficult to do these two things simultaneously. As one spiritual teacher I know might say, "It takes practice".
When I'm thinking too much on the big intentions, lofty visions of my body of work and so on, I lose sight of the individual song or for that matter the individual note or chord. Only by paying close attention to them, by serving them in fact, can I lovingly coax a beautiful song into being.
On the other hand, when I take time to contemplate what the bigger picture on the boxtop might be--what is my concept of God, for instance, and what missing piece of the Universe may I be able to provide--the songs are stronger individually, they fit beautifully into cohesive set lists, and they are more useful in my life and the lives of others.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
How long it takes
There’s a theory among songwriters that the faster a song is written, the better it probably is. Great songs such as Amanda McBroom's “The Rose” and Shirley Eikhard's “Something to Talk About” were said to be written quickly, and many of my best songs were too. The song seems to arrive fully formed, often taking shape in under a half-hour, and then all you have to do is tweak! It’s wonderful when that happens.
But sometimes it doesn’t. If I don’t have a deadline or reason to finish a song, I often abandon it if it’s taking more than a few days. I simply lose interest in it or it slips my mind or a new idea arises that I like better.
This week, because I was writing to a deadline, I had to stick with the project and not abandon ship. The song wasn’t a “quickie”. It took perhaps 10 or 15 hours, compressed over two rather uncomfortable days. During the process, I threw out two half-written drafts before finally landing on a concept for the song I liked.
What was “wrong” about the drafts I threw out? On the surface, not much. One of them was bold and catchy, the other sweetly lyrical. But something didn't sit right with me...and while deep in creative mode that's all I knew. It took a few days to see clearly that one was written in a detached, objective and preachy-sounding tone…and the other one, though pretty, seemed to lack confidence. (No doubt because I was taking so long to finish the song.)
Confidence is everything. And sometimes it’s important to have the confidence to NOT create fast. To take the time you need to experiment, get it wrong, throw it out. On my third try, I had a much better understanding of what I was trying to accomplish and the song was written successfully.
But sometimes it doesn’t. If I don’t have a deadline or reason to finish a song, I often abandon it if it’s taking more than a few days. I simply lose interest in it or it slips my mind or a new idea arises that I like better.
This week, because I was writing to a deadline, I had to stick with the project and not abandon ship. The song wasn’t a “quickie”. It took perhaps 10 or 15 hours, compressed over two rather uncomfortable days. During the process, I threw out two half-written drafts before finally landing on a concept for the song I liked.
What was “wrong” about the drafts I threw out? On the surface, not much. One of them was bold and catchy, the other sweetly lyrical. But something didn't sit right with me...and while deep in creative mode that's all I knew. It took a few days to see clearly that one was written in a detached, objective and preachy-sounding tone…and the other one, though pretty, seemed to lack confidence. (No doubt because I was taking so long to finish the song.)
Confidence is everything. And sometimes it’s important to have the confidence to NOT create fast. To take the time you need to experiment, get it wrong, throw it out. On my third try, I had a much better understanding of what I was trying to accomplish and the song was written successfully.
Friday, February 02, 2007
The Cure
This week was going to be tough for writing a song. My husband's grandmother, whom we dearly loved, died on Monday. We had the visitation and the funeral to deal with, and much of the week seemed to be covered over by a heavy blanket of loss.
I thought it might be impossible for me to write my weekly song, so I notified the producer who naturally let me off the hook.
Still, it nagged at me. Would I feel better NOT writing a song...or writing a song?
One of the topics this week was Emily Carr, the Canadian painter (d. 1945) known for dramatic depictions of the British Columbia wilderness and the art of the Haida First Nation. The Art Gallery of Ontario will host a retrospective exhibition of her work in March. I have always found her art and her life story inspiring. At one point, her art career was so unsuccessful she dropped painting altogether for 15 years and worked at a series of unrelated jobs. Lawren Harris of the Group of Seven encouraged her and she resumed painting and finally did receive critical recognition...but for many years she had to contend with doubt, failure and isolation. Despite this, or more likely because of it, her paintings have a powerful spiritual dimension, reflecting her fierce determination to share her passion for the land with others.
I figured I could write a song about that, so I started one called "Emily in the Big Woods".
But it couldn't be finished by Friday. Wrestling with the subject, I found inspiration in Emily Carr's writing too. (She wrote many books and constantly reflected on her creative life. She would have been a blogger.) "I thought my mountain was coming this morning. It was near to speaking when suddenly it shifted, sulked, and returned to smallness. It has eluded me again and sits there, puny and dull. Why? " So. She would understand that some subjects take more time than others.
Oregano, on the other hand, works fast.
Oregano, or oregano oil to be more precise, is a natural cure-all that probably is very good for you. I've never tried it...but I sure do like my Cold-FX. Oregano oil promises to do much the same thing...boost the immune system...ward off colds and flues.
The word "oregano" rhymes with lots of fun things, I discovered. And it was time for a fun song.
After many drafts, I ended up assembling the song while watching Calla's swimming lesson yesterday night. As always, the feeling of satisfaction was huge when I finally slotted all the rhyming couplets into their correct order, to form a song exactly 3:00 in length. It feels like solving a Rubik's cube or a crossword puzzle (neither of which I can do).
Oregano lifted the blanket of woe that had fallen over our week. Listen!
I thought it might be impossible for me to write my weekly song, so I notified the producer who naturally let me off the hook.
Still, it nagged at me. Would I feel better NOT writing a song...or writing a song?
One of the topics this week was Emily Carr, the Canadian painter (d. 1945) known for dramatic depictions of the British Columbia wilderness and the art of the Haida First Nation. The Art Gallery of Ontario will host a retrospective exhibition of her work in March. I have always found her art and her life story inspiring. At one point, her art career was so unsuccessful she dropped painting altogether for 15 years and worked at a series of unrelated jobs. Lawren Harris of the Group of Seven encouraged her and she resumed painting and finally did receive critical recognition...but for many years she had to contend with doubt, failure and isolation. Despite this, or more likely because of it, her paintings have a powerful spiritual dimension, reflecting her fierce determination to share her passion for the land with others.
I figured I could write a song about that, so I started one called "Emily in the Big Woods".
But it couldn't be finished by Friday. Wrestling with the subject, I found inspiration in Emily Carr's writing too. (She wrote many books and constantly reflected on her creative life. She would have been a blogger.) "I thought my mountain was coming this morning. It was near to speaking when suddenly it shifted, sulked, and returned to smallness. It has eluded me again and sits there, puny and dull. Why? " So. She would understand that some subjects take more time than others.
Oregano, on the other hand, works fast.
Oregano, or oregano oil to be more precise, is a natural cure-all that probably is very good for you. I've never tried it...but I sure do like my Cold-FX. Oregano oil promises to do much the same thing...boost the immune system...ward off colds and flues.
The word "oregano" rhymes with lots of fun things, I discovered. And it was time for a fun song.
After many drafts, I ended up assembling the song while watching Calla's swimming lesson yesterday night. As always, the feeling of satisfaction was huge when I finally slotted all the rhyming couplets into their correct order, to form a song exactly 3:00 in length. It feels like solving a Rubik's cube or a crossword puzzle (neither of which I can do).
Oregano lifted the blanket of woe that had fallen over our week. Listen!
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