On Being a Visiting Composer, Part 2: The Concert

I used to get nervous as a performer when the concert rolled around but eventually I got used to it and the nerves subsided. Then I became a band director and got even more nervous when concert time was upon me. Though in this case I got more nervous about the logistical side of things than the performance side of things (unless we’re talking about concert assessment performances, that is). But eventually, the nerves subsided and my baton hand stopped shaking as much. In the last year I have had the pleasure of being at concerts as a visiting composer fifteen or twenty times! The nerves don’t come an hour before the performance, as they used to, but about the time my piece is about to start my breath shortens, my pulse starts racing, my brain goes a million miles an hour. If I am going to be recognized at some point during the concert, multiply all of those by a factor of a hundred. The nerves continue well into the next piece before I regain normality. Do you think these nerves will subside too?

A few days ago I had my “college band” debut. (I was commissioned by the John Brown University Chamber Orchestra back in the fall, and that was awesome, but this would be the first time a “band” played one of my pieces at the college level) Dr. Jamal Duncan selected “Why do we Fall?” to play with the White Band at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville. 

I wrote this piece in the fall of 2017. My office window looked out on a line of trees and as their colors began to change I had the desire to write a piece inspired by my view of those trees.

My view as I worked on the initial sketch of “Why do we Fall?”

My approach to the compositional process of “Why do we Fall?” was different than those that had come before it. I used to write at the computer the entire time but the pieces I had in the months before hadn’t felt as organic as I wanted them to so I tried something different. I sketched at the piano for several weeks, getting to know the themes and ideas like they were a part of me. When the time came that the ideas were more involved than what I could pull off with ten fingers at the piano I finally turned on my computer. I loved how the development of the piece happened from that point forward and this has become my default writing strategy.

Incidentally, if I had used the original motives I came up with and jumped straight to the computer, the piece would have been totally different. I only ended up using about half of the original ideas, and even those changed drastically.

Oftentimes, when I have shown up to a concert of my music, the director asks me if I would like to speak before the piece. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. When I do, I always wish I would have said something different, or at least that I had spoken more eloquently. I end up oversharing, but also leaving out important details. This is what happens when you’re the sort of speaker that flies by the seat of their pants.

These memories of poorly delivered introductions is what led me to turn down the offer to speak at this concert. After the concert, I wished that I had chosen to speak. I remembered something that I heard on a podcast (or maybe I read it in an article) about creating access points for the audience to connect to your music. Sure, the audience members could have read the program notes and learned what the piece was about, but if I had talked them through it, they would have had another level of connection and might have taken more away from it. They would have know what was driving me as I wrote the notes they were hearing.

I do my best to be present in the moment and appreciate the work that the performers have put into the preparation of the piece, but sometimes my mind drifts to wondering what the audience members are thinking of it. Is it connecting with them? Do they hate it? Ooh, what about that part? I hope everyone liked that part. Did that part give anyone else goosebumps?

I got several waves of goosebumps over the course of this performance. My wife did too! This was the first time she was getting to hear this piece live. There were some truly magical moments and I felt really good about the performance. 

You may think that the end of the piece means that the stress is over for the composer in the audience, but you would be wrong (at least for me). The end is the part that has grown to worry me the most. Over the past year I’ve had several different experiences in the “stand up and be acknowledged” phase of the performance. In some cases there is no acknowledgement and I’m cool with that. Sometimes there is a gesture into the darkened hall for me to stand. No one in the audience other than those sitting near enough to see me stand realize what the gesture is actually for. A few times in the last year the director wasn’t sure if I was in the audience so at some point they go to the mic and ask if I was there. If the lights were up in the hall I would stand or wave so they would know where to gesture after the performance. But a few times, when the question was posed, and the lights were off in the hall, the only way I could let them know I was there was by making an awkward yelp. (Believe it or not, this has happened a few times and afterwards I always want to crawl under a rock. You would think I would figure out a more “classy” way to let the director know I’m there, but no. I am always a huge ball of nerves at this point of the concert so the best I can manage is a stifled cry of some sort.)

Fortunately at the U of A performance, Dr. Duncan met me at the entrance to the hall and let me know how the “acknowledgment” phase would go, so there would be no awkward yelping this time! For the second time in my composing career I would be welcomed onto the stage to take a bow! I had truly arrived. But in classic Drew/worry about everything/stress out style, I tried to hurry down in time, but had arrived later than I wanted so I had to run from the back of the hall and the applause had stopped before I made it to the stage. Fortunately, my wife said I didn’t look too awkward. And also, an audience member told me that they thought it sounded lovely as I made my way back to my chair. That was a nice little moment. 

I don’t know if I will ever not feel stressed about those moments, or if there will come a time when I feel like my stage presence has arrived, but until then I will continue yelping and worrying my way through performances. (but enjoying it nonetheless!)

For what it’s worth, a few days after the performance I just mentioned, “Yellow” was played at the U of A. I wasn’t able to chat with Dr. Lorenzo before it started so I was once again a nervous ball of quickened-pulse and shortened-breaths in my seat. Luckily after the performance he gestured out into the audience and I stood and waved and applauded and didn’t feel all that awkward. Several people made a point to tell me how much they enjoyed the piece. One even mentioned that they had played with the band that performed “Why do we Fall?” and had enjoyed both. So in the end it was all worth the worry because I got to share my music with a bunch of new people. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?