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Do You Get Nervous?

I always struggle to come up with an answer when asked whether or not I get nervous performing. Maybe it’s because I don’t really know. I suppose that would be an answer unto itself, but I hypothesize it more complicated than that. If only for argument’ sake.

I’m a professional musician. I’ve played melodies in some form or another for my whole life. At least the life I can recall, from year three or four onward. Making sounds, familiar or painfully random, has been something I’ve done in front of people ever since i can remember. I recall playing mall openings near where I grew up with my childhood band from the age of 12 onward. Just so we’re clear, it was a short phase in my musical career and I have since moved on to better paying gigs, though for seemingly less glory. Ah to be young and showing off again! The idea of “bearing my soul” in front of a live audience isn’t foreign, scary, or a rarity in my day to day life. It has turned from a childhood passion to an adulthood profession. The mysticism of it all, at times, seems all but lost to me now. But just like any good narrative, there’s always some magic just around the corner to keep things interesting. And I’m thankful for that. Truly.

So is the thrill gone? Sometimes. Depends on what, where, when, who, and why I’m performing really. The bigger the opportunity, stage or paycheck the more pressure there is. Pressure yes. But a physical/mental uneasiness? I don’t think so. For me, this of course assumes I’m playing originals. Playing other people’s songs is easy, too easy to really deserve any credit. Sure, playing the instrument and singing the songs to a better than average standard is something out of the reach of many people, but that’s just playing music. It is only the first step in being a musician, be it professional, or even simply a life-long artist. Anyone can read a book, but having your own book read, appreciated and respected is something much more profound and therefore worthy of generating any nervousness. So exposing our own works to the public is, in my mind, much more likely to induce a sense of anxiety. But again, is that enough to make me nervous? No.

I say no because this summer I had the single biggest show of my life – big festival, big stage, good money, all original music, 15000+ people cheering, opening up for Blue Rodeo on a friday night with my band Silver Creek – and I can honestly say I am unsure as to whether or not I was nervous. I say unsure, and as a result feel as though I wasn’t nervous at all, but I maintain that there must be an appreciation for the significance of it all somewhere in this head of mine. There was an excitement within me, of that I’m sure. Is that nervousness? It is not as though I was unaware of the serious career opportunity that had laid before me. I guess my question would be better answered if I had a clear definition of nervous. Can you describe it? Is merely being anxious enough to qualify, or does there have to be a little bit of fear thrown in. You see, that is my interpretation. I wouldn’t call it nervous unless there is some actual dreading going on. And I don’t dread playing music, ever.

Sometimes I feel numb to all the pressure other people seem to put on things. Almost as though it doesn’t concern me when everyone else in my band is really nervous. Numb is a word I hate to throw around when discussing my passion in life, but I feel as though it is appropriate in this case. If you’ve seen me on stage before, you’d know I typically don’t appear numb on stage. I get into it. The music that is. What I’m discussing here is the goings on inside my head before, during and after the performance. The parts a spectator aren’t privy to. When it comes to channeling music to an audience, there is no lack of emotion from me. At the same time, however, I feel as though I’ve deprived myself of the behind-the-scenes emotions that are solely mine for the experiencing for better or for worse.

Perhaps not dwelling on jitters is a necessary evolution for performers. A shield to all those distractions:

“What do the people think of my songs? Should I tone down my stage presence? What do they think of me? Is this my big break? Does this shirt make me look fat? Don’t forget the words to that 2nd verse! What are they talking about? Should I try and be funny? Don’t try too hard. I hope the drummer remembers the stops for the bridge. Should I talk to the crowd after the first song or wait?”

And all that crap can wash over your mind just before the show, after the show, or even within the first few words of the first song in your set. So I say, turn it off. I think I made that decision a long time ago, and I never stopped to realize I had made it. Turn off the thoughts? Please, I can’t make myself a sandwich without giving it a second, third and fourth thought. No, I just stopped listening to myself. Tuned out if you will. Maybe it has been a contributing factor to my becoming a space cadet most of the time. If you knew me well enough, you’d know what I mean. It is this exact tuning out of the everyday stresses that have all but neutered my butterflies. I wish I could get excited more. Maybe even a little scared sometimes. And if I want it, then why can I not embrace the butterflies I so desire? Would opening myself to the possibilities that stem from a good or bad performance allow me to appreciate the process more? Am I, unbeknownst to myself, nervous underneath the facade of a calm, cool and collected musician? Upon reflecting on this now, I find myself wanting to find some underlying nervousness. I hope I get nervous. But I fear that I don’t. Don’t we all want to feel something? You know, when we’re supposed to. If it’s a big deal to other people, it should be a big deal to me right?

What if the answer is no then? What if I don’t get nervous? Does that make me a bad person? You know, part of me actually thinks it does. It makes me think I’m projecting this heartless, egotistical image of myself that is simply too “cool” to get nervous. And I don’t want to be that guy. Nor do I want to find out I’m a cold-hearted monster. I’ve literally made myself cry singing a sad song before, so I don’t fear being emotionless. I just don’t seem to get scared anymore, and maybe that is all there is to it. I almost want to lie to people and tell them I always get nervous, just so that they could maybe relate to me. I mean, that is why they are asking right? But I don’t want to be that guy either. Honesty is the best policy after all.

When it all boils down, I don’t think I’ve faced many musical circumstances that have made me nervous in recent years. By nervous I mean scared. In saying so, I kind of disappoint myself but I should probably accept it for what it is. Some noise suppression with a little bit of confidence goes a long way to keeping me focussed on stage, and I am increasingly happy with where I’m taking my performances. So I guess it’s not all bad. But maybe I should just dodge the question in the future, lest I give off the wrong impression.

And so I turn to you now. Do you get nervous? Do you remember the feelings that came over you before/during/after an important event in which you were in the spotlight? Or better yet, can you define nervous? I’m sure it’s different for everyone, and I’m genuinely eager to find out if I actually do get nervous, but somehow forgot how to recognize it. Still clinging to hope I guess. Looking forward to hearing from you. Cheers!

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