Performing Well
by Bruce Homes        

Performing is exciting, regardless of whether you interpret that as terror or thrill.  And excitement means adrenaline, lots of it.  Your brain floods your body with adrenaline when great things are expected of it.  It’s incredibly helpful if you’re fighting a tiger.  But it plays havoc with the fine motor control of playing an instrument.  So here’s the first law of performing, also known as the “But it sounded fine back in my living room” theorem.  You will not perform as well as you practice.  To be more precise, that C chord that you learned years ago will still be there for you.  It’s second nature to you by now and will probably be flawless on stage.  That tricky guitar lead you figured out last week and can get right half the time at home?  Ain’t gonna happen.  No, you won’t get lucky.  Guaranteed train-wreck.  You will not lose all your skills on stage.  Only the front edge of what you do will fall apart.  But fall it will.  So one way to slip around such a law is to limit performance choices to what you do most competently.  Keep your instrumental work within the range of what you do best.  That tricky lead you want to do?  I’d keep practicing it until someday it becomes second nature to you.  But in the meantime a simplified version of it might suffice for when you’re performing.  I had one song last year that I had to practice for six months before I played it in public.  The guitar part was a stretch for me and it took me that long before I could be sure of pulling it off on stage.

The other horror of performing is the blank mind.  You will forget what you were about to say, forget the lyrics, forget what chord to play, forget your name.  I’m not sure you can ever remove this possibility.  Brain glitches happen.  But if you’ve practiced a song a thousand times and can do it on autopilot, your chances of getting through the song in one piece get quite good.  So preparation is huge.  That song you just finished this morning that is so obviously the masterpiece you’ve always dreamed of writing?  Play it tonight at the open mic, and I guarantee you’ll butcher it.  (And by the way, it’s not your masterpiece.  After you’ve written your next song, you’ll realize that.)

Of course, the worst thing you can do when performing is to be afraid of failure.  That fear will creep into your head along with words about how you really don’t want to screw up and suddenly instead of thinking about what you’re doing you’ll be thinking about failure.  You really don’t want to think about anything when performing.  Don’t think about the technicalities of your instrumental work or you’ll be the centipede tripping over itself.  Don’t think about how cute the woman in the fourth row is.  Don’t think about what a lovely day it is for the festival.  Don’t think about the mistake you made a few seconds ago.  Avoid irrelevant thoughts of any kind.  Instead focus on the words you’re singing or the sound of the notes you’re playing.  I don’t want to sound too Zen, but be in the experience.  The more you can let go of your ego and its fear of looking foolish, the better you’ll do.  Think about getting the meaning across, and you’ll give a better performance and avoid the pitfalls.

Ask yourself what you hope for when you’re in the audience.  Isn’t it basically wanting to have a good time?  A meaningful song that touches you would be a plus, maybe the thrill of some nice music.  But more than anything you want to have fun.  How does a performer accomplish that?  A funny song doesn’t hurt.  A clever introduction helps.  But primarily, if the singer is having fun, you get to share in that.

Now imagine the worst experience possible.  We’ve all been there. Picture someone sitting on a chair, staring at the floor, apologizing for their mistakes and looking miserable.  No energy, no contact, and the audience has to feel miserable with the poor fellow.  Why didn't everybody just stay home and watch a movie on their widescreen television?

We are empathic beings.  If the performer is having fun, the audience will have fun.  If the performer is beating himself up over his mistakes, he is in effect beating up his audience as well.  So here’s the secret.  Don’t care about your mistakes.  When you make them, leave them behind or they will turn into a chain reaction of disaster.  If you’re thinking about the mistake you made a second ago, I guarantee you’re about to make another mistake.  And they’ll keep happening until you stop thinking about them.  You care about your audience by preparing properly ahead of time, not by feeling bad about your imperfections while you’re performing.

If you can’t find a way to not care, then fake it.  It’s going great and you’re having a wonderful time.  When mistakes happen, there may be a part of you that will want to proclaim, “I have very high standards.  At home I’m really good.  I feel bad about that.  I’m so very, very sorry.  Here, let me hang myself to make amends.”  NO.  No, No, No.  You do not get to do any of that.  You have two choices.  Feeling bad is not one of them.  One option is to just pretend there is no problem.  That wasn’t a mistake, that was an interesting chord choice.  If you forget the lyrics, make up new ones.  If you can’t think of new lyrics, just make noises.  Add a little growl to hide the fact you’re singing gibberish.  Really sell that line with all your heart.  The intrigue of not understanding a line is a much better experience for the audience than watching someone die on stage.   If you forget the next verse, drop it.  It’s not half as important as you think it is.  (Do you really think they’re actually following your finely crafted story line?  Oh goodness, get over it.)  Just keep going and do the best you can.  A short song with a few holes in the logic of it will go over ten times better than you standing there apologizing for forgetting the lyrics while everyone in the audience feels bad for you.  There is another option.  Sometimes I’ll acknowledge a mistake or admit that I’ve forgotten the lyrics.  But you’ve got to have fun with it.  The tone must be “Ooops,” not “I’m so sorry.”  If the chord is wrong take your strumming hand and rearrange your fretting fingers.  Make ‘em laugh.  If you’ve forgotten the lyrics, yell out “Prompt” and see if someone in the audience can save your butt.  If you’re having fun with the problem, your audience will be OK with it.  But you must not apologize. 

          So here are the rules of performing.  They should be obvious, but you’re be amazed at how often they’re violated.

1. Be super prepared.  Know what you’re going to do and have extensive experience with the piece.  If you’re bringing the lyrics up on stage with you, something’s wrong.
2. See if you can inject an ounce of humor into your introduction.  Plan what you’re going to say and rehearse it.  If you’ve prepared properly, it will be easier to be loose and improvise a little.
3. Look nice.
4. When you step on stage, you should already be tuned up.
5. Be incredibly clear about how you’re going to start a song.  Are you using a capo?  What fret?  What chord do you start with?  What’s the first note you sing?  Know where it is on the guitar.  I’ve seen people get panicked and not be able find a key that matches the chord they’re playing.  Be able to get yourself back on track if you flounder before you can start.  If you’ve practiced enough, once you get going you should be fine.
6. Focus on what the song means and sell the lyrics.
7. If your lyrics are important to you, make sure the guitar doesn’t overwhelm the vocal.  The person at the soundboard can help with this.  But be prepare to play softly if all else fails.
8. Do not apologize for mistakes.
9. Say nothing negative about anyone.
10. Help people have a good time.
11. Stick to the time limits.

I will add that some of this is harder than you think it will be.  It took me years to realize that butchering a new song was not as impressive as doing an old song well.  And it took years before I let go of the desire to apologize for mistakes.  Performing well doesn’t just happen.  It grows with experience.  But there’s no way to begin that growth except to get out and do it.