The chamber musician's secret terror

Harper's Magazine

February 1, 1996 | Nichols, Diane

From "The Demons Within: Confronting Performance Anxiety, " by Diane Nichols, in the December 1995 issue of Chamber Music magazine. Nichols is the director of the Performing Arts Psychotherapy Center in New York City.

Vladimir Horowitz, it is well known, struggled with performance anxiety throughout his career. That stage fright would afflict a world-famous soloist is understandable: the risks for such a performer are enormous; the possibility of humiliation, constant. But severe performance anxiety is not limited to internationally known virtuosi. Studies show that many orchestra players rely heavily on beta blockers such as Inderal for symptoms that include shaking and heart palpitations.

What, then, of the chamber musician? Small-ensemble performing presents unique and intense forms of stress. In the constant give-and-take between players, there are numerous opportunities to be thrown off. Each member is responsible for frequent solo passages, and most chamber musicians, even at the highest levels, know the panic of getting lost. In chamber music there is no fall guy in the form of a conductor. A soloist, even in his most trying performance, has the freedom of walking off the stage after ten minutes. But chamber concerts can go on for hours.

There are also complex life stresses--common to all artists--that are particularly troublesome for chamber music performers. Intermittent work does not provide enough money for a sense of financial security. Constant touring can create romantic conflict and promote a sense of isolation. Complicated negotiations with agents, managers, and publicity personnel consume valuable free time. And one must contend, at times, with humiliating newspaper reviews. Among all these variables, there is but one constant: the pressure with each performance to launch a career or build on previous success.

When the need to excel or the desire to communicate the power of music collides with the fear of failure in performance, the result is anxiety. Sensing danger, the cortex of the brain prepares the body for a fight-or-flight response. But performers do not have an objective enemy to fight, and their excessive adrenaline can't be expelled through flight. The result is "inhibited flight"--the feeling of being stuck onstage with physiological symptoms, including shaking, cold hands, sweating palms, heart palpitations, difficulty in swallowing, shortness of breath, and the need to relieve oneself.

Anxiety is frequently triggered by something unconscious. For many performers, I believe, public performance stirs hidden fears and desires that have their roots in childhood. The conflicts that are re-activated during performance differ for each musician, depending on family experience, the motivation for performing, and the effects of formal training.

For some, the unconscious meaning of performing for an audience is that of revenge. I once treated a percussion player whose father treated him with marked hostility and competitiveness. The father criticized the son, belittling his accomplishments and occasionally embarrassing him in front of others. At age ten, the son discovered that playing an instrument put him in a world beyond his father's expertise. This delighted the son, who soon immersed himself in music with a sense of escape and a feeling of secret power. One psychoanalyst, writing about a similar pattern in a patient of his own, reported that his patient's motive was "to dazzle his audience and to stun them with his virtuosity, to overwhelm them so that they would feel childlike and envious in relation to him as he once felt in relation to his father."

Fundamentally, the player seeks revenge, but he fears his father's retaliation. In such cases, anxiety serves as a form of suffering that compensates for the guilt connected to the wish for retaliation.

"I never believe anybody who says they don't ever get nervious," declares internationally acclaimed cellist Gary Hoffman. Yet he confirms that performance anxiety is rarely discussed among professionals in the field. Players dare not risk appearing vulnerable in a competitive professional environment.

Concealing the problem, however, usually leads to deep psychological denial and to the intensity of all-or-nothing thinking. "I must play flawlessly," the player frets, "or I will be exposed for the impostor I truly am."

Performing as a chamber musician is a risktaking endeavor. Although some anxiety may facilitate performance, too much may debilitate both the performance and the performer. This problem clearly needs to be faced. If only it could be acknowledged without fear of loss of work, I believe that seeking help for it would be less threatening. Performance anxiety need not be a shameful secret.

COPYRIGHT 1999 Harper's Magazine Foundation. This material is published under license from the publisher through the Gale Group, Farmington Hills, Michigan.