On Audiences

1) Friends and family

They are your cheerleaders sans pompoms. Filled with pride, armed with flowers they sit and listen to you doing whatever it is you’re doing. Afterwards they’ll tell you you were wonderful, you looked terrific, well done you.

They’re the all-important support network you need to stay sane, so appreciate all the compliments, do a twirl in your concert gear, and smile to the camera. You earned it by being onstage, no matter what you did there. Just going there was brave enough for now.

2) Colleagues

After the performance they come to thank you, and seeing them approach you immeadiately start pouring out all that went wrong with the performance. Yes, you’re very aware of your shortcomings, yes, you know it wasn’t that great. Only if you happened to play superbly well, you might find the courage to say “oh it was quite okay I guess”.

Usually your colleagues want to congratulate you instead of mocking you, and on a purely theoretical level you know this (having congratulated other colleagues yourself). However, the adrenaline of the performance turns you into a mad conspiracy theorist, so in your ears “it was great” sounds like “you’re an ape”. It’s all in your head. Remember that.

3) A jury

You’re playing, and suddenly from the corner of your eye you see one of them write something down. Immediately your mind starts racing: was it the phrasing, balance, rubato, my face, my shoes, what? WHY DO THEY HATE ME? It takes all your willpower not to run away crying, but you soldier on.

The jury member was probably writing down a note to buy milk after the exam, or he was drawing a completely innocent flower, or a chicken. He’s being paid to hear you out and say intelligent things after, he’s done this a million times already, he’s tired and wants coffee. Also he’s a kind person who doesn’t particularly enjoy crushing other peoples hopes and dreams – he’d rather give some generic, inoffensive feedback. But you don’t know this, so hearing the sound of his pen your soul shatters to a million pieces and your blood pressure reaches record heights.

4) Children

They are the best and the worst audience. You never have to guess whether they liked or hated you – you’ll notice it from the things they shout and/or throw at you mid-performance. If they like the show, you feel like you've discovered the true meaning of music and you dance all the way home.

Let’s not think about the other option.

5) The person paying you

The thank you -handshake after the performance is not just a handshake. It’s a code to be encrypted: Was the handshake firm enough? What did that raise of the eyebrows mean? Was the smile approving, did the “let’s be in touch” sound a tad sarcastic?

Will I get to do another concert here ever again?

6) Non-musicians that aren’t related to you

They just sit there and enjoy. Plus they’re not obliged to talk to you after, which is great, too.

7) Critics

“Mr. Critic, please say nice things about me, please. Put those nice things on the front page and you can have my soul and my children.”

8) A full house

Oh the joy, oh the nerves! You’re shaking, but you feel like a million dollars when the hall bursts into applause in the end. Everyone loves a full house, but it takes a real connoisseur to love…

9) …an empty house

Nobody showed up, but you play anyway. Hell, why not grab a drink and make a party of it. The walls will like your stuff.

On Critique

“You should have your left foot closer to the pedals.”

“You should have played Liszt instead of Chopin.”

“You’re very musical but you have zero technique.”

“You have a good technique but no personality.”

“Your playing is way too robust for such a delicate piece.”

“You had no dynamic range whatsoever.”

“You’re not together even with yourself.”

“You have to start developing your personality to a different direction.”

“I’m sure you understand why **** deserved to be in the finals instead of you.”

“You play like a schoolgirl.”

“Your final exam was way too easy. It shouldn’t have qualified at all.”

“It’s been so frustrating to teach you, because you don’t seem to be able to learn the simplest things.”

We all have a Library of Hurtful Quotes; these are a random selection from mine. There have been master classes after which I’ve cried in the toilet, and competitions after which I’ve wanted to quit playing. So often I’ve thought I’ll never be good enough. And yet I play. The schoolgirl without personality who can’t learn anything. I play.

As performing musicians we get criticized a lot. Some of it we need, and some hurts like hell. Sometimes these two apply to the same comment. I could give you the context of each of the quotes from my collection – which of them I thought I deserved, and which felt totally uncalled for – but I won’t. Instead I’m asking you to share some quotes from Your Personal Library with me. What kind of sentences do you hear in your head when you’re not sure of yourself? And how do you shut them out?

I’m still learning how not to give a fuck. Taking advice from Nike my goal is to just do it, and take in critique only from those colleagues and friends whom I trust, and who are sincerely trying to help me. And while I’m trying to get there, it would really help if the Whole Classical Music Industry had more warmth and tolerance to it. So please, share a quote or two and remember: a kind word here, an encouraging word there, and who knows, maybe someone will return the favour when you need it the most.

On Second Rate Pianists

How it seems in the Sibelius Academy (and probably any other school of extremely high and super awesome musical ecudation) is that there is one true career path for a pianist, and that is the solitary road to greatness. When I was young and had my bright future still ahead of me, I thought the options were to be a Simple Soloist or a Second Rate Pianist. Guess who I wanted to be… The orchestral instruments have it a bit easier: they can go and play in an orchestra. (Duh.) Pianists can too, of course, but how many Mozart Symphonies have a piano part? There’s not so much to do if you have an instrument mainly created for bored romantic era housewifes to amuse themselves with while their husbands run the country. It’s a great instrument, piano is, but you rarely need twenty of them at once – they’re rather on their own.

I should explain my terminology here:

A Simple Soloist tours the world, performing with orchestras large and small, getting huge bouquets of flowers and playing encores like Träumerei, but in an inventive way that makes the audience faint in admiration. Sometimes a Simple Soloist does chamber music concerts or solo programs that include Serious Pieces by Serious Composers. And obviously the Simple Soloist has won a gazillion competitions and regularly attends master classes in Lugano and New York. They live in hotels, have trophy wives (or partners), and they spend their Christmas holidays with the Barenboims.

A Second Rate Pianist performs on a less regular basis in more near-by places that don’t require hotels or flights. They choose programs that are pleasing to the audience or to themselves, depending on do they want money or self-fulfilment out of the process. Usually Second Rate Pianists make their own posters. (- at least I do, and I use Word. I’ve been told by several people that this is unacceptable, because one can’t make posters with Word, but it’s real and it’s happening. Sorry.) Performing on a less regular basis means less income and fewer trophy wives, so Second Rate Pianists often sustain themselves by doing other music-related things such as teaching or being a rehearsal pianist in opera or ballet for example, or have a completely different job on the side. Second Rate Pianists might have won a competition or two when they were younger, or they might have not. They might have aimed to be a Simple Soloist and failed, or they might have never wanted that in the first place. (Their parents usually wanted them to appear on a magazine cover or two.)

As every pianist knows, there are 0,0001 Simple Soloists to every 1000 Second Rate Pianists out there. So a Second Rate Pianist is really a Normal Pianist with a Normal Career in Music. I wish someone had sat me down in the beginning of my studies and told me this, and helped me find my own path – instead of letting me think that anything less than a Stellar International Career is a disappointment to the holy institution of classical music. As it is, I’ve tried out different stuff, ended up in situations by accident, and formed a career from the bits and pieces that I’ve found interesting and loveable along the way. What my career looks like now is a combination of teaching, vocal coaching, lied recitals, independent opera productions and an occasional chamber music fling. Sometimes there’s more gigs and sometimes fewer. Sometimes I write this blog, sometimes I knit, and sometimes I binge on Netflix.

It wasn’t obvious to me from the beginning, but I think that being a Second Rate Pianist is actually awesome, and there would be a point to spreading this message to young students and helping them find whatever kind of pianist they would love to be. Because the options out there – there are plenty, and they sound pretty first rate to me.