Breathe

Breathe in. It is almost time for the show to start. The house lights shine the way as ushers guide the final audience members into their seats. The thick, velvet curtain is down, shielding the spectators and performers from each other, making it difficult to guess how many listeners are in attendance. The air is filled with the rise and fall of murmured conversations charged with eager excitement. There are over fifty musicians, including yourself, involved in the show so hopefully there are at least that many spectators attending tonight; it is always slightly disappointing when an orchestra is larger than their audience. There is no way to know whether there is a packed house of intensely interested individuals or dozens of empty seats standing silent testimony until the curtain rises. On one hand, having hundreds of expectant eyes focused on the stage is nerve wracking. On the other, having practiced for hours upon hours only to perform to an empty house is disheartening.

Breathe out. Whether there is one person or one hundred, it is too late to leave now. Behind the curtain, last minute shuffling is taking place as the support staff are running final checks on all their equipment while the musicians are settling in place, making sure that everything they need is at hand. Chairs scratch across the floor as their occupants try to gain just a little more elbow room on the crowded stage. Small clatters on the wooden floor suggest instruments stands being dropped into place. Hurried whispers combine with the rustle of paper as the ensemble ensures that their music is in the correct order. There is a small jangling of rings and bracelets being rapidly removed as their presence is an impediment to the proper playing of an instrument as well as providing unwanted clicking throughout the performance.

Breathe in. Muscles throughout the body clench and loosen as the tides of worry and impatience ebb and flow. Heels click as feet shift within their confines, and twitchy toes quietly tap out various rhythms across the stage. Some eyes close while trying to recall important details of each piece while others dance impatiently across the pages, seeking out marked cues and reminders of difficult sections. Restless hands search for any imperfections, smoothing that stubborn strand of hair back into place, searching for some small unseen bit of lint or dust that could shine in the unforgiving stage lights, straightening the sheet music on its stand for the sixth time. Every inch of the instrument is inspected for any fault that could have somehow developed in the last five minutes. Fingers dance over its length, feeling every nick from careless handling, every part that has been worn by countless hours of practice.

Breathe out. Thinking of all the rehearsing that led here is more of a reminder of all the potential pitfalls, rather than the practiced perfection, possible in tonight’s performance. The nightmarish passage that resolutely refused to fall in line with the others. That one key change that always seems to be forgotten. The solo line that must soar above the rest of the ensemble without losing shape or tone. In a single performance there are numerous ways for mistakes to be made and imagining only one always leads to another and another and another until it seems that there is no conceivable way that tonight could end in success.

Breathe in. A clatter off to the side is a reminder that you are not alone on the stage tonight. There are dozens of others sharing the experience and the burden. Playing as part of an ensemble is like being part of an intricate web, where the smallest movement in a section is felt across the whole group. There is a delicate balance that must be reached to make sure that every voice is heard, to bring to the surface the significant melodies and rhythms while not drowning out the underlying support entirely. It is difficult even with countless hours of practice among experienced players. But when it comes together, when everything lines up exactly the way it is supposed to, when everyone is unified and balanced and perfect – it feels like flying. Like laughing in a moment a endless free fall. Performing as a group is difficult, but, more than anything else, it is reassuring. No matter what mistakes may happen, you are not alone.

Breathe out. There is one key person currently missing from the stage. The empty podium set at the front of the orchestra is meant for the one who will guide the music tonight. A conductor produces no sound yet is the most powerful voice. There is a direct correlation between the magnitude of their movements and the tempo and timbre of a piece. Sharp, controlled slashes signify a demand for precision in intonation and rhythm. A languid, gentle wave, a request for calm and grace. A growing sweep from side to side, almost as if pulling taffy back and forth, show a gradual dramatic build asking for passion and power. The conductor is the spider whose actions control how the web moves, and their guidance transforms sound into music.

Breathe in. Another layer of support are the technicians and stagehands moving into the wings, having completed their part for this night’s performance. Their actions assist the performers by ensuring an as perfect as possible situation for their listeners. Stagehands procure chairs and stands for the ensemble. Technicians organize microphones in positions for maximum coverage with minimum possibility of feedback as well as adjust the lighting for the best visibility among the audience as well as the players. The support staff have set the stage, and now it is time for your part to begin.

Breathe out. The lights go dim. The auditorium falls silent.

Breathe in. The curtain rises and the stage lights begin to glow on the stage as the conductor sweeps out from the wings onto the podium.

Breathe out. The audience applauds then falls back into anticipatory silence.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Let the show begin.