I was in junior high when I got the coolest birthday gift I could imagine - a piano. It was a surprise, and I was absolutely floored as the piano movers brought it through the front door.
When I got into high school I took about a year of piano lessons. I would sit at the piano after school and run my scales - up and down, two hands, parallel and contrary motion, over and over. In the midst of these exercises, my mother's voice would come from the next room at random intervals: "Don't forget to have fun with it!" I thought she meant that I should play these dry scales with a smile on my face. That wasn't going to happen. What she was actually suggesting was to break away from the mundane aspects of practicing and play something I really enjoyed for a bit.
Skip a couple of years to my freshman year of college. I am majoring in Double Bass Performance at the University of Denver. It is the end of first quarter, and I have elected to play a jury. A jury is where you play some scales and a musical selection or two for the faculty of your instrument family. So, I was to play for the violin, viola, cello, and bass professors, and they were to grade my performance and give me whatever feedback they felt was appropriate. For a first quarter freshman, a jury is optional. I figured I might as well jump right in.
Out in the hallway, my string playing colleagues and I are waiting for our turn to go into the small room and play our jury. Almost everyone around me is a bundle of nerves - in a bad way. It's a little disturbing to watch; and most of them are upperclassmen! Suddenly (and I mean this quite literally), I heard my mother's voice in my head: "Don't forget to have fun with it!" I made a decision right then and there to do just that. I initially started playing the bass because I thought it was fun, not because I wanted to tie myself into knots in front of other people. I determined to go into that little room and have fun!
And it worked. I went into the room upbeat and confident, with my sense of humor in tow. The demeanor of the faculty instantly changed from bored and tired to alert and lighthearted. I played my tunes, they gave their constructive criticism, and I was on my way. No big deal. And everyone in the room had a good time!
Over the years I have matured as a musician and as a person, and I have come to realize that there is another aspect to overcoming stage fright. It is one thing to go out on stage ready to have a good time, but what if you mess up? What if you miss a note, come in too early or too late, draw a blank? Are the fun times over? Is that it? Do you go skulking off stage and fall into a heap listening to the audience boo and hiss? Far from it!
They say music is the universal language. If that is true, then playing your instrument is a way of speaking to other people. Language, speech, phrases - you have something to say. You choose your music based on what it is musically you want to say to your audience. Beethoven's 5th, or "Misty"? Your choice; depends on what you want to say.
Have you ever heard someone being interviewed, or giving a speech or lecture, or just talking to you at a party? Have you ever heard someone trip over a word or spend a moment trying to search for just the right one? Have you ever noticed that the interview, lecture, or conversation doesn't come to a screeching halt? It keeps going until it reaches its logical conclusion, and no one is stuck on the tripped up words peppered throughout.
"You know, the speech was going so well until he tripped on 'was' about seven minutes into it. He did the 'w' sound a couple times, then started going into 'were', backed up and tried it again, and finally got it out. It was awful. Did he say much of anything after that? I just couldn't get past it." Neither the listener nor the speaker get hung up on such things. The conversation or speech is taken in its entirety, and its point is taken.
How many times have I heard Louis Armstrong hit a bad note or goof a lyric? Many times. But did he make his point? Absolutely! He may not have given a note-perfect performance, but he said what he wanted to say and made his point clear. You knew when he was done that it sure as hell was sleepy time down south, Dolly was indeed back, or, at least from where he was standing, it was a wonderful world. The classical music parallel would be Vladimir Horowitz - he may have missed notes here and there, but you got what he was saying - you were picking up what he was laying down.
So, before I play my bass or my Joplin rag or conduct my show, I think, "What do I want to say right now?" And then I say it. I may trip on something here or there, but when I am done, my audience has heard me say, "Take the A Train," or they have heard me say, "Maple Leaf Rag," or they have heard me say, Cabaret. And they get it, and they applaude.
And I really do have fun with it!