Sing Out
I started graduate school a few months ago. Part of the audition process for this Master of Music degree was to sight-read a particular song that’s considered a standard in the musical theatre world. Because it’s a standard, most people who auditioned were not actually seeing it for the first time (including me).
The song isn’t incredibly difficult to read, but it tells a lot about a pianist’s sense of groove. I played it at least well enough to be accepted to the program, but I hadn’t looked at the song for a few years prior to the audition, and, importantly, I haven’t looked at it since.
Fast forward to today.
One of the students in the class I play for brought in the very same song, to be coached by my advisor, the professor who auditioned and admitted me.
I wanted to play well in front of the other students and impress my advisor, so I took a couple of minutes before class to noodle through the song and refresh my memory.
I hadn’t had time for a proper warm-up and was feeling a little self-conscious, so I tried to run through the song quietly, without drawing attention. I didn’t want people to hear me yet.
Have you ever tried to play a piano without getting people’s attention? It doesn’t work. They still hear you. But in trying to be small, my “brush-up” sounded timid, shrinking, and decidedly un-groovy.
It was bad.
My advisor, working at his desk across the room, glanced up and said exactly what I’d hoped he wouldn’t:
“Didn’t you have to play this to get into the program?”
The subtext being, of course, that if I had played my audition the way I was playing in that moment, I wouldn’t have gotten the gig.
I gulped and mumbled something about only vaguely remembering the audition.
I trailed off and let my practicing splutter into some sad plinks at the piano.
During my “brush-up” of the song, I was trying to play quietly, be invisible, to not let people in the room know that I was going through the motions of the song, wanting to hide the fact that I needed to warm up.
In trying to keep my practice unnoticed, I tried to “control” the music - I kept it smaller than it was meant to be, so as not to draw attention.
For years, I’ve taken moments of dread - like my advisor implying that my work isn’t up to snuff - and used that as my cue to get away, to get small, and timid, and not be noticed until I’m under control and feel strong enough to be back in the hot seat.
Today, I decided to go the other way. My advisor had already heard me approach the song like a wimp. What would happen if I said, “Screw it! I’m playing this thing, and you’re gonna like it!”?
So I sat down and played the hell out of this song. There were a few wrong notes, but it felt good. Much better than trying to save face and be “in control”.
A few minutes later, after performing the song with the singer, my advisor told me I could be more “creepy” at the end, but that he loved the way I played the arpeggios throughout the piece. The coaching had gone well - and my playing was very groovy.
So what happened?
It turns out that you can’t prepare to be groovy by playing half-heartedly and small. If you want to groove and make music and move people, you have to let go.
To play music like that, it’s not your arms or your fingers you need to warm up.
It’s your Confidence, your ability to emotionally accept that you cannot know what will happen if you dig in and PLAY OUT LOUD. You might hit some wrong notes; you might have a great time. You might do both.
Most importantly, by playing confidently, even with abandon, you get to discover the depths of music that actually live inside you - not just what you consciously control on the surface.
If you want to sing out, Sing Out.