Some thoughts on performing under pressure

Singing and gymnastics have a lot in common: Both are very physical activities requiring tremendous stamina and motor coordination combined with aristry. As performers, both have to keep their bodies in optimal condition in order to perform their best, and they struggle with the effects of nerves on their performances. As one who often performs poorly under the pressure of competition, it has been educational for me to watch the Olympic gymnastics finals on TV. The best of the best (i.e. Liukin & Johnson) are careful what they allow themselves to pay attention to during a competition and are often seen closing their eyes as part of a routine to focus their thoughts and calm their nerves. They are also known, according to commentators, for being exceptionally able to "live in the moment" and are less affected by recent and/or significant setbacks and disappointments -- skills which are probably linked to their ability to focus their thoughts. These qualities make them very successful. Others, like Alicia Sacrimone, are more like me, lacking in these skills. Our technical and artistic skills enable us to compete in venues where we consistently perform below our ability because we are overly concerned with the importance of the event and the consequences of mistakes.

Figure skating is in the same boat with singing and gymnastics as a sport requiring both athleticism and artistry, and it has similar examples of grace under pressure. My favorite is that of Sarah Hughes, Olympic gold medalist in women's figure skating in 2002 - she was in fourth place heading into the final program behind three powerhouses in the sport. Assuming she was out of contention for a medal, she decided the pressure was off and just tried to entertain the audience, while the powerhouses, each knowing the smallest mistake could cost them a gold medal, made significant careless and uncharacteristic mistakes. A commentator stated, "For Sarah, it wasn't about the result; it was about the performance." And it earned her a gold medal. In the end, it's not about who is the best skater, but who out of a handful of world-class skaters performs best under unfathomable pressure.

I have worked on telling myself that these events (i.e, the Met auditions) are not important and that I am not trying to accomplish anything "special", I'm just there to repeat the "same old show" that I do day after day in the studio. This helps, but I am still working on convincing myself, I think, because most of my best performances show up in the privacy of the studio. Tim Galway's book, The Inner Game of Tennis, offers a great deal of insight on this matter, as well, which again, I have yet to fully internalize. Book knowledge of these concepts is not surprisingly insufficient.

For the record, I have won more track (running) events than I have singing events -- and I have competed in more singing events than track events, albeit at a much higher level.

Update on the Met auditions

I almost forgot to tell you how the audition went. It went okay. Multiple people, including my teacher, said it is the best I have ever sung in an opera competition. I felt I sang a solid performance, but I felt I must have looked terrified. I was sure everyone could see my knees shaking. My teacher concurred - I looked like I wanted to be anywhere but on that stage. But it was still my personal best for that environment, so I am glad I did it. That being said, however, I don't see much point in doing it again. Yes, I will be too old for the Met auditions next year, but the DLOG competition uses the same stage, and I think I will forgo that from now on, too. There is nothing more for me to gain from the experience. I am not a competitive singer. After all, a competition is not very different from a studio recital - you come on, you sing your song, and you leave - but I perform quite well in recitals and not so well in competition. Recitals are the reality of performing, so if I had to choose, I would take being better at recitals; competitions are contrived. In competitions, we go to win, but in recitals, we go to entertain, and that is what art is really about: entertainment and the sheer joy of doing it.

It goes both ways

So, I just finished watching the Bucks get anhililated in the BCS championship for the 2nd year in a row. About halfway through, I remarked to a friend that I am a lot like the Buckeyes' football team: I generally perform really well, except in competition (that is, under pressure). He said, I thought you were going to say the Bucks looked like a bunch of opera singers trying to play football. He has a point.

What I need

I'm getting ready for my last run at the Met competition next Friday. I know I'm not Met material, but I'd like to advance out of the prelims for once. Unfortunately, as much as I might shine on stage in a show, I am not very good at competition. Beyond that, as a singer, I am fully aware that my own insecurities are holding me back more than anything else right now.

As much as I know the judge (last year) who said it was way out of line [if I had known the woman was opera's Simon Cowell, I wouldn't have bothered waiting around for her comments!], I can't shake her accusation that my performance that day was an embarrassment to my education. Except she didn't see it (or say it) as "my performance that day" - she saw it as "me" or "my abilities." My intellect tells me that her comment was based on one of my worst performances and therefore it doesn't really matter, but Satan keeps repeating it to me and it tortures me.

This week, I remembered that the best time in my life as a singer was probably my last year and a half at IU when I studied with Klara Barlow. The woman never succeeded in remembering my name, but she built up the diva in me -- the one my two previous IU teachers had nearly crushed to bits. The confidence she encouraged in me set my voice free and corrected a whole mess of technical problems without her ever having to address them directly.

I'm not looking for someone to tell me I'm awesome just so I feel good - I still need the constructive criticism that is part of taking lessons, but I need more than just technical mentorship.

Denver Lyric Opera Guild Voice Competition

How did I do? Definitely not a one-word answer. I'll start with the bad so that I can end with the good.

Bad: My first high Bb was pretty darn good, but the second one lacked some in velocity. I also ran short of air at the end of two phrases resulting in a tighter sound.

Good: I felt mostly relaxed and consistent in my delivery with a song I've sung countless times, including several times in performance. I felt it was the best acting I've done competitively.

Bad: They didn't ask me for a second selection. Of those I was privleged to hear, they asked for two selections from the better ones.

Good: I received unsolicited compliments from a couple of audience members when I sat in the house an hour later to listen to some friends sing.

Bad: I found my teacher right afterward. She talked about tongue tension and said that my tone was darker than usual and the diction not clear enough.

Good: She said that she thought the audience liked me. She said she thought the audience felt the character's emotions. Juliana Bishop Hoch, founder and director of the Loveland Opera Theatre stresses that we must know what we want the audience to FEEL. My teacher had no idea that I went onstage with that concept in mind. It would seem I accomplished at least one of my goals.


The good and bad sides tend to balance each other out leaving me with a net reaction that's very middle-of-the-road. I'm pleased that I did better than I have done before in competition, but not my absolute best, and probably not well enough to advance to the finals next week.

I should mention that my husband has been extremely supportive of me, and his encouragement helped make the whole thing a positive experience for me. Thank you, Eric!