Before I Go on Stage

Belle About Town has had a sneak preview of the BBC Proms 2021 Festival Guide and with very special permission we’re bringing you an article by writer Jessica Duchan on the preparations and rituals that help musicians feel ready to face their audience…

If you visit the museum at Troldhaugen, Edvard Grieg’s former home in Bergen, you might spot several strange figurines in his wife’s bureau. One is a toy troll; another a pig with a four-leaved clover in its snout; and, last but not least, a statuette of a frog. The great Norwegian composer, so the story goes, used to bid the troll goodnight; the pig travelled with him as his mascot; and before he went on stage he always stroked the frog on the back for luck.

If it’s good enough for Grieg, then it’s good enough for us, and the tales of musicians’ pre-concert rituals remain an endless source of fascination. They range from the deeply practical to the utterly bizarre. The pressures of public performance are such that almost anything can come into play as musicians find their best ways to manage nerves, channel energy, calm down, psych up or perhaps seek comfort in routine while preparing to bare their souls to an audience of thousands.

Perhaps the most notorious ritualiser of all was the pianist Shura Cherkassky. One orchestral manager remembers having to wash Cherkassky’s hands for him in warm water before a concert. Other legends include his insistence that someone gave him a kiss just before he went on stage: according to a piano technician who worked with him, the backstage area would clear rapidly as start-time approached.

Dame Myra Hess, the British pianist who founded the National Gallery lunchtime concerts during the Blitz, quietly suffered severe pre-performance nerves. She carried with her a pack of cards and would play patience for half an hour prior to a concert, seemingly to focus, calm and distract her mind – and woe betide anybody who interrupted.

The case of Sviatoslav Richter is far more startling. In Bruno Monsaingeon’s book Sviatoslav Richter: Notebooks and Conversations, the legendary Russian pianist describes a period of chronic depression that he suffered in 1974: ‘It was impossible for me to live without a plastic lobster that I took with me everywhere, leaving it behind only at the very moment I went on stage,’ he wrote.

‘Nerves’, ‘stage fright’, ‘performance anxiety’ – call it what you like – but going on stage in front of thousands of people who have high expectations of you is a terrifying prospect. Some musicians, though, have learnt psychological tricks to prevent themselves becoming stressed. A colleague tells me that he remembers Daniel Barenboim rising early on the morning of a concert in order to cook a curry for friends before heading off for his day’s work rehearsing and then performing two gargantuan piano concertos. Sakari Oramo, Chief Conductor of the BBC Symphony Orchestra, says that for him, too, the best thing is simply to treat concert day like any other. ‘It helps with concentration,’ he says. ‘I am not a person for rituals. I just need a good night’s sleep, a walk outside and proper nourishment – that’s it.’

Sometimes what appears eccentric to others can be in reality a means of effective preparation. The violinist Jascha Heifetz apparently used to ready himself for concerts according to the likely temperature of the hall. If it was known to be hot, he would practise for a couple of days beforehand wearing layers of warm clothing and with the heating on; if cold, the garb would be underwear, with open windows to ensure a chilly draught. This might have looked peculiar, but it made some sense. A more appealing experience attended the flautist Marcel Moyse, who reportedly liked a hearty meal with a glass of wine just before a performance, the idea being that it warmed up the lips.

Alcohol is a tricky area, its effects ranging from Dutch courage to possible disaster. The story goes of two contrasting tenors of bygone days – one a teetotaller, the other rarely without a drink in his hand – who encountered each other backstage in an opera house. The first said to the second: ‘How can you go on stage and drink?’ The second responded: ‘How can you go on stage and not drink?’

The tenor Stuart Skelton says that avoiding alcohol is his one big rule before a show. ‘Some of my colleagues give me a terrible time over it, but for me it’s necessary,’ he says. ‘There’s no real medical reason not to drink unless it affects you, but I find alcohol is drying to my voice. Even if other people say they can’t hear a difference, I notice a change in the amount of energy required if I’ve had even one beer in that time, so I just stay away from it. Of course, after the performance I break the rule – unless there’s another performance within the next 72 hours. During an opera run I’m dry for some time.’

Yoga is a more popular prop: it stretches everything, warms the body and calms the mind. Unexpected encounters with it, however, can prove briefly unsettling. Ted Heath, long before he became the UK’s Prime Minister in 1970, went into a dressing room minutes before a concert by the Busch Quartet, only to discover one member of the ensemble balancing there in a headstand.

You won’t find the violinist Patricia Kopatchinskaja doing that. ‘On the day of a concert, as far as possible I do, physically, nothing,’ she says. ‘It’s a day to recharge. I play the general rehearsal, but otherwise I don’t move at all. I cannot have phone calls, I cannot read, I cannot think about anything but the piece. I have to become the piece. It’s really a concentration thing: I imagine being in that music, telling that story.

‘I imagine myself as a storm in the evening. I must collect all this strength and energy and the ability to throw fire into the audience, into the orchestra – to become a storm. You must become a superhuman on stage: you’re in the moment and you have no second chances – you cannot repeat something – and to be able to tell a story you must be able to endure it. Becoming a storm means that you have also to survive in this storm yourself.’

Singers’ pre-performance routines vary enormously: some refuse to talk at all, but Skelton says that he tries to speak quietly through the course of the day. Warming up, he remarks, depends on the repertoire: ‘If you’re singing a Wagner opera that’s five hours long and you’ve warmed up before Act 1, you’ll be tired by Act 3.’ Fastening the cufflinks also counts for something: ‘I have two pairs that I alternate – one is a Britten–Pears pair with Ben and Peter [the composer and tenor duo, partners in music and life] in black relief on a blue background – and the other is a pair of infinity cufflinks that my wife bought me for our wedding.’

It all sounds perfectly rational – except, potentially, the shoes. ‘I tend not to put my shoes on till the last minute,’ Skelton says. ‘I’ll be three-quarters dressed, in my costume and ready to go, but I’m still just in my socks. I don’t know why that is, but I’ve always done it. I don’t know whether it’s superstition or just a way to stay comfortable a little while longer.’

Proms performers, this is your five-minute call … and don’t forget to stroke the frog!

• This article was written for the BBC Proms 2021 Festival Guide, out now, containing features, interviews and performance listings, £8

• Jessica Duchen’s music journalism has appeared in The Independent, The Guardian and BBC Music Magazine. She is the author of five novels, two plays, biographies of Fauré and Korngold and the libretto for Roxanna Panufnik’s opera Silver Birch. Her classical music blog JDCMB has run since 2004.

• Sakari Oramo features at the Proms on 27 August & 11 September; Patricia Kopatchinskaja on 28 August; and Stuart Skelton on 11 September