Wednesday, October 30, 2019 // The Statement
2B
Managing Statement Editor
Andrea Pérez Balderrama
Deputy Editors
Matthew Harmon
Shannon Ors
Associate Editor
Eli Rallo
Designers
Liz Bigham
Kate Glad
Copy Editors
Silas Lee
Emily Stillman
Photo Editor
Danyel Tharakan
Editor in Chief
Maya Goldman
Managing Editor
Finntan Storer
statement
THE MICHIGAN DAILY | OCTOBER 30, 2019
T
hough I write “flutist” on my
resume, “professional scaredy-
cat” might be more accurate.
I’m sure any musician remembers their
first performance vividly. My memory,
however, is a bit too vivid and not in a good
way. After weeks of hesitation, I mustered
up my courage and asked my teacher for a
performance opportunity at a local church.
As the director of music there, he happily
put my name down on the Sunday program
and I received the music score right away. I
was self-conscious about my lack of perfor-
mance experience, so I practiced endlessly
(Apologies to the girl who lived right above
the music room — she was definitely sick
of the melody). Beginning Saturday night
after dinner, I started to feel a bit uneasy.
But somehow, I managed to calm myself
and slip into a good night’s sleep. I hoped
everything would be just dandy the next
morning.
“I got this!” I said to my reflection in the
mirror before wrapping myself with the
blanket.
Sadly, as soon as I woke up the next
morning, the Freudian unconsciousness
revealed its ugliness. I wasn’t thinking
about the performance while chewing my
breakfast eggs and toast, but my heart was
beating at an unusual pace. As 10 o’clock
approached, its rhythm increased. Linearly.
Oh boy.
I decided to make myself look pretty
first. I put on my favorite dress from Free
People and gave myself a final mirror-
check. Strangely, the phoenix pattern on
the dress seemed a bit less glorious than it
was two days ago on the hanger. I did not
have the choice to back out and be a cow-
ard, so I grunted and headed toward the
church. The uphill route did not help. If I
had graphed my heart rate, the function
would have transformed from a linear one
to an exponential one.
The choir was already there in their
robes, chatting and giggling. I quietly
assembled my flute and sat at the bench. I
was hoping to blend into the back-
ground, which may have been pos-
sible if I weren’t wearing a colorful
phoenix dress.
“There you are, Ivy!”
With the whole choir staring at
me, my teacher asked me to play
the note “A” to tune with the piano.
To anyone who plays an orchestral
instrument, the “A” note must be
familiar — this tuning note signi-
fies the start of a performance or a
rehearsal. I, however, did not know
such a thing as the “tuning note.”
So my first reaction was to produce
a frowning, confused face.
Fair enough. But I was surely
capable of playing a single note,
wasn’t I?
No. And here’s why. On the
piano, you can produce a sound,
maybe even a good one by simply
pressing down a key. However, the
flute requires mastery of breathing.
A slight change in the air stream
may result in a catastrophic sound.
Learning how to properly breathe
was already difficult enough dur-
ing practice. How did I think my
delicate breath would react when
it was being chased by the giant,
spooky monster of nervousness?
Shake was all I did. I had a shaky brain,
10 shaky fingers, two shaky lips and a shaky
stream of air. I played that A note (sort of)
in a pitiful way. The flowy melody that
I was capable of producing during prac-
tice sessions fell into pieces. Oh, if only I
could’ve hid behind the piano! I shook so
violently that the slur became staccato.
The 20 seconds of my solo felt like an eter-
nity. Thankfully, the choir sang so loud
and enthusiastic that their voice drowned
my fragmented notes. I have never felt so
grateful for a singing voice before.
Anyone would guess after that experi-
ence, I’d avoid public performance when-
ever possible. Wrong. I forgot about my
pain too quickly. Only after a few weeks,
I signed up for my high school graduation
performance to play “Variations For Flute
and Piano”, a challenging piece by Chopin. I
was determined I would conquer my adren-
aline this time. Chopin may have liked my
courage, but he definitely would have yelled
at me: “Girl, not my piece. Play something
simpler!”
As if my last performance wasn’t trau-
matic enough, this time, I took my shaki-
ness to a stage with an audience of 400.
All of them were students, faculty and par-
ents of the graduating class, and they were
all watching the girl who stood under the
brightest spotlight. But instead of rocking
the stage, she went completely catatonic
and lost her rhythm. Chopin and I left an
eternal mark in the program pamphlet. I
sincerely hope he won’t be angry at me. It
was far beyond embarrassing.
I, the so-called performance musician,
am utterly crippled by stage fright.
But I am not alone. The famed tenor,
Luciano Pavarotti, threw up backstage
before his performances. Ozzy Osbourne
wrote in his biography: “to say that I suf-
fer from pre-show nerves is like saying that
when you get hit by an atom bomb it hurts a
bit.” I suppose that’s why stage fright is kind
of a cliché. Knowing how these masters
suffered does offer me a little relief. Unfor-
tunately, understanding that fear is com-
mon isn’t exactly a remedy for fear itself.
I can’t help but wonder if it was magic, or
maybe performance-enhancement drugs,
that allowed them to ultimately put on such
magnificent shows.
The answer, I believe, is neither. How
these introverted artists pushed themselves
onstage, despite shaky muscles, ice-cold
hands, and racing hearts, is miraculous. It’s
also the most human thing I can imagine.
They set their finger to the keys, or the fret-
board, and draw a deep breath. It’s terrify-
ing, but they push through. The notes will
only linger for a moment, but the music will
outlive them for hundreds of years. That is
the paradox of creativity — despite great
fear, something fragile within us demands
to be created. That desire is strong enough
to conquer adrenaline. That’s why, despite
the judgmental eyes of the audience, and
despite my ice-cold fingertips, I continue to
perform. That’s why I raise my flute in the
spotlight — to imitate so many scaredy-cats
before me, each of whom chose to be brave,
for one moment, and leave beautiful music
behind.
A shaky flutist
BY IVY CAI, STATEMENT COLUMNIST
ILLUSTRATION BY JONATHAN WALSH