I remember my first week with the London Philharmonic Orchestra, on stage at the Alte Oper in Frankfurt, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau singing, Sir Georg Solti conducting. Although I had a number of years behind me playing in provincial orchestras, nothing prepared me for the perceived “big-time” pressure of the occasion.
Before the concert started I recall thinking, “How on earth am I going to get through to the end?” Everyone else was relaxed, taking it in their stride, knowing what they were doing, but I was worried I was going to mess up, that I would play too early, play too late, not play together with my colleagues.
As I walked on to the stage I felt like I was walking to my execution. Solti raised his hands and we started Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. I was dreading the slow passages, fearing my bowing arm would start to tremble. Suddenly Solti’s eyes were staring at me. I froze and, in spite of having played the violin for 20 years, I felt like I was a beginner with zero ability.
Panic started and I began planning my escape. Should I leave the platform at the end of the movement, feigning sickness so my colleagues would never suspect it was because of nerves, or should I just run off and throw the violin and myself into the Main river?
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed someone in the second violins looking uncomfortable; his violin bow was shaking, almost as if it had a mind of its own. His complexion had taken on an ashen colour – he really was suffering. At that moment I realised I was not alone in my torture – far from it.
A week later I visited my doctor and got a supply of beta-blockers. They were a life-saver for the next few years – without them I wouldn’t have got beyond the first years in the LPO.
It is good to see that this issue has now come to public attention thanks to a Channel 4 programme called Addicts’ Symphony, which will be broadcast next Wednesday. The 10 addicts in question are all musicians who fell into addiction, usually because of panic attacks about playing in public. They were gathered together by the composer James McConnel, himself a recovering alcoholic whose son Freddy died from a heroin overdose at the age of 18, and confronted their demons by returning to the orchestral stage.
The idea may smack of neatly packaged reality show, but there is a real issue here. Addictions, pressure, burnout are more readily associated with rock and pop, but the supposedly more rarefied world of classical music is by no means immune.
“Addiction problems are widespread among classical musicians for many reasons,” cellist Rachael Lander, who is featured in Addicts’ Symphony, told Radio Times. “There is the lifestyle, the odd hours, working weekends, post-concert socialising. Many players use alcohol and beta-blockers to control their performance anxiety and then, after the high of a performance, musicians can struggle to come down and therefore drink to relax, which becomes habitual.”
In former times you just didn’t talk about any of this. To a large extent you still don’t. No one wants to know. Most teachers at music colleges, who themselves struggled with nerves, tend to avoid raising the subject as they don’t wish to be reminded of their own shortcomings, so the issue gets swept under the carpet. After all an audience pays good money to hear beautiful music, not to see someone shaking.
I soon realised that I was not the only one suffering with nerves. The question then was how to address it. When I was setting out as a musician, the older generation used alcohol. Most of them would never admit that it was stage fright that was fuelling their addiction. One former colleague would dress his alcoholism up, pretending he was a wine connoisseur and real ale expert, but the truth was he desperately needed the alcohol inside his veins to get on stage.
Looking back to 1987, there were at least 10 musicians who routinely would go to the pub on the corner of the street near the rehearsal venue in the 15-minute morning break. This was followed by even more drinking in the longer lunch break. In my first job in Denmark in 1980, there were always musicians drinking beer with their breakfast even before the rehearsal started – clearly the only way they could get the bow on the string or play the high trumpet note.
I have seen many musicians drink themselves to untimely deaths as a result of job-related stress. Some years ago things started to change for the better. A new generation of players – more attuned to mental and physical wellbeing and, as a result of more women getting jobs, less macho – have guided the profession away from alcohol.
Today I have many colleagues who take part in physical activities such as running and cycling. Nearly every year there is someone who participates in the London marathon. There are, indeed, many who regularly cycle from Kent to Glyndebourne, where the LPO plays at the festival. They realise that the best way to deal with the stress of performance nerves is to tackle the problem full-on, ie get physically fit.
I started doing yoga. It has taught me to breathe properly – something music colleges never used to help with. I am convinced that a lack of proper breathing is one of the main reasons for bad nerves. After all, the most beautiful music ever written breathes, so surely there is something wrong when musicians themselves forget to breathe.
