Harper's Magazine

February 1, 1996 | Nichols, Diane

From "The Demons Within: Confronting Performance Anxiety, " by Diane Nichols, in
the December 1995 issue of Chamber Music magazine. Nichols is the director of the
Performing Arts Psychotherapy Center in New York City.
Vladimir Horowitz, it is well known, struggled with performance anxiety throughout
his career. That stage fright would afflict a world-famous soloist is understandable:
the risks for such a performer are enormous; the possibility of humiliation, constant.
But severe performance anxiety is not limited to internationally known virtuosi.
Studies show that many orchestra players rely heavily on beta blockers such as
Inderal for symptoms that include shaking and heart palpitations.
What, then, of the chamber musician? Small-ensemble performing presents unique
and intense forms of stress. In the constant give-and-take between players, there are
numerous opportunities to be thrown off. Each member is responsible for frequent
solo passages, and most chamber musicians, even at the highest levels, know the
panic of getting lost. In chamber music there is no fall guy in the form of a conductor.
A soloist, even in his most trying performance, has the freedom of walking off the
stage after ten minutes. But chamber concerts can go on for hours.
There are also complex life stresses--common to all artists--that are particularly
troublesome for chamber music performers. Intermittent work does not provide
enough money for a sense of financial security. Constant touring can create romantic
conflict and promote a sense of isolation. Complicated negotiations with agents,
managers, and publicity personnel consume valuable free time. And one must
contend, at times, with humiliating newspaper reviews. Among all these variables,
there is but one constant: the pressure with each performance to launch a career or
build on previous success.
When the need to excel or the desire to communicate the power of music collides with
the fear of failure in performance, the result is anxiety. Sensing danger, the cortex of
the brain prepares the body for a fight-or-flight response. But performers do not have
an objective enemy to fight, and their excessive adrenaline can't be expelled through
flight. The result is "inhibited flight"--the feeling of being stuck onstage with
physiological symptoms, including shaking, cold hands, sweating palms, heart
palpitations, difficulty in swallowing, shortness of breath, and the need to relieve
oneself.
Anxiety is frequently triggered by something unconscious. For many performers, I
believe, public performance stirs hidden fears and desires that have their roots in
childhood. The conflicts that are re-activated during performance differ for each
musician, depending on family experience, the motivation for performing, and the
effects of formal training.
For some, the unconscious meaning of performing for an audience is that of revenge. I
once treated a percussion player whose father treated him with marked hostility and

competitiveness. The father criticized the son, belittling his accomplishments and
occasionally embarrassing him in front of others. At age ten, the son discovered that
playing an instrument put him in a world beyond his father's expertise. This delighted
the son, who soon immersed himself in music with a sense of escape and a feeling of
secret power. One psychoanalyst, writing about a similar pattern in a patient of his
own, reported that his patient's motive was "to dazzle his audience and to stun them
with his virtuosity, to overwhelm them so that they would feel childlike and envious
in relation to him as he once felt in relation to his father."
Fundamentally, the player seeks revenge, but he fears his father's retaliation. In such
cases, anxiety serves as a form of suffering that compensates for the guilt connected to
the wish for retaliation.
"I never believe anybody who says they don't ever get nervious," declares
internationally acclaimed cellist Gary Hoffman. Yet he confirms that performance
anxiety is rarely discussed among professionals in the field. Players dare not risk
appearing vulnerable in a competitive professional environment.
Concealing the problem, however, usually leads to deep psychological denial and to
the intensity of all-or-nothing thinking. "I must play flawlessly," the player frets, "or I
will be exposed for the impostor I truly am."
Performing as a chamber musician is a risktaking endeavor. Although some anxiety
may facilitate performance, too much may debilitate both the performance and the
performer. This problem clearly needs to be faced. If only it could be acknowledged
without fear of loss of work, I believe that seeking help for it would be less
threatening. Performance anxiety need not be a shameful secret.
COPYRIGHT 1999 Harper's Magazine Foundation. This material is published under
license from the publisher through the Gale Group, Farmington Hills, Michigan.