Classical Viola or Die

The day I fell head over heels in love with the viola was one of the most important days of my life. I’d been an unsatisfied violinist since the age of five and can confidently say that I wouldn’t be a professional musician today if I hadn’t found my voice and soul in this beautiful instrument. I came to the party quite late – I didn’t make the discovery until the age of 22, and within months of making the switch I’d sat my 8thgrade AMEB exam and gained entry into the Sydney Conservatorium of Music to study with Roger Benedict.

All I knew at the time was that I wanted to play this instrument that spoke so closely to my soul that it felt like an external reflection of my own voice. I didn’t think too much about the institutional pathway that lay ahead of me – entering a Conservatorium environment filled with expectations and requirements, following the trajectory of a ‘successful’ classical musician or else being seen as a failure. I just wanted to play the viola, and continue expressing my love for music. I subsequently suffered from huge performance anxiety and increased depression (that had already started as a teenager), and an overwhelming heartbreak that the only path as a violist I saw before me was one I didn’t want to take. What was lingering for me just over the horizon was a realisation that the journey as a musician is as personal as every other aspect of our lives, and I needed to stop looking for traditional routes to take and start finding my own.

I tried everything: I went overseas and worked with a string quartet on a cruise ship for a year and saw the world. I set up a thriving string teaching studio in Far North Queensland for three years. I acquired my teaching certificate and moved to New Zealand to try my hand at classroom music teaching. I took on a role as Head of Strings at a prestigious private school just outside of Brisbane. I loved teaching but felt constrained within the institutional mindset that only allowed creativity within a set of parameters, objectives and boxes waiting to be ticked.

I finally returned to my home town, Orange, NSW, exhausted after my itchy feet had eventually taken me to California, USA, on and off for two years to pursue a long distance relationship whose ending proved to be a blessing in disguise. I finally had had enough – of wasting time not doing what I truly love, and looking for my purpose in all the wrong places.

Taking up an interim role as Head of Strings at the Orange Regional Conservatorium, I began to experiment with my viola. I reached out to all the established contemporary musicians in Orange to find out what they were doing in their careers. I found passionate creative entrepreneurs eager to write music and perform it wherever they could. And most importantly, it was their own music, from the heart, and that could be whatever they wanted it to be. I was truly inspired. I had always looked up to classical-violinist-turned-indie-rocker Andrew Bird, so I started to learn some of his songs with a loop pedal. Learning this music I had loved for so long inspired me to start writing songs of my own about my time in California and the emotional turmoil I had been through in my travelling quest for love and purpose.

Three realisations have since made my solo project ‘Amy Viola’ gain momentum. Firstly: I’ve truly accepted my uniqueness as an individual and musician, outside of the institution I’ve attempted to conform to time and time again, and I actively seek out unique and unusual opportunities with my viola (my current project is a show tour of Bob Dylan’s ‘Desire’ album, with viola improvisation and backing vocals). Secondly: technology is my best friend! My three-channel Boss RC-300 loop pedal not only allows me to perform complex, intricately layered pieces, but is the perfect songwriting companion. My Firewood Acoustic preamp allows me to equalise my sound so that the audience hears a rich, deep amplified viola sound. Lastly, instead of seeing my fellow musicians as critical, competitive colleagues bandying for limited work and opportunities, my perspective has shifted to see a wider enclave of passionate individuals who love to share and help as I take my first few steps writing and performing new, original and unique music.

From a greater perspective, I believe that the future of music is what we, the artists, decide to make of it, as it always has been. There is now more money being spent on consuming music than ever before, but in new and unusual ways. I’ve realised that it is the unique, authentic voice calling out over the general hum that will turn heads, and I’m excited to see some of my classical colleagues coming to the same understanding. I will be forever grateful for the world-class training and instruction I received as a student. I am also grateful that I’ve finally found the emotional space to step into my own musical persona, away from the rigid framework, and into the brave new creative world waiting to be crafted by those who have a passionate voice with something to say.

Amy is a musician, composer and educator living in Australia. Her new songwriting project ‘Amy Viola’ is a uniquely crafted, soulful and raw account of her life as a gypsy musician told amidst sweet vocals and looped layers of deep, rich viola.Find out more at www.amyviola.com

I've cured my performance anxiety.

Recently I chose to jump out of a perfectly good plane at 14,000 feet. I exercised my free will and chose to do this, to pay extra to jump five thousand more feet, in order to free fall for more seconds than a regular jump.

As I was signing my life away, I geared up with some familiarly sweaty palms. My skin started to tingle and my stomach churned. These were familiar feelings. I had jumped out of this plane before - but in another way. I went through this exact set of physiological responses during my Conservatorium degree performing in front of my peers and teachers.

I learned an astounding lesson after I jumped out of that plane. You are either a jumper, or a non-jumper. There is no grey area, no in-between. You either land on your feet, jump for joy and plan your next jump, or never even consider jumping in the first place. It's really that black-and-white.

Is it also so, then, when you stand on stage, that you are either a performer or a non-performer? Many of us wouldn't say we are natural performers, yet we battle forth and struggle to continue to perform, because of our love and passion for music. Some performances feel easier than others, some days our artistic practice seems more natural than others, and some days we crumple in a heap of self-doubt.

I’ve identified the following energies within myself that hinder my ability:

—> I care so much about my performance that I over-think it

—> I worry too much about what others will think of my performance

—> The physiological manifestation of anxiety in my body is interpreted as extreme fear and I act accordingly

These energies should really look like this:

—> I care about every moment in my performance and my presence shines through in each note

—> I want the audience to enjoy my performance and I perform to them

—> The physiological manifestation of anxiety in my body is interpreted as excitement and it adds energy to my performance

And so here it is - my cure. To harness my love and passion for music.

I choose now to perform music I love so much that it transports me to another place and time when I perform it, so that I don’t even notice where I am, let alone who might be watching and judging.

I had this experience recently where, I found myself booked at the last minute for a fundraiser to perform my original songs with viola and loop pedal. It was the perfect storm of anxiety-producing circumstances: I was unwell, the gig was high profile, and the venue intimate yet also intimidating. I went through the usual ritualistic rigmarole of over-preparing, knowing exactly what I was going to do, and when, in order to try and cope. As I approached the stage, I started to relax. I was excited to play my own music which I love so much, and thrilled that I had in front of me 100 people who had never heard anything like what I was about to play. I was excited for them, for their anticipation and potential amazement. Flashback to the crippling anxiety of my performance degree where I was expected to flawlessly perform solo Bach and it was like a mental battle-zone every time (as a side note, I believe that those who successfully perform this are making that music ‘their own’ - through some process of natural internalisation their performance feels to them like music of their own).

What do you think?

AV

Amy is a musician, composer and educator living in Australia. Her new songwriting project ‘Amy Viola’ is a uniquely crafted, soulful and raw account of her life as a gypsy musician told amidst sweet vocals and looped layers of deep, rich viola. Find out more at www.amyviola.com