Notes from the Back Row: A different perspective
By Charlotte B. Cerminaro
web posted October 10, 2022
Throughout these many years as a performing artist, I cannot count the number of times that I've been asked these questions: "What's it like being a musician?" and "How does it feel to perform on-stage for an audience of complete strangers?" Perfectly fair questions. The answers, however, are neither simple nor glamorous. The ways in which musicians are portrayed—in popular media and films-–differ from the reality that performers know and understand so intimately.
There is nothing new about the performing arts. The skills and the art form have been taught for thousands of years. The highest standards of performance practice have been handed down from one generation to the next, continually evolving and refining. Advancements in technology and the science of acoustics have broadened the field, helping to maximize technical potential. The last century has seen a major expansion in ensemble size and instrumentation—allowing a wider range of expression and virtually limitless innovation. Having said this, many of the basic, essential aspects of performance have remained largely unchanged for centuries.
General audience standards and expectations for live orchestral performances are very high, but they are not complicated. Most individuals attend live performances because they want to be entertained, inspired, surprised and, if possible, awestruck. Orchestra personnel have the unique responsibility of accomplishing all of the above—without any fireworks, violence, gore, dramatic or overt body language and of course, no words, spoken or gestured.
If we consider the intricate internal workings of a complex organism, the activities of a tightly-knit group of performers are better understood and enjoyed. There is a great deal of unspoken communication, cooperation and split-second coordination of many varied but necessary tasks. Onstage, many of our requisite visual cues are solely peripheral. It is considered unprofessional, even disrespectful, to turn or look directly at other musicians during a concert. We remain visually aligned with the conductor and our music while continually maintaining peripheral contact with section-mates and neighbors. This facilitates coordination of minute details such as breathing, so that we may synchronize our entrances, or a slight nuance in volume or tempo. We do not look around; we see. We do not listen; we hear. When we're doing our job, many individuals make one organism.
As complicated as it is, my description hasn't yet answered an underlying curiosity that typically fuels the original questions, nor does it address an experience that is common to many professional musicians and even audience members. It is the only part of our job that might contain a hint of "glamour", but it is elusive in nature, difficult to explain and therefore, to quantify.
Audience members who have experienced the phenomenon use words such as, "unearthly". Musicians might refer to the innate "transcendence" of a composer's work, but we can agree that such moments are fleeting and unforgettable. Though powerful emotions might be stirred, they are far more than 'emotional events'.
However mysterious or unexpected, these pivotal experiences are generally positive. It is not uncommon, though, for artists to be haunted by the compelling and inscrutable nature of such events. Subconsciously driven to replicate these circumstances, they are attempting to evoke a phenomenon that is, essentially, incalculable. The long-anticipated moment will arrive unannounced, at an unexpected time when all is right. Then, as if the heavens have opened up, time seems to stand still; no words will suffice in the face of unfathomable glory. We are unable to sustain or even withstand more than a few moments and just as quickly, it's gone.
There's a certain irony in our inability to summon these musical occurrences at will. Most of the skills from which we draw are consistently available, "on demand". This singular phenomenon is questioned by those with closed minds who believe they are entitled to that which cannot be claimed or owned. Like many of life's bittersweet mysteries, we're granted only a tiny glimpse of something much greater. Sometimes it beckons, with a quiet insistence, to keep reaching for the unknown. So when the inevitable question arises, "What is it like to be a musician?" –for the sake of brevity and simplicity I usually opt for the easiest of all answers: "It's very interesting..." 
Charlotte B. Cerminaro is a Juilliard-trained classical musician and recording artist. In her free time she enjoys writing and regularly contributes to Enter Stage Right and she attained a Bachelor's Degree in Molecular Biology.
