Stage managing musicians is a lot like being an ER nurse during a
hurricane ---you don't know what's coming through those double doors
but it'll be noisy and you'll go home with at least one bitemark.
Producing good music is not your job, your priorities are 1) unlock the
building to ensure eyeballs in front of the performers 2) assist
performers with getting paid/ loading gear 3) break up fights.
Food is nice. Extra copies of the music, music stands, stand lights,
and recording equipment are nice, but those require money and a van, and
often fall to the wayside with indie ensembles. The greatest thing
you can provide a performer is a positive attitude, since half of classical
musicians are high anxiety types who are waiting for someone to notice
their mistakes, and the other half are kinda dead inside. Classical
music kids missed out on all the amazingly supportive pep talks, pranks, and
gay banter from the theater department, so even telling one mildly spicy joke
in the green room will make their week.
I spent the day before the show singing "I'm Losing My Shit",
squatting behind my percussionist's kitchen counter with an Oreo tray while the
violist sobbed her way through a difficult passage. The conductor called five
and walked me outside, past the musicians who were politely ignoring her pain,
past the composer who had flown cross-country to hear his piece get
mangled.
The conductor shut the door. "We should cut this piece. She's not
prepared."
I bit back a "now dear" because she was from Florida and
would stomp me for that shit. "We can't, the guy flew all the way
out here to see it. No one else in the audience will know what's it's supposed
to sound like except for him, I'll tell the violist to fake and let the others
play over her."
She agreed. She was exhausted. Two years in isolation topped
with chemo for brain cancer had drained her, and conducting contemporary
music made even the young break into a full-body sweat. I whispered to the
violist "play what you can, air-bow the rest", gave her a squeeze,
and walked the composer outside.
"I apologize," I began, "We had scheduled an extra rehearsal for
this last week, I can assure you once all the players are in the room the music
will come together, the others are solid. She's just nervous."
He nodded. Nice guy, spent most of his career teaching in small private
schools and having his music performed by every little group on the west
coast. "Would it be best if I didn't attend the dress rehearsal tomorrow?"
"Yeah. You'd scare her. Sorry. But you'll see the concert and there's a
really nice Spanish restaurant next to the hall, you can hang out there."
I felt like shit, partly because of the violist losing her mind twenty feet
away but also because the other composers had sent in fun music, like, fucking
knee-slapper snap your fingers pass the bowl music. His music was good,
but also more abstract and very technically challenging, with lots of
long pauses where the audience might accidentally clap. Easy to fuck up.
The nice thing about the concert day is that we only had the rental space
for three hours, so everyone understood the need to either hustle or stay out
of the way. I will not eat solid food until 8:30pm, instead maintaining a
steady stream of hot chocolate.
4:30pm Loading doors are unlocked but another group is still rehearsing in
the main space, which means most of the parking lot is full for the next 30
minutes. I stand at the main intersection and divert everyone to the free
courthouse parking garage down the block, and shuttle in the big instrument
vehicles (double bass, drum kit, etc) since they can't be parked far away.
5:00pm Musicians, dancers, and sound engineer arrive. I outfitted one green
room counter with snacks, hot cocoa, paper cups, a kettle, spare sheet music,
paychecks labeled alphabetically, and a power strip for people to charge
phones. Once the previous rehearsal folks have cleared out, we go in to start
setting up chairs, amps, cameras, and microphones.
5:30pm I circle the periphery of the room, visible in case someone needs me
but not intruding. Some musicians practice, others chat in
small cliques, but I am requested at least once every two minutes either
verbally or via text. Where can we plug in a quarter inch cable? Is the
upstairs dance room unlocked for warm-up? Should these curtains be opened? Et
cetera.
5:45pm Musicians begin spot-checking with the conductor, and I open the
front doors to lure passersby. It's a beautiful spring day in a busy town
square, filled with families, cute lesbian couples, and the occasional
hobo enjoying day-old pizza. I am terrified that no one will come.
6:00pm I bring the dancers downstairs to rehearse, and while standing
outside the main entrance I see the artist whose paintings inspired
tonight's music. She looks great, nattily dressed and browned from working on a
fifteen-story mural. Three more people arrive. I don't know any of
them.
6:30pm Everything is set up. The performers wrap up and begin hiding
their case backstage, I run into the bathroom to shimmy into a blazer, dress,
heels, and red lipstick. I have stopped checking my phone. I have stopped
checking to see who's in the audience.
7:00pm Go time. I step out the door and am pleasantly surprised that,
not only did we fill every chair, but folks have opened the storage closet to
pull out more chairs, and a few folks have plastered themselves to the front
entrance windows to watch.
7:30pm Aaaand show's over! It went really well! I schmooze for five minutes
with the music festival organizers, the composer, an old school chum, but
quickly dash backstage to change back into jeans so I can help break down
chairs and equipment. Fortunately some of the other musicians are seasoned rock
band pros and are quick to pack cables, take down mics, wheel out enormous
fucking heavy amps, etc.
8:00pm Check and double check and triple check every light, lock, trash can,
thermostat. I will doubt myself multiple times, and go back repeatedly to make
sure I put everything in place, because I like this concert space and want to
rent it again in the future.
8:30pm That burrito never saw me coming.