A lot has been written recently about the phenomenon of classical musicians performing in spaces usually reserved for indie rockers, folkies, and beer drinkers. And much of what’s said focuses on what it means for classical/new music that this is happening and what it might do for the music’s popularity among the younger set or folks who simply wouldn’t consider listening to the music otherwise. Like I said of HGP’s modus operandi in a previous post, “Part of the reason we like to perform in spaces like those is precisely because it takes a bit of the edge off of a musical genre that could sometimes use a drink or two to loosen itself up. At the same time, bringing new music into those venues hopefully communicates that it’s not just for jowly, cranky old men and turtlenecking professor types.” And that’s good for business. The performer perspective is what’s been missing in that discussion, so I thought I’d offer my own contribution.

For me, playing in “non-traditional” spaces is extremely liberating. The concert hall with all its protocol and convention (for both audience and performer) can be a little stifling, even when making an attempt to break from established norms. There’ve been times when my efforts to loosen up a stuffy recital atmosphere fell a little flat, not because I wasn’t incredibly charming, but rather because we’re programmed to behave certain ways in certain situations. The club setting, however, comes without the weight of those solemn rituals. And as a player, that’s often times been an extremely welcome change.

Playing a show in an alternative space doesn’t alter my approach—I still practice the same amount and bring the same integrity to the performance as I would if I was playing at Merkin Hall or Miller Theater, for example—but it does make me feel different, in a good way. It’s not that peoples’ expectations are lower, but the environment, to me, seems much more relaxed and inviting. I’m not a player who tends to get nervous before my shows, though there’s always that moment of anxiety immediately prior to going on stage. Yet when I play in non-concert hall spaces, I’ve yet to experience any trace of those feelings. Similarly, during the performance of a work in an alternative venue, I feel a lot less pressure. Suddenly, one missed note seems a lot less earth shattering. I’ve found that there’s a big benefit to being able to say, Whatever. . .” to yourself to add a little levity before and during any performance, no matter whether it’s a concerto solo in front of thousands of people, a recital when you know a reviewer is out in the crowd, or chamber piece with first class musicians. It’s kind of a little mental trick because obviously I care deeply about whatever performance I’m giving, yet placing too much weight on it, I think, freezes a little of the freedom in performance that you might have, say, in just a rehearsal when nobody’s listening. And that’s really it: when I play with Hybrid Groove Project in a bar or club or on the sidewalk in front of a skate shop, I feel completely free as a player. Not that I haven’t learned to get myself into that mental space in the recital hall, but it’s a different kind of feeling. So I guess what I’m really trying to say is: Playing in non-traditional venues—good for classical music and I like it too.