Worse than all the other Worst

The worst performance I ever gave was in Essendon. What the audience thought, I do not know. I was so overwhelmed by my own badness that the rest of the world could make no impact.

A little while ago, I was asked if the purpose of plein-air recording was to get a perfect take. At the time I didn’t have an answer, but now I think I do. It is not the perfection of the take that matters, but the tumult or the energy that the take records. It is possible to make a mistake, stop recording, go back, drop in and carry on and still end up with a good take. The same is true - in my niche theatre, at least - of a live performance. The break does not interfere with the energy.

Cutting between takes creates an artificiality that declares itself. That is, it makes the recording rather than the performance the object of attention,. ‘Dropping in,’ although no less artificial in fact, is not attention-seeking. Provided the energy of performance is good, then the take is good.

‘Energy’ is not the best word to use here. ‘Verve’ or ‘vivacity’ or ‘bustle’ or ‘drive’ might be better - or not. A good performance has a quality to it that is made up of rhythm and tempo,  of impulse and conviction. To experience it is to experience an adventure. As an example, though not a theatrical example, I have a recording put out by the ABC of The Messiah. It has been recorded on period instruments following the best and latest musicological research to come out of the best musical faculties in Australia. It is as perfect as you could want - its ornamentations, affects, tempi and intonations are superb. It is the best representation of Handel’s work that you can get. Except that Australians are technocrats, not adventurers and The Messiah is meant more than anything else to be an adventure. The performance is precise, but lacks energy in the sense that I use the word.

My Essenden disgrace could be easily excused. That morning plumbers had woken me up and I had fallen down a ladder while still half-asleep (don’t ask) and my foot had been torn open as I fell. I ended up running naked through the house, spraying everything with blood while tradesmen tried to fix the sink and my host tried not to burn the coffee. But neither my foot nor the plumbers (nor even the coffee) were the problem. The problem was that I started at the wrong tempo, and when I fixed it I ended up with the wrong rhythm, and when I fixed that I was in an illogical part of the building - and my tongue tangled and I forgot what came next and so it went interminably. From within, I would say that the energy was wrong. I was like a drummer that could not get into beat or a singer that could not get into key.

From without, I suspect that the audience found the evening enjoyable; many of them returned a year later when I played the venue again (unless they were hoping I could be even worse). But in myself I know that there was no adventure for them. And that, and no other reason, is why the performance was bad.