Monday, January 26, 1998
Aspiring artist experiences performance under pressure
GUEST COLUMN Waiting tables, singing opera just small part of
stressful job
As I stepped onto the stage, my hands were visibly shaking.
Nervously, I drew in a series of short, sharp breaths. I looked
over at the accompanist for some reassurance and he nodded and
smiled encouragingly. Angrily, I chided myself for this case of
stage fright.
"I have auditioned before!" I thought. Yet when I looked into
the expectant eyes of more than 100 customers eating their pressed
chickens, gremolatas and key lime pies, I knew this was unlike any
audition I had ever experienced.
My subsequent successful audition landed me a job working as a
"singing server" (waitress, in good-old-fashioned terms) at Max’s
Opera Cafe, a restaurant in the Bay Area, during this past winter
break. Max’s is an upscale New York-style deli that combines dining
with live music performed by people like yours truly.
I spent four weeks working at Max’s and during that time I
served a lot of food and sang all the time. The weird, and equally
wonderful, thing about Max’s is the combination of waiting tables
and performing. Separately, they are not so strange. Put them
together and you get "aspiring artists," (that’s what the menu
calls us) stereotypically not the most compassionate of people, who
must serve the paying customers of this reputable restaurant.
Unfortunately though, I don’t have any juicy stories about brawls
between sensitive artists and irate customers.
Surprisingly, the servers learn to perform the balancing act
between the accommodating waiter role and the "prima-donna" role
quite well. At first I was overwhelmed by the fast-paced,
high-stress nature of the job, but after a full week of training
(waitressing is hard!), I felt I had learned the basics.
Eager to begin serving on my own (tips!), I started my first day
alone. Yet during my training I still hadn’t mastered the
all-important aspect of carrying large amounts of spillable
beverages and food. Within an hour, my lovely Table 18 with two
elderly couples narrowly missed a bath of chardonnay, Heineken and
merlot. I was not quite so lucky. Okay, so I wasn’t quite five-star
material. I was positive that would come with time. At least I
could still sing.
I mainly sing opera, classical and musical theater. I soon
learned that singing at Max’s is analogous to auditioning again and
again. Each time your audience is different and each time you may
succeed or fail. Sometimes you succeed and no one cares. Other
times you fail and everybody notices. Of course the flip side is
also true.
I think singing in a restaurant, packed with all kinds of
different people, is more difficult than singing for casting and
musical directors. With the people in "the business," I know what
to expect. With the patrons at the restaurant, I never know what
reactions I’ll receive.
The funny thing about singing opera in a restaurant though is
that it’s not quite the same audience you would expect who listens
to opera. So when I followed The Lion King’s "Can You Feel the Love
Tonight," with an aria from Bizet’s "Carmen", I always felt a
little funny. Especially when I had five demanding tables ( all
with children and "special needs") expecting me to dote on their
every whim.
Singing in a pressured situation is a good learning experience
for any singer. It taught me to focus in the midst of the loud din
that often occurs during peak dining hours and to sing with
confidence even if no one appears to hear you. The audience dynamic
changes every hour as customers leave and new ones arrive. Because
of that, I had to approach each time I sang as if it were my first
song of the night.
Of course singing under pressure also leads to huge goofs, like
the time I was thinking about everything but singing and stupidly
stepped up to the mike to perform an aria. Contemplating what I
needed to do at the end of the song – put some orders in, bring a
condo caddie to table 104, get some saltines for the kid at table
108 – I began singing the last verse first. By the time I realized
what I was doing I was half way though the aria and so gritting my
teeth, I sang the verse again. Thankfully it was all in French and
only I and my accompanist noticed. I think.
Along with the mistakes comes the other side of the spectrum.
One table seated two men in their early 30s who seemed neither
interesting nor impressionable. They asked me the inevitable
question "Do you sing?" Answering affirmatively, they asked if I
would sing soon (a fairly typical request after a table learns
their server is a chanteuse; as are "Phantom of the Opera" and "Les
Mis" requests – agh!).
Promising nothing, I told them I would try. Right before they
left I sang "O Holy Night" as it was two days before Christmas.
After singing, I returned to my section and the two men, both
visibly moved, told me I had captivated the entire room into an
appreciating silence.
It is the comments like that, unexpected and unasked-for, that
really made my time working as a singing server so memorable. It
reaffirmed my desire to become a performer and reminded me why I
love to entertain in the first place. And as an
"aspiring-something-er-other," putting myself out there every night
taught me a little about what I can expect in the years to
come.
Working at Max’s was not by any stretch of the imagination an
easy or glamorous job. Let’s face it, a waitress by any other name
is still a waitress. I worked long hours on my feet, catered to the
needs of many hungry people and washed my cute little Gap blouse
every day. Yet singing every night in front of a live audience was
one of the best experiences of my life so far. I gained an
invaluable glimpse into the uncertain, frightening, exhilarating
and inspiring world of the performer. That, and I made a lot of
money.
Holt is a third-year anthropology major. After an insightful
month working at Max’s she has decided to change the topic of her
honors thesis to focus on struggling female performers.
Jessica Holt