Performance majors

Little doormats, coachsplaining, distraction, and dance moves.

“So, you’ve got two men on stage, that’s easy. It’s brothers in arms, comrades, you know, you can see that one. Um, he’s accompanying a woman - that, you completely understand, he’s the male escort to a beautiful woman. He’s the male ballet dancer to the prima ballerina, the safe male pair of hands that we’re used to, that we trust in social situations. If you’ve got a male singer with a girl playing the piano, you start having these, uh - I think there are these subconscious questions that go on. Okay, is she really the one who wears the trousers, you know, is she a, um, a bossy-boots at the piano, or is she, um, a little doormat, a little mouse that he walks over? What is the relationship here becomes, we complicate it for, kind of, gender reasons. Um, Ian and Jenny Partridge was a winner because they were brother and sister, we can work with that. The real question should be why do we think in those terms at all. Why isn’t it just A and B, completely ungendered? Then you get two girls, and there’s just too many frocks. Which is why, I’m afraid, with all my female students I say, if you’re going to play in the Wigmore Hall competition, get yourself a really good trouser suit. That takes you away from any kind of, you know, competition with what your singer is wearing, um, uh, that puts you into the same bracket as if you were one of the chaps.”

- Roger Vignoles, renowned collaborative pianist, former repetiteur at the Royal Opera House, Prince Consort Professor of Piano at the Royal College of Music, interview in 2021 with Chanda VanderHart for the podcast Too Many Frocks. 

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I’ll give y’all a minute while I iron my non-distracting trouser suit. 

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Okay, let’s get into it. 

I’ve written a little bit before about the role of dampening your own opinion in the course of your musical training, how necessary it is to turn down the chatter in your head when you’re learning to fine-tune a complicated set of physical processes. And during that tender time, as in any profession, we’re learning to perform in a lot of different ways. Every human system has what we often call unwritten rules, a repertoire of performative behavior that expresses and reinforces the values of the system. Not everybody acts the same way or agrees on everything, or even on most things - but somehow we feel it when those rules are being stretched or broken. The nuances of these rules vary wildly from one system to the next - a cut-to-the-chase communication style might be revered in one boardroom and reviled in another. 

Within systems of classical music, which are deeply concerned with reverence for and connection to the past, we learn very early to start performing obedience (aka serving the music, respecting the composer, learning the rules before you break them, etc.) Which means we also start learning to perform dominance. Who leads, and who follows? Following is quite literally the first skill we work on as collaborative pianists. There’s a stereotype of the dutiful accompanist, particularly in work with vocalists, obediently adapting and acquiescing to the musical vision, strengths, and weaknesses of their partners. 

But the performance of obedience can get flipped on its head when you change our title from accompanist to coach.  The contributions of both accompanists and coaches to the performances we hear are often downplayed, but the power dynamics assumed by the two terms are utterly different. The word coach carries with it the connotation of expertise (I don’t mean that accompanists are not experts, only that the title doesn’t have the same immediate connection). In an opera house, coaches might speak a language fluently, or have worked on particular repertoire, or with prominent artists. A coach’s personal connection to people and practices from the past - or to important theaters and hiring committees - brings status to their bench. A singer coming to work with a coach learns to reverse the singer/accompanist power dynamic, performing obedience to the coach’s authority, and it’s not too different if the coach is working with song or instrumental repertoire. 

Most of us pianists, with time and experience, will work in several places along the coach/accompanist continuum on any given day, skillfully changing up our performance of authority or deference depending on the situation. And particularly in the case of pianists and singers, our partners are also learning that nuanced dance. It’s a dance I enjoy and take pride in, to tell you the truth, when it comes to the musical conversation itself. It’s wonderful to soak up the spotlight, and wonderful to step back so someone else can shine. I love the performative dance in performance (how academic was that) of leading, following, jumping off the cliff together.

But I’ve also felt the change of human status that can come with those different roles. I’m usually a conductor, a coach, and an accompanist simultaneously, and I can tell you, the conductor gets her emails returned WAY faster. Works both ways, though. One of the things that attracted me to coaching was the potential increase in money and status. I wanted that. It was pretty heady to experience the shift when people began paying not only for musical information, but for professional access.

Who leads and who follows: what if I tell you that gender dynamics are heavily at play here, no matter the gender of the players? I know this piece will skew toward my experience as a woman. The vast majority of my collaborative colleagues are women as well; although that balance changes considerably for coaches, I think women are still the majority. In the end, regardless of gender, we’re still all doing our industry’s domestic labor. That labor is largely hidden, which hampers our attempts at solidarity. So do the wide gaps in status and compensation between us. And whether we are playing (or being asked to play) little doormat or bossy-boots, acquiescent helper or power behind the throne, we’re still acting out a role that patriarchy has taught us.

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Let’s return to that opening quote.

We start with two men on stage (brothers, comrades). Then there’s a male pianist with his safe male hands accompanying a woman, which we completely understand. Then there’s a male singer with a girl, and the relationship is immediately personalized in a sexual way - does she wear the trousers, is she a little doormat, things you would never ask about friends (brothers, comrades). Finally we have two girls, equated immediately with their frocks, reduced to what they’re wearing.

That a trouser suit is suggested as the solution to all of the above never ceases to light my fire. But the above quote is so rich because it’s a perfect example of internalized patriarchy. It’s normal to be a man, and it’s normal to be a woman in the safe hands of a man. Notice how this also locates power at the keyboard? Now put the girl (no longer a woman) at the keyboard. Is the man in safe hands? What kind of sex are they having that got her on that bench? Finally, put two women in the spotlight, and they literally disappear, turn into dresses. And then it feels like a positive step, like you’re helping, to suggest that we dress like one of the chaps.

Or, perhaps, to say collaborative artist instead of accompanist. Word are important, for sure, and they can move the needle a little. But witness in that quote the intense subconscious world those little words are up against. And think about the meaning of that keyboard in a world where most keyboards are manned (see what I did there) by under-compensated women. Their keyboards don’t hold the power of the one in the quote. Someone who speaks those words (and many people have spoken words like this) has traveled the road from anonymous keyboards to powerful ones, and believes that they are showing the way.

I didn’t share that quote to encourage disrespect of its speaker, an artist and teacher of undeniable value, who’s certainly no more blind to his unconscious biases than I am to mine. If you listen to episode 4 of that podcast you’ll hear all of us, prominent pianists of all genders, saying comically sad, infuriating things about stagewear. It’s a masterclass in patriarchy, a majority female cohort explaining the rules of stage deportment. In other words, I speak not of the mote in Roger Vignoles’ eye, but the log in my own. I too have spent far more time advising students how to navigate the structures in which I’m comfy than I’ve spent challenging those structures.

Because we thus far have kept reinforcing our system, the messages in that quote are still being made clear to students today. Pianists are taught very explicitly not to distract from the soloist (don’t move your arms, don’t breathe too loud, don’t wear that color, pull your hair back). Soloists also get the message to stand in front of and above their partners (dress brighter, walk ahead, graciously acknowledge the pianist’s participation as though allowing the audience to see them for the first time). Women who play the piano for soloists are regularly told that their hair, dress, and smiles pull focus from the performance at hand. Comments like that have been part of competition feedback for years, in multiple venues, including as recently as last year; it’s another thing that we keep to ourselves because we want to work. Comments get ruder when the soloists are men, and if the women on the bench are partnered with or married to those men, you’d be amazed at what people feel free to say. I’m sure that my boy pianist colleagues have stories to tell as well, but I bet they aren’t nearly as many, as public, or as career-altering. 

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All of the above feeds into something that was a major stumbling block for me, and continues to be for the pianists I work with. Even when we’re not undervalued, we remain afraid to be straightforward. We obfuscate about what we don’t know and are reluctant to ask for what we need, whether it’s money, practice time, or rest. Women especially receive so many mixed messages about what our very bodies mean on that piano bench - the clear message is that we are distracting. The result can be a very strong aversion to controversy of any kind, and that can hamper us from sharing our own musicality, or advocating for conditions that would enable us to share it.

I know this happens to boy pianists too. (Does everyone get my Clarabelletoks references? Yikes, I hope so. Because some of my best friends are boy pianists! They are just as good as regular pianists).

This is the hardest part to write about, friends, so bear with me. I might not do this right but I promise I’m going to try, shooting as straight as I can based on my own experience and that of many, many others. If you’re reading this as a musician who works with pianists or coaches, some of the following might get under your skin, especially if you feel that you or your organization are already doing right by your collabs. I know a lot of people and places have made great efforts, and that many of the struggles are caused by challenges other than a lack of goodwill. So, I hope you’ll assume positive intent and keep going. We need you so much!

Say that we’re freelancers. When we’re trying to maximize income playing as much rep as we can for whatever our campus/city hourly rate is, let’s be honest - we’ve got more rep than we can really keep in excellent shape. Even those who have a decently compensated position somewhere can have upwards of ten recitals every semester, with very little to no say about scheduling. Our contributions will tend to get little response when they run smoothly and quite a bit more response when they don’t, so we tend to work many more hours than contracted to stay as prepared as we can. In order to keep relationships smooth and increase chances for re-employment, we tend to keep our smiles big and our complaints rare. Absent robust and obvious support from colleagues, it’s hard to press for the bare minimum, like advance notice or readable scans, to say nothing of practice time or days off for recovery. Many studio teachers, students, clients, and administrations think of these things, but many do not. And most humans just, well, respond better to people who don’t rock the boat. So we often don’t.

But then, say we hit a few starry grad programs or YAPs and can start calling ourselves coaches. Now our worth begins to shift in the eyes of the greater profession (not before we’ve spent several years in that YAP, though, learning all of our colleagues’ repertoire and getting called for maximum hours every day - same in that the starry grad program, learning several dozen recitals and running from studio to studio all day long). Maybe our name is now connected to a school or theater that’s hard to get into, or we’re leading a program with a pipeline into a festival. Suddenly we’re not faced with learning the Rachmaninov cello sonata for $20 dollars an hour (oh hai NY conservatories), but earning maybe five to ten times that for our advice about a couple of arias or a recital program or an audition. It’s exhausting at the bottom of the pyramid but lonely nearer the top, and what we don’t know can become overwhelming. Our work better be worth it at these prices, and imposter syndrome looms. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve got expertise that is real and has value, but so do many people who are toiling in the trenches, like we were two seconds ago. So maybe we start phrasing things to emphasize the authority of our information, where we got it, from whom, along with the professional access that implies. We start avoiding what we don’t know and doubling down on what we do. We start to coachsplain.

And our partners in these dances, the soloists and clients? They agree to perform with us, whatever the scenario. If we’re servants, they’ll take us for granted; when we’re selling information or access, they’ll perform obedience. Because our partners are all navigating the same systems we are (and the same financial pressures, same scarcity mindset, same imposter syndrome - it’s the same boat). And as we all fight our way towards the top, trading PDFs and Venmo QR codes, there’s not much time to think about how much necessary work has been offloaded onto pianists and their partners - how much collaborative music making we all need to do as part of this practice, this life, that is completely unsupported and left to chance, left to the generosity of teachers and coaches and pianists who are expected to give their time away and go the extra mile just to keep it all happening.

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So yeah, we’ve got to talk about money. Woof.

That’s the next essay, and I’m getting some help with it from multiple colleagues and it might take a small while (also next week I have to go piano). But I hope it’s helpful to think about our strange little performative dances first.

All of our art is developed through collaborative music making, and all of our collaborative relationships have historically been bound up in hierarchy. Think of what could happen if we stepped outside of that.

Think of what could happen if everyone was trained and encouraged toward co-leadership of every musical situation.

Think of what would happen if pianist labor was seen as integral and supported by institutions as a matter of course, not offloaded onto aspiring musicians whose very progress is then limited by who and what they can pay for.

Think what would happen if these conversations did not center on individual overwork, which overemphasizes individual ability and stamina, but rather on questions of equity, access, and inclusion?

I know it’s a dream because we’ve never done it before, not at scale. But more small beta tests are happening every day. If we work toward greater transparency and shared respect in our personal musical partnerships, we will have better success hanging together through much more difficult questions.

So many of you have reached out this week to say you want to get started, or that you have started and want to let others know.

This bossy-boots, this doormat says: let’s GO.

Special thanks to Chanda VanderHart (again! Always!), Taylor Hutchinson for bringing the collab SJW inspo, Jenn Szeto for making the biggest equity moves of the week, and Patrick Hansen for many a chat.