Welcome to my blog, everybody! Today I want to tell you the story of my first piano recital. Spoiler alert: it didn’t go great.

Now, I’m far from the only performer who’s had a rough recital experience. In fact, I doubt there’s anyone who’s only ever done great performances that they’re 100% proud of. My friends and colleagues have told me some hilarious and painful performance horror stories - accompaniment tracks in the wrong key, wardrobe malfunctions, total trainwrecks where they couldn’t even finish their piece and burst into tears. A bad performance experience can be painful, even traumatic. But it happens to everyone eventually. Has it happened to you?

Over the years, I’ve had a number of memorable performance fails, but none cut as deep emotionally as my first piano recital.

When I was little, I begged to be allowed to take piano lessons, and when my mom finally agreed I was old enough, I was thrilled. I started either fall or summer, can’t quite recall, but it was around the time I turned nine. I progressed quickly. There was no one but my teacher and my family to hear me, and they all encouraged me, so although my goals of future piano mastery were highly ambitious, I felt pretty satisfied with the success of my early efforts.

The piano studio I attended was a busy, well-respected one in my hometown, run by a couple who taught full-time at their home. There were always a lot of performance opportunities. I guess I must have been studying for maybe three months by the time I got to my first recital. I was well prepared. I was doing great, for a kid who just started. Despite being the kind of kid who was hesitant going into unknown, unfamiliar situations, I think I was looking forward to it.

My mom and I got to the venue, the university concert hall, and … things took a turn for me. This was a huge studio with many advanced students, teens and tweens who had been playing since they were little. We were encouraged to come really early to try out the piano before actually performing, and some older kids were up there noodling away on bits of their Mozart and Chopin and whatever. I was impressed. In a bad way. I instantly concluded that there was no way I was going to humiliate myself by comparison to these advanced students performing their serious repertoire. Despite the exhortations of my teacher and my mother, I dug in my heels. Probably cried a little. Maybe even a lot...

We sat through everyone’s performances, and when my name was the next on the program, my teacher stood up on the stage and announced, “Our next performer will be [whoever was after me].” I slouched even deeper into my seat, sniffling and grimacing.

This doesn’t sound like a big deal, I know, but it felt like a big deal. Kid emotions are serious business. Kids quit music over this kind of thing. I know I worry that my reluctant-performer students will be so traumatized by a bad recital experience that they will give up on lessons immediately and forever.

Did I quit? Well, today I’m a professional musician, so you can guess that my first recital fail didn’t hold me back too much. Did I want to quit? Actually, as I finished writing the previous paragraphs, I wondered that myself. The horror of the experience was seared into my memory, but I remember nothing that came afterwards. So I had to ask my mom. She also remembers this event pretty vividly. But, according to her, my interest in music was totally unaffected, and my commitment to lessons actually increased. Apparently, once I saw the competition, I was determined to reach that level myself.

Most of my students handle their first recital experience well, but there have been exceptions. I’ll always remember one seven-year-old, a shy kid who was really drawn to music and learning quickly. He was intimidated the minute he and his parents got to the venue, and he cried and refused to play. Sound familiar?

He and his parents stayed and listened to the other students’ performances, just like my mom and I did all those years ago. When it was over and almost everyone had left, I let them stay a little longer, talking to them. I told my student the story about my first recital, how I had felt just like he did, but I didn’t give up. He finally got up the courage to play his piece, just for me and his parents, first on piano, then on organ. We clapped and cheered for him. He didn’t quit lessons, either; he studied with me for the rest of the year, and then his family moved away. The next year, they invited me to attend the virtual recital of his new piano studio. He played so well, and I was so proud of him. It seemed like he was proud of himself, too.

There is life after humiliation, for me, my friends, my students, and you. That first, horrible recital was an important part of my journey as a musician. Not only did it not hold me back, it became an asset. The memory of living through that emotional crisis gave me strength for future performances - strength I could pass on to my student to help him through his struggle.