Chantelle Smith
When I tell people that I consider myself to be an introvert, many of them are surprised. They often respond with something along the lines of “but you perform on stage so how can you be an introvert?”
I guess that comes down to a common misconception that all introverts hate being in the spotlight and socialising. While I guess that can be the case for some introverts, a lot of us simply have a limit to how much socialising and being around people we can do before we need to go off somewhere quiet and solitary to recharge our batteries. Whereas extroverts tend to gain energy from being in social situations, introverts tend to feel drained from social situations even when they’re really enjoying themselves and I do find that happens to me.
For as long as I can remember, singing and creating music has been a compulsion, something as natural and necessary to me as breathing. I can’t not create music except when I am in the deepest pits of despair (then I can’t do anything musical). The joy of sharing my songs and music, and seeing the connection with and recognition in the faces of people listening, has been with me for almost as long. There is something beautiful in sharing music with others and knowing you’ve done a good job because people want to come up afterwards and chat to you.
I do enjoy speaking to people after a gig, to find out what they enjoyed and what connections they made with the music. Quite often, though, I need to fade into the background for 5-10 minutes after coming off stage so I can recharge the batteries I have all but spent in giving a lot of my heart, soul and energy to the performance. After the mini-recharge I’m likely to seem less bunny-in-headlights when talking to lovely people who come up to me. I’ll speak in full, comprehensible sentences, too!
When I’m gigging with others, I get that recharge time by allowing my fellow performer(s) who are far better at speaking straight after coming off stage meet people while I pack down any kit or instruments that have been used. It’s also a useful thing to do while also enacting some self-care.
Of course, now I’m doing more solo gigs, I can’t always ‘disappear’ straight after performing. That is part and parcel of solo performance and so far I’ve found the reserves to do that. I really hope that the people who come up to talk to me get some sense out of me. If I do look a bit bunny-in-headlights when you come to speak to me, keep in mind I do want to chat but I might be running somewhat on empty by that point.
The flip side of experiencing this as a perform is noticing signs in other performers who I go to see and who I want to talk to after their set. I can think of a couple of instances where something, some small sign, has made me think a performer may have run to their limit of post-performance chatting. While I’ve wanted to tell them how much I’ve enjoyed their performance, I’ve been enthusiastic but brief about it so that I don’t take up more energy than needed at that point. Yes, I might wish I’d had more time to chat but, ultimately, I’ve said what I wanted to say which was the main point.
I have to say, it’s been really interesting seeing things from both sides of the stage. I hope it makes me a better performer and audience member in the long run.
Saturday, 12th November, 2016
I love ballads. Nice, long ballads with a crunchy story all wrapped up in melody and words and because I love ballads, I sing them quite a lot. I can get my teeth into singing a ballad in a way I sometimes struggle with other folk songs.
One of the most common things said to me after a gig or during a break in a folk club singaround is “I don’t know how you remember all those verses.” I suppose it is easier when you’re enjoying learning and singing something but I thought it might be at least interesting, if not useful, if I explained how I go about learning these behemoths of songs.
Performing a ballad at Devizes Folk Club, October 2016. Photo © Andy Fawthrop.
Although broadsides, with their reams and reams of verses, have been around for hundreds of years, many of those and the older ballads would have been passed from person to person by word of mouth. That oral transmission is the reason why we have so many different versions of ballads; verses misheard and forgotten or ballads conflated with other ballads in a tale-mashup leading to a hydra effect when modern folk singers (and the collectors of the late 19th/early 20th century) go in search of folk ballads to learn.
Of course, that’s no bad thing as it gives modern folk singers plenty of material from which to create their own version of a ballad and to tell a tale that sings to their own soul. That, though, is the subject for another blog so I’ll leave that train of thought there for now.
In terms of how I learn a ballad, once I’ve constructed the form I want to learn and have settled on a tune to put the words to, I take inspiration from the oral tradition when learning it. I remember a friend (I have a feeling it might be the marvellous Piers Cawley) telling me of someone in Appalachia learning a ballad from their grandmother. The grandmother would sing a verse, the child would then sing the verse back, the grandmother would sing the second verse, the child would sing the first and second verses and so on. Now, I don’t have a ballad-keeper grandmother to teach me the old songs but I do take inspiration from that tale in how I learn to sing long ballads.
First, I find a way of breaking the ballad (which I’ve written down) into chunks. It could be narrative arcs within the ballad’s tale, or it could simply be splitting the ballad into sets of, say, three or four verses, or a mixture of the two. My approach changes slightly depending upon the song.
The next step is to work on each of those sections; sing through the first verse with words, then hide the words, until I’ve got it, before moving onto the second verse and then the next ones. After that I’ll sing through the entire section until I’ve got that memorised. Rinse and repeat for all the other sections.
I don’t sing all the way through from beginning to end, adding a verse as I go, because that brings in the issue of getting really good at singing the first bit of a ballad and then becoming gradually less certain of the latter part of the song. I need to feel confident and secure throughout the whole song so that I can give a strong performance throughout.
Once I know each section then I can start piecing the sections together into a whole. To begin with, I sing the ballad straight through so that I can get the whole story arc fully in my head. It’s the story (which, for me, plays a bit like a film reel in my mind) that helps me not to get lost in all the words I have to remember.
With the story arc and linear flow bolted into my mind, I then start singing the ballad at different points in the song. Why would I do this? With all the will in the world, I can never be sure that there will be something to distract me while I’m singing or if one verse will elude me when I come to it. If I know I can get back on track wherever I am in the ballad, it means I won’t have to noticeably stop or apologise for getting something wrong. I can just continue like nothing’s happened without being thrown and without apologising which can leave the audience feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed.
It does take some time to learn a ballad, it’s not something that can generally be done overnight, but by really tackling it and getting to grips with all parts of the ballad it’s possible to be so confident in performing it that people will marvel at how easy you make it seem. It’s not easy, but it doesn’t have to be impossible, and it’s always nice to impress with a well performed ballad that captivates your audience.
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