The Mid-Pandemic Dramaturgy of Pandemic Performance
Instead of doing just about anything in person, we've turned to the internet in an effort to stay connected.
From Stage to Screens
Yet, as difficult as it might be to worship, engage productively in meetings, or teach and remain motivated to learn online, many musicians and other live entertainers have had to reinvent their entire purpose. Gone are the days of playing in crowded, high energy, sometimes raucous venues. Fist-pumping dance clubs are closed up tight. Bars and restaurants have had to eliminate performance spaces to set up tables safe distances from one another. Musicians have turned to playing online, through YouTube, Facebook Live, Instagram, and Patreon, to name a few avenues. Some musicians have transitioned well; they are well-practiced and comfortable with mellow intimacy. Others, however, are having a hard time. Instead of playing in noisy, crowded spaces meant for high-octane socialization, many of those who used to play those venues are now being watched in high-definition with surround-sound in peoples' homes, with close-up views and pin-drop audio.
It's the difference between stage and screen. What looks and sounds good on stage, from 50 to 100 feet away in a room full of laughter, service, and conversation, does not look and sound good on screen - whether that screen is in the palm of an audience member's hand or an 88-inch 8K. What's more, these musicians are having to compete with professionally produced and filmed productions, and they're having to make these adaptations quickly because their livelihoods depend on it.
What are musicians up against? Patreon advertises they have over 200,000 creators on their site. As of the writing of this post, Socially Distant Fest has 175,400 members. That's just one of the many Facebook groups that's sprung up. There's a lot of chatter. Additionally, many local, early, or mid-career musicians are in direct competition with musicians "of means," with record deals and international renown. Whereas the latter can eek thousands of viewers in seconds and donate any and all donated proceeds to charity, the former are simply trying to pay their bills. They're hanging their comforters on the walls to make backdrops and using what they have at hand to try to appeal to fickle viewers who are likely to scroll on by in mere seconds if they don't stand out immediately. Cute kids seem to do well, as do quirky duos and pretty girls with ukuleles. Not that there's anything wrong with that; it takes courage and dedication to make a musical life pay the bills, and they should be lauded. But what about the 40-something rock-and-roll guy, the subtle singer/songwriter and folk singer, the jam band drummer, and the badass blues harmonica players?
And Back to the Stage: Theatrical Elements
Aristotle suggested in The Poetics that all theatre performances need six unified elements in order to be successful: plot, character, thought, diction, melody, and spectacle. He was speaking specifically of Greek tragedy, but that's appropriate of pandemic performance, I believe.
How does someone make solo blues harmonica work in Dolby Surround-Sound? Do they ditch the comforter, give themselves and their space a hip makeover, and invest in audio and video equipment? Maybe. Maybe they learn to play the Theremin or a fire-belching saxophone, instead.
If someone does figure out how to make their music sound great in their space, how do they get people to click on the video content? Maybe that requires a well-devised unity between their look and their sound? A little bit of narrative or story, an introduction or "get to know me" description. Or maybe they just need a gimmick, and another gimmick when that one gets old because all gimmicks get old - and yet gimmicks are spectacle, and spectacle works.
After people click, how do the performers get them to stay? Do they take time between songs to chat with viewers, like an honored guest sitting with them around a virtual firepit or breaking bread (or pizza) on a Friday night? Because they are honored guests at this point, sometimes cast larger-than-life on television screens during dinner. Like in a Jane Austen adaptation, a musician may need to demonstrate the witty repartee of Mr. Knightly . . . but, Jane Austen was being ironic, so perhaps Dolly Parton is the better model? Or maybe it's just about character consistency or easy-to-identify archetypes these days, so no one has to take the time to figure things out.
If the viewers stay and continue watching, how do performers get a like or a share? Do they have to ask? If they figure out how to get a like or a share, how do they get that viewer to use the voluntary, virtual tip jar? Isn't it tacky to ask for money when you're an honored guest? Isn't it folly to ask your cousin or high school friends for money when you know they don't have any more than you do? So, how do you find and attract viewers who have the means to pay their troubadour, their honored guest? Should performances have themes? Should the set list demonstrate range and ability, an ability to perform in multiple genres?
Questions without Answers
There are more questions than answers.
How many unpaid, online gigs is it going to take before these exceptionally talented musicians simply stop trying? They aren't producers, costumers, and set designers, and in order to learn how to use the latest and greatest apps, they're going to have to stop taking time to learn or create new material. Will they adapt? Some. Will they have the means to wait out the pandemic? Some. What will happen to the rest? Is this like the mythological first day of college when you're told to look to your right and to your left and assume both of those people won't be around in a few years? Maybe. We'll have to wait and see before we realize what we've lost.
Want to read more about dramaturgy and performance? Try
Production Dramaturgy: What's a Dramaturg Do?
Ancient Greek Theatre: Origins of the Term Deus Ex Machina
Copyright Amy Lynn Hess. Please contact the author for permission to republish.
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