Sydney Braunfeld. Principal Horn of the Opera Australia Orchestra.
Sydney was born in New York, and began playing the horn at the age of eight. She studied at The Juilliard School and The Curtis Institute, where she received a Bachelors and a masters degree, learning with Bill Purvis and Jennifer Montone.
After finishing university, Sydney decided to relocate to Australia, and began freelancing in Melbourne. She held the position of tutti horn with Orchestra Victoria for four years. She also performs regularly with the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, Sydney Symphony Orchestra, Adelaide Symphony Orchestra, Hong Kong Philharmonic Orchestra, Macau Philharmonic, and the Malaysian Philharmonic Orchestra. As a soloist, Sydney has played concerti with the Essendon Symphony Orchestra and the Melbourne Sinfonia. Sydney is principal horn of the Opera Australia Orchestra.
Conversation with Sydney.
Deborah: What were you struggling with when we started working together?
Sydney: Initially I approached you for help because I was struggling with a technical problem in my horn playing that was ruining my life. This problem started many years before we met, but around 2015 it had become completely unbearable. To explain simply, I found myself unable to begin notes gently. I’d breathe in, mentally instruct my tongue to articulate, yet nothing came out! Air pressure would build up, infuriating seconds would elapse, and eventually I’d force the note to explode out in a sharp, frightening blast. I knew I was capable of soft attacks, I used to do it thoughtlessly! But for reasons completely unknown, I just couldn’t spit it out!
I became fixated on my hesitation problem. I avoided practicing because I’d get so worked up each time my stutter cropped up (which was every time I picked up the horn). The more I worked on my hesitation problem, the worse it got. I constantly felt demoralized and my confidence as a musician was destroyed. At gigs or in the presence of others, I wasted a great deal of energy inventing new ways to hide, making sure not show anyone that I was ‘damaged goods’.
Although none of my teachers in New York had experience with this kind of problem, I hounded them to help me. I diligently tried all the stuff my trusted mentors recommended on the topic. Breathing techniques, visualizing a conductor leading me in, finger tapping inside my bell to internalize rhythm. Occasionally one of these methods would seem to work and I’d feel a wonderful sense of progress! But before long, the effectiveness would wear off, and I’d be back to the beginning, feeling even more of a failure.
I became consumed with problem-solving in this one, narrow area. Looking back, all those stop-gap measures I invented were just different ways for my brain to perseverate on the same old problem! I probably wasted years of study obsessing over this issue, rather than soaking up all the brilliant things my teachers had to offer.
Deborah: Tell me about your experiences of performance anxiety
Sydney: Completely separate to my hesitation problem, I felt a general sense that I couldn’t perform up to my real capacity. I knew I was a really good horn player but I was never able to show that to anybody outside the practice room. I played well and made excellent progress in lessons, but in performances – in any pressured situation at all – I did not perform anywhere near my best.
When I was a tertiary student, I only ever got to about 75% capacity in performances. Even in a comfortable setting playing in front of people who weren’t intimidating, I only ever reached about 80% of what I knew I was capable of. I never felt comfortable, or that I was playing my best.
My worst memories felt like playing at 25% capacity, just surviving. I never fully crashed and burned, there were always moments I played really nicely, but the bits that I screwed up, I just couldn’t get past them. When I think back on back on any concert or audition, I can still recall the specific passages that I destroyed.
Musically, my favorite spots – the bits I particularly enjoyed and was genuinely excited to play – regularly morphed into my strongest, most mortifying memories. I suppose these were the moments where I really had something to say – Your heart is in it, and you really care. Perhaps that makes you fall harder. When you love something, you try really hard to do it justice, that’s probably when you’re gonna fall on your face and eat sh*t in front of everyone.
An especially memorable screw-up was a performance of Das Leid von der Erde back in my uni days. Mahler is one of my favorite composers, his music cuts straight through me, and in rehearsals I was truly loving it! Before showtime I felt a bit nervous, but I was mostly just excited to show what I could do. This was probably my first time experiencing that unique juxtaposition of joy and fear that comes with playing principal horn. Everyone said the concert was great, but I couldn’t remember a single thing about it other than the part that I ruined! It was the line that I loved the most and was really excited to play out... I gathered all my strength to springboard up to the top of a really prominent line, I meant it to be a glorious, soaring phrase... But I crashed so hard, it was just so incredibly embarrassing - It was probably only one note... just that top note. It felt so shameful. Nothing else I played that night mattered.
If you put the horn part of any piece I’ve ever performed in front of me right now, I could point out the exact passage that I f**ked up. If I ever gathered the courage to listen back to old recital recordings, I could show you where every mistake would be. It’s devastating because there were probably lots of beautiful things I may have played, but, to me, those moments didn’t really count because all I can remember were the terrible parts. It kinda ruins the whole experience.
Performance anxiety for me is like a dull dread, a fuzziness in my head. It feels extremely unsettling – a sense that I have lost control and am flying blind. It’s incredibly uncomfortable not feeling confident. You think stuff like and “I can’t do this” and “is it over yet?”.
There's some “survival-mode” habits that creep into my playing when I'm nervous - I overblow to compensate for my lack of confidence, or my tongue forgets how to articulate clearly... I do dumb things.
Of course, none of this is why I came to you, though! I thought I only needed professional help to fix my huge, insurmountable hesitation problem. But as our work naturally gravitated to topics around performance anxiety, I realised that my Achilles heel was not unrelated!
Deborah: What were the most helpful things that we did together?
Sydney: ‘What is important to me?’ ‘Is this helpful?’
Our work together never revolved around ‘fixing my problem’. You reminded me to focus on the things I actually liked about playing music, and to work toward the things I wanted to achieve. We talked a lot about values, which was a new and challenging concept for me. Drawing motivation directly from my values was an interesting shift in my thinking.
Now, whenever my hesitation problem crops up, I no longer become absorbed in feelings of anger or defeat. I take a moment to regroup and acknowledge what’s happening, then reset my intention. My reaction is more “oh hello, this old thing again!? Right, anyway...” I gently redirect my thoughts toward something specific, and musical in nature – maybe the beautiful sound of a nearby colleague, or the gentle rising and falling of my breath. In these critical moments, I used to troubleshoot myself down a rabbit- hole.
‘What am I willing to accept?’
You taught me that it’s still possible to get the job done, even when it doesn’t feel good. That was incredibly powerful for me. I’ve learned to live with my unpleasant thoughts and feelings now. I recognize that it comes with the territory of being a musician. None of that crap is going to stop me from doing whatever is on the cards that day.
I no longer try to get rid of my anxiety, nor do I struggle against unwanted thoughts and feelings. I’m not exactly pushing that stuff away, I’m just okay with it being there. I don’t have to like it, but I accept it’s presence and move on with my job. Often times, choosing not to actively fight the dark cloud has the quasi-magical effect of lessening its impact.
Before we worked together, I didn’t believe that sitting in discomfort was an acceptable option. I remember thinking: ‘I shouldn't be feeling this way!’, and ‘how do I get rid of this angst??’. You really helped me to not be mad at myself for having those thoughts in the first place. In moments of high pressure, I used to throw myself into the ultimately unsuccessful process of problem- solving. But you led me to realise that fighting isn’t helpful.
I now have deep confidence knowing that I can perform adequately, even in the presence of my intensely negative thoughts and feelings.
‘What will I commit to do?’
It's always been a struggle forcing myself to put the time into personal practice. But in the time that we worked together, I did way more practice than usual. You motivated me to work harder than I ever had before, and I was in excellent shape. I remember doing gigs at that time and feeling invincible. Surprisingly strong when normally I’d be chopped. So, lesson learned... practice works! (I know that sounds stupid, but it’s a lesson I desperately needed to learn!)
Sometimes though, practice dredged up some really shitty feelings. It was hard, there were tears in our sessions and at home too. Now, looking back at it, I don't know what I had to cry about, but it was painful at times.
Aside from horn playing, the training that we did together helped me to become more involved with other things I care about such as music classes for asylum seekers in detention centres. I had been avoiding involving myself in this work because I knew it
would be confronting and upsetting. But you inspired me to ignore that discouraging internal voice and do things I normally wouldn’t consider. I remember my first few sessions, feeling deeply uncomfortable, musically! I would play a little bit of drums or attempt a simple ukulele song. I always brought my horn, but I often chickened out of playing it because I don't know how to improvise. I had zero training in this area... I could barely hold down a baseline in pop songs. but eventually I became more willing to pick up the horn and play in a drum circle. Although I never felt confident doing these sessions, I was always glad to have participated.
What is it like to work with me?
You asked me to contemplate difficult and confronting questions in our sessions. Your manor naturally invited me to give voice to my innermost thoughts without feeling pushed or judged. We laughed and cried, but I came away from each session feeling hopeful.
You are an empathetic human, with an informal and easy style, and always with good humour. The experience of working with you was life-changing for me. I came searching for help dealing with an extremely specific technical problem, but over time, I discovered that the techniques that you introduced me to were so useful, they could be broadly applied with regard to most other challenges one may struggle with in life.
The skills I learned through working with you have also helped to improve my relationships with family, friends, and my partner. Although it was more than five years ago when we worked together intensively, I still call on that experience daily.
And finally,
The most important thing for me has to do with opening yourself up and not hiding anymore. Instead of clutching so hard and being scared people will discover your dirty little secrets. It's actually just leaning in, opening up, and saying ‘Yep, this is what I've got’. When I feel scared, I tell myself to soften the edges around my heart, or just breathe and ‘let it be’. I particularly love the image of the sea urchin reaching out for interaction rather than curling in self-protection. It can feel good to be vulnerable. The tension diminishes and you sound better.
And that has been so effective.