Britain's musicians: alcoholics, or merely proud?

As a professional harpist, I was going to gasp a hungover croaking amen to the Guardian's report last Saturday on excessive drinking in orchestras. But, coincidentally, last night I was out with a teetotal fellow harpist. And I feel magnificent.

The Association of British Orchestras is right to draw attention to musical alcoholism though. Why does it happen? Sometimes it's related to stress. A Trip To Asia, a recent film following the Berlin Philharmonic on the road, features a musician talking bravely about his drinking problems, developed after his professor advised him that a pint might ease his stage fright. It's also linked to boredom. If you think symphony musicians drink a lot, imagine those who play in musicals. You've often played the same thing so many times you have a newspaper on your stand.  And yes, there can be peer pressure, particularly in the brass section, although it generally enough to make you an alcoholic. (I've never said "not for me thanks mate, I'm driving," "I'm on antibiotics" or "need to cut back, I'm having a month on the wagon" and had anything other than a sympathetic offer to buy me a coke.)

There's a (hopefully apocryphal) story of a west end clarinetist whose pre-show beer drinking led him to wear incontinence pants to avoid having to go out for a piss.  I doubt there is a musician alive who doesn't know an alcoholic colleague.  But equally, every doctor, lawyer, journalist and politician probably also knows one.  Alcoholism is not particular to musicians;  it is a general human weakness, often triggered by stressful jobs. Human weakness is complicated, and it is ordinary, non-alcoholic irresponsible drinking that would benefit from less tolerance in the profession.



I once signed a contract that stated that no alcohol was to be consumed until after the evening show.  Some colleagues used to drink four pints between matinee and 7.30pm; it seems a sensible step.  My orchestra has three people who regularly perform drunk, yet the administration does nothing about it.  If your child's schoolteacher was pissed in class, they'd get into trouble, after all. Being bored isn't an excuse.  I am a harpist—I know about hanging around. I've been learning Polish in that time.  I'm now an honorary member of my orchestra's Polish mafia.  We go out for group vodka-drinking.

But real alcoholism is different.  Most musicians with a drinking problem know it isn't the best way to deal with their stage fright.  Nobody is proud of taking betablockers either, which is why almost everyone takes them secretly.  Musicians are professionally proud, which means they are also personally proud—everybody cares about how well they play, and musicians don't separate the professional from the personal.  Those who say "haven't practiced this, don't give a......" are bluffing, unless they are burned out. But, once upon a time, they cared too.  You just don't become a musician if you don't love music. There are thousands of easier jobs out there.

I don't know what tips the balance from relaxing with a nice glass of wine over to having a problem, but as every doctor says an alcoholic has to admit he is one before he can start to recover, perhaps that has something to do with pride as well. Pride can  be a fine thing; as with many weaknesses that stem from a good trait. In the same way crippling performance nerves could come from being sensitive, the same sensitivity that also makes you a fine musician. In the end, lecturing doesn't work. You've got to find a way to tackle the problem without stripping the alcoholic of their dignity.  The solidarity musicians show trying to cover up for colleagues reveals they know this already.

Helen Right is a harpist.