Why the nerves arrive, and what they are really telling you

Almost every Anglo player knows the feeling. The tune is solid in the kitchen, the fingers find the buttons without a thought, and then someone says "go on then" and the bellows suddenly feel like a pair of bellows belonging to somebody else. Your hands go cold, your mouth goes dry, your breathing turns shallow and quick, and the first phrase that was second nature ten minutes ago now seems to require a decision about every single button.

That is adrenaline, not incompetence. It is your body preparing you for something it has decided matters. The mistake most players make is trying to eliminate it. You cannot, and chasing that impossible calm only makes the shaking worse. What you can do is manage it, and the most useful tool is your breathing. Breathe in for a count of four, out for a count of six or seven, three or four times before you start. A long exhale settles the heart rate and steadies the hands far better than telling yourself to relax. Drop your shoulders, unclench your jaw, and let the weight of the instrument hang from the hand straps rather than gripping the ends with your thumbs.

Choose pieces that carry you, not pieces that test you

Repertoire choice is the single biggest factor in how a performance feels. The tunes you play in public should be the ones that have settled into your hands, not the ones you are still proud of having learned last week.

• Pick two or three tunes you could play while holding a conversation. If you have to think about the notes, it is not ready for an audience.
• Choose keys that suit the instrument. On a C/G Anglo, G, D, A minor and E minor sit naturally under the fingers, with chord shapes and basses close to hand. A tune in F or B flat may be lovely, but it will demand cross-row work that nerves will expose.
• Open with something slow and steady. A waltz or a slow air lets you establish the pulse and your breathing before anything fast arrives. It also gives the audience time to settle, which calms you in turn.
• Have a shorter fallback tune. If the first piece goes badly, you can cut your losses and finish on something you know inside out.
• Avoid untested arrangements. A new bass run invented on Tuesday is a trap on Friday.

Practise performing, not just playing

There is a difference between learning a tune, polishing it, and performing it, and most of us spend all our time in the first two. Performing practice means running whole pieces from start to finish without stopping, whatever happens. If a note goes missing, keep the pulse going and carry on. Do this deliberately until continuing becomes the habit and stopping becomes the surprise.

Add some mild pressure to your practice in ways you can control. Stand up while you play, because standing changes your posture, your bellows control and your nerves. Record yourself on your phone and listen back, which feels much more exposing than playing to a room. Play in a different room, or with the radio on quietly, or ask a housemate to clatter about in the kitchen. All of this rehearses the thing you are actually training: playing while slightly unsettled.

Build a gentle ladder of audiences

Confidence grows through evidence, so gather it in small, low-stakes steps rather than throwing yourself at a festival stage. A workable ladder looks something like this: one trusted friend sitting quietly in the room; then two people; then playing a single tune at a local session rather than leading it; then a floor spot of two tunes at a folk club; then a longer set.

Set the bar deliberately low. One tune, played to the end, counts as a success. Afterwards, resist the urge to pick apart every dropped note. Note one thing that went well, one thing to work on, and leave it there. Confidence is built from a string of small, survivable experiences, not from one triumphant evening.

Hands, instrument and the practicalities of the day

Cold hands play badly, so warm them before you start: run them under warm water, or hold a mug of tea for a few minutes. Warm up with a slow scale, a chord sequence, or the first tune at half speed, so the fingers are moving before the performance begins. Do not over-practise on the day — playing a tune forty times in the afternoon buys you tired hands and a head full of doubt.

A well-maintained instrument quietly removes a whole layer of worry. Before you travel, check that the bellows are airtight and the straps are sound at the screw points. Listen for buzzing valves or a reed that has shifted, and check that the air button closes fully. Keep the concertina out of hot cars and damp boots, and if a spring starts to feel weak or a note drifts sharp, get it to a repairer rather than nursing it through a gig. Knowing your instrument is reliable lets you put your attention where it belongs, on the music.

When it goes wrong, and the long view

Something will eventually go wrong, and it will not be the disaster you imagine. A dropped phrase, a bellows direction taken the wrong way, a momentary blank — most listeners will not notice, and those who do will not mind. Decide in advance on a restart point in each tune, a bar you can jump back to, and trust it.

The players who look relaxed on stage are not braver than you. They have simply performed often enough that nerves have become familiar company rather than an emergency. Keep saying yes to small opportunities, keep a couple of dependable tunes in your fingers, and let the evidence accumulate. Confidence follows experience far more reliably than it precedes it.