Premature Jocularity
So. Anyone at the concert last night? No? Okay, here's what happened:
The big piece on the program was Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherezade, featuring our concertmaster, Jorja Fleezanis, on the big violin solos. It's a pretty massive piece, but, like a lot of tone poems, it ends with a whisper, the solo violin holding a solitary high harmonic as the winds and horns fade away underneath. It's a breathless moment when you do it right, and there's always a wonderful few seconds just after the sound drifts away, when audience and orchestra are waiting together for the air to clear, and then the applause can begin.
Only last night, that moment didn't get a chance to happen, because there was this guy. He was sitting somewhere around the 18th row on the main floor, dead center, right in the middle of Orchestra Hall's acoustic sweet spot. And clearly, he enjoyed the performance, and couldn't wait to let us know, because Jorja's bow had only just left the string when dude leaped to his feet, pumped his fist, and shouted, "YEAH!" before beginning to applaud wildly.
He was, I should stress, alone in this. There's always a lot of back and forth among musicians and audience members about whether we should really expect audiences to conform to our idea of when applause is appropriate, and I've said many times that it doesn't bother me a bit if someone is moved to applaud between movements, or laugh when something funny happens in the music. But this was not one of those times. This guy clearly wanted the spotlight to be directly on him, and was going to do whatever it took to accomplish that, even if it meant ruining that breathless moment for everyone else in the hall.
Osmo was not amused. He always hates early applause, and has frequently shown his displeasure to the audience when it happens. But this time, he was really angry, especially when the guy kept whooping and smacking his hands together as loudly as he could, even as people around him shouted at him to sit down, and Osmo whirled around to glare from the podium. When it was clear that dude wasn't going to quit, the rest of the audience began to applaud, knowing that they weren't going to get their moment back, and the concert was over regardless. Osmo glared harder, and extended a sarcastic thumbs-up at the offender, who pumped his fist a few more times in return. After what seemed like an uncomfortable eternity, Osmo finally motioned for us to stand, then swept off the podium angrily. It was nearly a half-minute before he would come back out to take his bows, and for a moment, I thought it was possible that he wouldn't reemerge at all.
Now, there is a school of thought that says that a conductor has no business chastising an audience member, even a clueless and rude one, under any circumstances. If the guy liked the performance that much, says this line of reasoning, why would you ever discourage him from showing it, especially with classical music so hard up for fans these days? Personally, I think this is hogwash. We've become so accustomed to the conventional wisdom (which is wrong, by the way) which says that classical music is in crisis that we've somehow decided that we should be the one entertainment form that has no rules of behavior, lest we put off a potential convert. But this argument presumes that concert hall newbies aren't just inexperienced, but actually stupid, childlike morons who have no idea how to behave in a public place. And I don't buy it.
Back when I was about 19, working as a counselor at the music camp I've been going to for more than 20 years now, one of the faculty decided to make use of the giant speakers we'd rented for a dance the night before to give the kids a Mahler 8 experience to remember. He invited them all to bring pillows and blankets down to the concert barn, and just lie there listening to the massive Symphony of a Thousand blasted over an audio system big enough to actually mimic the concert hall experience. The piece is 90 minutes, and a few kids wandered away as it wore on. One, though, returned about two minutes before the end, and stood silently in the doorway, waiting. And then, the moment that the last chord died away, and everyone began that wonderful moment of silent waiting for the emotion to drain away as well, the kid in the doorway spoke up. "That was a really long song," he said loudly. "I can't believe you guys sat here and listened to that whole thing!"
The room rose up as one and began shouting at him, and a few kids even attacked him with their pillows. His best friend sidled up to him from behind, and murmured, "Not cool, dude. Seriously not cool." And here's the point: the anger wasn't because this was a stupid kid, or a kid unable to take the measure of a situation like this, but precisely because he could have, and chose not to. He wanted the attention to be on him, not the music, so he found a way to make that happen, just like the jackass who was with us last night did. Not cool, dude.
The big piece on the program was Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherezade, featuring our concertmaster, Jorja Fleezanis, on the big violin solos. It's a pretty massive piece, but, like a lot of tone poems, it ends with a whisper, the solo violin holding a solitary high harmonic as the winds and horns fade away underneath. It's a breathless moment when you do it right, and there's always a wonderful few seconds just after the sound drifts away, when audience and orchestra are waiting together for the air to clear, and then the applause can begin.
Only last night, that moment didn't get a chance to happen, because there was this guy. He was sitting somewhere around the 18th row on the main floor, dead center, right in the middle of Orchestra Hall's acoustic sweet spot. And clearly, he enjoyed the performance, and couldn't wait to let us know, because Jorja's bow had only just left the string when dude leaped to his feet, pumped his fist, and shouted, "YEAH!" before beginning to applaud wildly.
He was, I should stress, alone in this. There's always a lot of back and forth among musicians and audience members about whether we should really expect audiences to conform to our idea of when applause is appropriate, and I've said many times that it doesn't bother me a bit if someone is moved to applaud between movements, or laugh when something funny happens in the music. But this was not one of those times. This guy clearly wanted the spotlight to be directly on him, and was going to do whatever it took to accomplish that, even if it meant ruining that breathless moment for everyone else in the hall.
Osmo was not amused. He always hates early applause, and has frequently shown his displeasure to the audience when it happens. But this time, he was really angry, especially when the guy kept whooping and smacking his hands together as loudly as he could, even as people around him shouted at him to sit down, and Osmo whirled around to glare from the podium. When it was clear that dude wasn't going to quit, the rest of the audience began to applaud, knowing that they weren't going to get their moment back, and the concert was over regardless. Osmo glared harder, and extended a sarcastic thumbs-up at the offender, who pumped his fist a few more times in return. After what seemed like an uncomfortable eternity, Osmo finally motioned for us to stand, then swept off the podium angrily. It was nearly a half-minute before he would come back out to take his bows, and for a moment, I thought it was possible that he wouldn't reemerge at all.
Now, there is a school of thought that says that a conductor has no business chastising an audience member, even a clueless and rude one, under any circumstances. If the guy liked the performance that much, says this line of reasoning, why would you ever discourage him from showing it, especially with classical music so hard up for fans these days? Personally, I think this is hogwash. We've become so accustomed to the conventional wisdom (which is wrong, by the way) which says that classical music is in crisis that we've somehow decided that we should be the one entertainment form that has no rules of behavior, lest we put off a potential convert. But this argument presumes that concert hall newbies aren't just inexperienced, but actually stupid, childlike morons who have no idea how to behave in a public place. And I don't buy it.
Back when I was about 19, working as a counselor at the music camp I've been going to for more than 20 years now, one of the faculty decided to make use of the giant speakers we'd rented for a dance the night before to give the kids a Mahler 8 experience to remember. He invited them all to bring pillows and blankets down to the concert barn, and just lie there listening to the massive Symphony of a Thousand blasted over an audio system big enough to actually mimic the concert hall experience. The piece is 90 minutes, and a few kids wandered away as it wore on. One, though, returned about two minutes before the end, and stood silently in the doorway, waiting. And then, the moment that the last chord died away, and everyone began that wonderful moment of silent waiting for the emotion to drain away as well, the kid in the doorway spoke up. "That was a really long song," he said loudly. "I can't believe you guys sat here and listened to that whole thing!"
The room rose up as one and began shouting at him, and a few kids even attacked him with their pillows. His best friend sidled up to him from behind, and murmured, "Not cool, dude. Seriously not cool." And here's the point: the anger wasn't because this was a stupid kid, or a kid unable to take the measure of a situation like this, but precisely because he could have, and chose not to. He wanted the attention to be on him, not the music, so he found a way to make that happen, just like the jackass who was with us last night did. Not cool, dude.
posted by Sam at
10:14 AM
5 Comments:
Wow. Jackass is right... I actually wish there was some way to keep that person from coming back - at least until he grows up first(not likely). It may be a public performance, but it certainly doesn't give anyone the right to destroy the enjoyment of others.
On a smaller scale, the same thing is true of the talkers and hackers. Golf has rules etiquette, church has etiquette...school...whatever. Classical music is NOT...I repeat... NOT in a state of crisis. (don't let the Columbus or Honolulu Symphony fiasco's fool you) There are mismanaged organizations in all fields.
I have access to more classical music than I've ever had in my lifetime (the internet makes music available from around the globe). Sure, we want fresh audiences, but people like this guy damage the experience for the core audience - and you never want to lose core customers.
In short, if the guy on Thursday wants to treat a classical music concert like an WWF match, does that give me permission to body slam him next time this happens?
Well, I'd pay good money to see that, but I think the Boston Pops fight earlier this year proved that fistfights in the concert hall rarely end well for anyone.
Your comments on the state of classical music these days are dead on, I think. There will always be badly run groups that hit the skids in tough economic times, and the Columbus collapse is a truly sad situation, but you're absolutely correct about the increased availability of classical music today. The advent of digital media and online content has been a huge boon to fans of all manner of so-called niche genres, and we in the orchestra biz are only just beginning to scratch the surface of what's possible...
Was this rude guy the same one who used to scream "Bravo!" before the last note had ended or someone different?
On the one hand, it's nice that he enjoyed the performance so much that he wanted everyone to know it. On the other hand, HE missed one of the best moments of all and I hope someone clues him into that.
As for a conductor chastising audience members, I think he/she should. A lot of the time, the audience member does not understand that they can be heard, are loud, or disruptive and it might help to give them a dirty look once in a while. I think Osmo's lesson/demonstration to the audience with the handkerchief covering the mouth to muffle coughing was excellent last season. And it sounded like the people around the rude dude did try to get him to stop too....
Bravo for a gorgeous musical experience this week. I loved the concert.
Was this rude guy the same one who used to scream "Bravo!" before the last note had ended or someone different?
If you're talking about the guy we in the orchestra call "Bravo Man," I don't think I've ever heard him actually interrupt the end of a piece. He does yell very immediately once we're done, and as I found out a few years back, it's for a good reason. He actually has Tourette's Syndrome, and he's found that allowing himself the loud bravos at the end of a piece gets him through the piece without making any noise. He's quite a sweet guy, in fact, and a big fan. And no, it definitely wasn't him on Thursday...
Perhaps you've heard the recording where the conductor Otto Klemperer turns around and yells at the audience when they begin applauding in the wrong place?
As a listener I always like a few moments to savour a piece after it ends. The long silence at the end of the Mahler 9th last month became part of the mood of the piece that I took away with me. I wish we could always count on having that moment of contemplation.
Fortunately I was at the Saturday performance of the Scheherazade programme. I've always had a soft spot for this piece, and it was a real thrill to hear it so vividly brought to life. This coming after last week's unforgettable Sibelius Sixth. We're very lucky to hear music-making of this quality and I don't want to take any of it for granted.
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