Seriously, folks...
In a recent New Yorker article )"Why So Serious?"), Alex Ross discusses the ritualization and relative rigidity of the format of modern-day classical music concerts. Included are the usual suspects: the overture-concerto-intermission-symphony format; the insistence on silence between movements of larger works; the curatorial aspects of creating an "intellectual journey" through the combination and chronology of repertoire; and the general seriousness that hovers over all of the proceedings, which seems to "elevate and stifle the music in equal measure". Perhaps the most quotable line: "The overarching problem of classical music is the tuxedo".
Certainly an oversimplification, but it's hard not to agree with much of Ross's premise. It made me ruminate over the eternal debate about applause, and when (and how) it should occur. On one hand, there's something thrilling about the expectant hush that comes over an audience when the baton is raised; on the other, there's something awkward about consciously silenced enthusiasm after a spectacularly well-played first movement. Why delay the expression of delight? In the early 19th century (the era of the "potpourri" programming) the first movement of a work may have very well been the only one heard - intermingled with other works, often more of the "light classical" vein. Audiences were apt to mill and murmur and applaud when they felt applause was warranted, even if it was in the middle of a piece.
This made me think back to a concert I conducted last weekend at the Mann Center in Philadelphia with acclaimed alt-rocker Ben Folds and members of the Chamber Orchestra of Philadelphia (COP), which was a blast for me (it's always fun to work with people whose upcoming albums you pre-order on iTunes). Although it was a "concert with orchestra", the capacity crowd of several thousand was certainly there for Folds and not for the COP (and most likely, few were regular classical concertgoers), and thus it was a perfect environment in which to observe audience reactions unaffected by expected standards of classical concert behavior.
Interestingly, they acted much like 19th century concert attendees would: there was a constant milling, the movement of people coming from/going to the concessions area; an underlying murmuring; spontaneous applause from different sections of the house in reaction to different elements (from humorous song introductions to the brief violin solo in the middle of one of the charts); people shouting out requests (read the section in the Ross article about Liszt); enthusiastic hooting when a particularly popular song began. There were a couple of numbers where there was a smattering of (quasi) rhythmic clapping, one song where Folds asked the crowd to act as the chorus of "oooo"s (in triads, no less!), and several in which there was a palpable quietness because of the nature of the music (notably "Fred Jones Part 2" and "The Luckiest"). In short, appropriate responses to the ebb and flow of music and emotions within a concert experience.
Neither I nor the orchestra (or, presumably, Ben Folds!) was ever distracted by what was going on in the crowd, which was never rowdy or disrespectful (in fact, Folds gave an extended shout-out to the COP and orchestral music in general); there was an interaction and a clear connection between those of us onstage and those in the audience; and both performers and concertgoers left with a feeling of satisfaction that comes from sharing the ephemeral experience of well-played live music.
While realizing that this sort of concert experience would be difficult to duplicate in the classical concert hall (and would certainly not work for particular repertoire), it's clear to me that it's the kind of thing that makes people want to go out and spend their hard-earned money in a sober economic climate to hear live music. And the irony is that it's also the kind of behavior that is discouraged in the average orchestral performance.
The other thought that arose from reading the Ross article was the expectation of a "clockwork routine" in orchestra concerts - two halves, each 40-50 minutes in length. It's given us all a somewhat inflexible notion of how long concerts, or pieces of music within a concert, should be (which is why some people are thrown off by, say, the colossal nature of Mahler symphonies). It reminded me particularly of some of the commentary we received over the course of our first season of "Inside the Classics", notably the sentiment that a 24 minute piece (like "Appalachian Spring") didn't constitute enough music for an entire second half of a concert. While I understand people's preferences for a certain amount of similarity to a "conventional" orchestra performance, it seemed lost on those who critiqued the timing of the featured pieces that the very premise of the series was to create a different way of approaching a concert experience. Which just goes to show how ingrained those expectations of an orchestral concert experience are.
Balancing the need to meet a certain amount of expectation with the need to push boundaries is the crux of the issue, and it's hard to know if the proper equilibrium is being struck. But seriously, that's the trick, isn't it?
Certainly an oversimplification, but it's hard not to agree with much of Ross's premise. It made me ruminate over the eternal debate about applause, and when (and how) it should occur. On one hand, there's something thrilling about the expectant hush that comes over an audience when the baton is raised; on the other, there's something awkward about consciously silenced enthusiasm after a spectacularly well-played first movement. Why delay the expression of delight? In the early 19th century (the era of the "potpourri" programming) the first movement of a work may have very well been the only one heard - intermingled with other works, often more of the "light classical" vein. Audiences were apt to mill and murmur and applaud when they felt applause was warranted, even if it was in the middle of a piece.
This made me think back to a concert I conducted last weekend at the Mann Center in Philadelphia with acclaimed alt-rocker Ben Folds and members of the Chamber Orchestra of Philadelphia (COP), which was a blast for me (it's always fun to work with people whose upcoming albums you pre-order on iTunes). Although it was a "concert with orchestra", the capacity crowd of several thousand was certainly there for Folds and not for the COP (and most likely, few were regular classical concertgoers), and thus it was a perfect environment in which to observe audience reactions unaffected by expected standards of classical concert behavior.
Interestingly, they acted much like 19th century concert attendees would: there was a constant milling, the movement of people coming from/going to the concessions area; an underlying murmuring; spontaneous applause from different sections of the house in reaction to different elements (from humorous song introductions to the brief violin solo in the middle of one of the charts); people shouting out requests (read the section in the Ross article about Liszt); enthusiastic hooting when a particularly popular song began. There were a couple of numbers where there was a smattering of (quasi) rhythmic clapping, one song where Folds asked the crowd to act as the chorus of "oooo"s (in triads, no less!), and several in which there was a palpable quietness because of the nature of the music (notably "Fred Jones Part 2" and "The Luckiest"). In short, appropriate responses to the ebb and flow of music and emotions within a concert experience.
Neither I nor the orchestra (or, presumably, Ben Folds!) was ever distracted by what was going on in the crowd, which was never rowdy or disrespectful (in fact, Folds gave an extended shout-out to the COP and orchestral music in general); there was an interaction and a clear connection between those of us onstage and those in the audience; and both performers and concertgoers left with a feeling of satisfaction that comes from sharing the ephemeral experience of well-played live music.
While realizing that this sort of concert experience would be difficult to duplicate in the classical concert hall (and would certainly not work for particular repertoire), it's clear to me that it's the kind of thing that makes people want to go out and spend their hard-earned money in a sober economic climate to hear live music. And the irony is that it's also the kind of behavior that is discouraged in the average orchestral performance.
The other thought that arose from reading the Ross article was the expectation of a "clockwork routine" in orchestra concerts - two halves, each 40-50 minutes in length. It's given us all a somewhat inflexible notion of how long concerts, or pieces of music within a concert, should be (which is why some people are thrown off by, say, the colossal nature of Mahler symphonies). It reminded me particularly of some of the commentary we received over the course of our first season of "Inside the Classics", notably the sentiment that a 24 minute piece (like "Appalachian Spring") didn't constitute enough music for an entire second half of a concert. While I understand people's preferences for a certain amount of similarity to a "conventional" orchestra performance, it seemed lost on those who critiqued the timing of the featured pieces that the very premise of the series was to create a different way of approaching a concert experience. Which just goes to show how ingrained those expectations of an orchestral concert experience are.
Balancing the need to meet a certain amount of expectation with the need to push boundaries is the crux of the issue, and it's hard to know if the proper equilibrium is being struck. But seriously, that's the trick, isn't it?
Labels: audience feedback, concert culture, contemporary culture
posted by Sarah at
3:48 PM
12 Comments:
...it's clear to me that it's the kind of thing that makes people want to go out and spend their hard-earned money in a sober economic climate to hear live music. And the irony is that it's the kind of behavior that is discouraged in the average orchestral performance.
Well, to be fair, the main reason it's discouraged is acoustic, I think. Modern concert halls are designed to throw as much reverberated sound as possible to all corners of the room without distortion, so that the performers can be completely unamplified. I'm guessing your show at the Mann (like all shows at the Mann I've attended, classical or not,) was fully miked and amplified, since there'd be no way for the folks on the lawn to hear it otherwise.
I like the idea of more audience interaction in the concert hall in principle, but I suspect that it's just never really going to be possible unless we move to an amplified mode of performance and concert halls considerably deader than the ones we play in now.
Yup, and therein lies one of the myriad complications of that very issue...
I think that people will always applaud after the first movement of the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto. It's nearly impossible not to! And I suspect the musicians, including the soloist, might be really surprised if it didn't happen.
I agree with Sam about the acoustics and just wrote at my blog about how to watch a conductor as well as what to expect at a concert, and I mention about coughing.... I don't think that the average audience member is really that cognizant of the effect of live acoustics for you on the stage because they've never had the experience of performing in Orchestra Hall. I tend to think of someone talking through a concert in a normal voice (or through a movie, for that matter) as someone talking over someone else who's already got the floor....
Welcome home! Looking forward to the season's concerts.....
What's so wrong with serious?
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=94452197
Hilary Hahn:
"I can't tell you how many times I've heard from a non-classical artist, "You have it so good! Comfortable seats for your audiences, your own dressing rooms backstage, nice food, clean venues, great acoustics and quiet, attentive listeners – man, I wish I had that half the time." Maybe it's time to be more positive about all that classical music has accomplished, as well as its proven longevity."
Nothing's wrong with serious! As they say, there's a time a place for everything. My question is this; does a very formalized and ritualized manner of attending an event provide a comfortable structure in which to consume music, or does that very manner detract from the enjoyment of it?
I certainly like a certain amount of decorum when conducting, say, a Brahms Symphony. But I would also welcome applause between movements of that symphony if people were moved to do so.
More to the point is the fact is that we've been stuck in a mode of concert-going for nearly a century now, and seem hell-bent on preserving this habit purely for the habit itself. There's no credence to the notion that "this is the way people have always listened to classical music" (again, see Ross's article). Times change, and it would behoove us, as musicians and musical organizations, to consider how we are to align our practices to progress. A certain amount of inquiry is always healthy!
True, it wasn't always done that way. There are some current traditions that serve the music - withholding applause to the end is one that makes sense to me, especially for the larger, heftier works. I find applause in between movements of a Brahms symphony distracting.
Applause is a puzzling rallying point in the discussion about concerts. There's a belief that this is just one sign of many things wrong with the ostensibly over formal concertgoing experience. The classical concerts in my city are about the most egalitarian of events that we have to offer. People dress as they like, prices are relatively affordable, heavily discounted for seniors and young people when they aren't free altogether. No luxury skyboxes, no bouncers determining if you're of the "in crowd", no seatmate threatening you for cheering for the wrong team or wearing the wrong colors. Is listening attentively to the musicians until the piece is over that much to ask? The release of enthusiasm at the end of such a performance has delights of its own. The new music series, pops concerts, and summer festivals have their own traditions.
The applause issue tends to pop up cyclicly, often in a review that mentions how a conductor reacted to a smattering of applause at an inopportune moment ("glowered at the offender before going on to the next movement" is a phrase I remember).
From my perspective, what fascinates me about this debate is the overarching concept of what a "classical music concert" should entail, where those expectations came from, and how (and if) those expectations are aligned to contemporary culture. There seems to be a growing trend towards sound bites (vs. long attention spans) and escapist entertainment (vs. more cerebral satisfaction - and current political discourse has illuminated how many of our fellow citizens see "intellectualism" as a dirty word...).
Should any of this affect the way the core classical concerts of any orchestra are presented? Should it influence our view on the late-19th century mode of performance attendance that we still adhere to? I suppose the trick is to respect and maintain the best of our traditions while keeping an eye carefully trained on more current trends and developments.
I think a lot of how people "should" behave at a classical concert ought to come down to the wisdom of crowds. There are times when it absolutely seems appropriate to applaud at the end of a movement - as Cinda pointed out, the first movement of the Tchaik Violin Concerto is a prime example - and to glower at anyone for doing so seems ridiculous a pompous violation of common sense.
But there are plenty of other times when silence is more appropriate, and in most situations, the vast majority of an audience will sense the right thing to do and go with it. What I usually tell people unsure about when to applaud is to wait a moment and take the measure of the room. It's pretty easy to figure out which way the crowd is leaning.
Basically, I never mind applause at unexpected moments unless it seems forced, or deliberately designed to draw attention to an individual. But I'm not sure we need to rewrite the whole rule book to accommodate that...
SH:
"From my perspective, what fascinates me about this debate is the overarching concept of what a "classical music concert" should entail, where those expectations came from, and how (and if) those expectations are aligned to contemporary culture. There seems to be a growing trend towards sound bites (vs. long attention spans) and escapist entertainment (vs. more cerebral satisfaction - and current political discourse has illuminated how many of our fellow citizens see "intellectualism" as a dirty word...)."
I think I see your point. I agree with your observation and think that's why some institutions should attempt to conserve/preserve a different way of doing things. I see classical music presenters in my area spawning more types of events, each with a different flavor instead of trying to make the "subscription concert" all things to all people with the usual consequences. The major orchestra has casual evenings where a short concert without intermission is played by musicians in casual clothes. There's schmoozing with the casually dressed audience afterward. Not my thing but I hear it is popular. Another prominent orchestra's brochures show their excellent musicians in wacky poses to break down the mystique.
The applause issue is front burner here because for several reasons, new concertgoers are coming to performances. Good definitely but perhaps there is a way they'd pick up on some of the traditions, not all of which are bad.
SB:
"I think a lot of how people "should" behave at a classical concert ought to come down to the wisdom of crowds. There are times when it absolutely seems appropriate to applaud at the end of a movement - as Cinda pointed out, the first movement of the Tchaik Violin Concerto is a prime example - and to glower at anyone for doing so seems ridiculous a pompous violation of common sense."
I remember an evening where Sarah Chang threw down a glorious Tchaikovsky and a lady leaping to her feet yelling bravo. After the first movement, yet.
A couple of years later, Hilary Hahn did the Brahms and a woman behind me hummed along with the oboe intro of the 2nd movement. Heads whipped around in disbelief. She hummed louder.
And then there are the nights where the audience watches, waits, and lets loose. It blows away all the stereotypes of decorum and stuffiness when an all-ages crowd shows its appreciation. It's a rocket compared to a firecracker. How will the newcomers know what it could be like if they don't experience it?
I remember an evening where Sarah Chang threw down a glorious Tchaikovsky and a lady leaping to her feet yelling bravo. After the first movement, yet.
Yeah, that was actually the point I was trying to make. (If you click the link in my last comment, you'll get a post I wrote last season about some jerk doing much the same thing, only more aggressively.
I love those nights you describe where the audience is all on the same page, whether than means applauding at a weird time or not. I just wish we could somehow remove the stigma that says there's one right answer all the time. I'd like our concerts to be more like the theater, where the audience applauds when they, collectively, sense that an endpoint has been reached.
"Yeah, that was actually the point I was trying to make. (If you click the link in my last comment, you'll get a post I wrote last season about some jerk doing much the same thing, only more aggressively."
Whoops, missed it. Sorry.
"I'd like our concerts to be more like the theater, where the audience applauds when they, collectively, sense that an endpoint has been reached."
Around here there's laughter, shock, and such displayed during plays but applause waits for the end of an act which, to me, is somewhat different than the end of a movement.
In any case, I'm nitpicking and that's not the objective. I gather the Minnesota Orchestra's Inside the Classics series is doing well. I hope this trend of different events with different traditions continues.
Nitpicking is fine with me, particularly when it opens up an interesting dialogue!
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