The Occasionally Audible Audience

With the start of a new season, all of us in the orchestra are reacquainting ourselves with everything from the repertoire we're playing to the sometimes curious conceits of the concert hall. (It's amazing to me how unfamiliar some of the simplest acts, like remembering to stand up when the conductor walks out at the beginning of the show, can be after only a few weeks away.) And of course, we're also reacquainting ourselves with our audience.

Sometimes, that's a wonderful experience. Last Saturday, as we were plowing through Prokofiev's Lieutenant Kije, I caught sight of a couple in the front row who I hadn't seen at any previous concert. I'd guess they were in their late 30s, and as soon as I noticed them, I knew I'd be watching them for the rest of the evening. He was slightly balding, tall and attractively slim, with an intense quality to his face, and he had the kind of eyes that seem to suggest that he's absorbing literally everything going on around him. She had dark shoulder-length hair, wide eyes, and a devastatingly pleasant smile. I know about the smile because the more we played, the more she smiled.

The two of them spent the whole of the concert reacting quietly to every single thing that happened on stage. Every time Osmo showed off a flashy move, or crouched down to indicate a pianissimo, her face would light up, and his eyes would flash. When the second violins and violas began scrubbing furiously during a passage in Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty, the two of them stared wide-eyed for a moment, then turned to each other to make sure the other had seen it. Together, they had that innocent quality of children seeing something incredible for the first time, but judging by how knowingly they looked around as the music played, I'm certain they've spent some time in concert halls before.

By their mere presence, these two made the concert twice as enjoyable for me. I desperately wanted to corner them before they left and tell them what a pleasure it is to play for people who are so obviously enjoying what we're doing, but in the end, I decided not to, for fear that it would make them self-conscious, and thus less likely to buy front-row seats next time.

Then, of course, there's the other side of reacquainting with your audience. We've yet to have a cell phone interrupt the music (that I could hear, at least,) possibly because our usual pre-concert admonition to turn them off is being augmented at the moment by a special announcement from Osmo regarding the fact that Hyperion is recording our first two weeks of concerts for a CD project with pianist Stephen Hough. But I'm guessing it won't be more than another week or so before we get the first cell-based intrusion of the season.

It's never easy to know what to do as a performer when this happens. Most of us settle for pretending we can't hear it, or tossing a brief glare or head-shake in the direction of the offender. But every once in a while, someone snaps, and confronts the rudeness directly. Actor Hugh Jackman is the latest to make headlines for this, having broken character in his New York production of A Steady Rain to chastise an audience member whose phone. would. not. stop. ringing...



The best onstage reaction I ever saw to a cell phone intrusion was from comedian Paula Poundstone, who was midway through a set at the old Guthrie Theater (this was sometime around 2001) when a phone started to ring very loudly. Without missing a beat, Paula turned towards the sound, and insisted that the phone be handed to her immediately. As soon as she had it in hand, she answered the call, and proceeded to improvise five of the funniest minutes of stand-up comedy I have ever seen in my life, centering around the caller's reason for calling at that exact moment.

As it happened, the person being called had inadvertently locked his housemate out when he left for the show, and the housemate was trying to get the keys to get back inside. Paula actually convinced him to catch a bus to the Guthrie to reclaim the keys, and half an hour later, the caller came trotting down the aisle for his keys, which Paula handed to him personally, before creating another few minutes of impromptu laughs from the situation. It was utterly brilliant.

So, anyone else got a favorite story of a performer retaliating against the audience? I collect these, so seriously, chime in down in the comments. If there are any truly great ones, I'll pass them along to Osmo for possible future use...