Etiquette for the Modern Listener
Photo by Larisa Birta via Unsplash
Column: Etiquette for the Modern Listener of Fine Musics
By David S. Lewis
I want to start by acknowledging my age: I’m not 85, but a sprightly 43. I went to the Peaches show. I’m still cool. But. I do attend a LOT of chamber and orchestral music in town, and I’ve been so astounded by some of the weird and terrible behaviors exhibited by audiences that I have to force myself to believe that they just don’t know any better. So, with that in mind, here are some of my tips for concert etiquette.
I: Allegro, “Attire”
Listening to this kind of music doesn’t mean you need to get your wigs powdered before attending a concert. It doesn’t really even apply to a dress code. I saw a whole group of goths at the LPO’s Beethoven 9th concert last month, and they looked INCREDIBLE: gowns, wigs, makeup, studs, spikes, lace, black leather, hella Victorian, hella everything. In my view, they got it: you don’t have to dress up, but you should make it an occasion. Show you appreciate the amount of effort the orchestras and support staff put into making these concerts a memorable event. It doesn’t matter 'how' you dress, but it is best to make your choices intentional. Do it up. Leave that polo at home, even if you're only there because it’s your weekend with your kid. See, and be seen. Live más.
II: Largo, “Punctuality”
This music is all about the vibes, and the tension created by a low, hissing chorus of violins playing lightning-fast, whispering tremolos, timpani thumping in the background, contrabassons doubling the basses on an ostinato, everyone holding their breath: all that goes right to hell when you bang open the heavy door to the auditorium. Be in your seat ten minutes before the show and use that time to chat, check out the program, or think about whether you left the stove burner on. Not long ago I arrived at a concert at Loyola five minutes late, and was gratified to sit in the corridor with eight people half my age while we waited for the first piece to conclude inside the hall. I loved it: I loved hearing them talk about the composers that were being played, and watched them take selfies with each other: a camaraderie of good manners. This extends to the intermission: don’t be asking your row to stand up when the orchestra is fifty measures into the first movement. It’s incredibly rude to make all of us party to your goatlike behavior.
III: Angoscioso, “Devices”
This one…this is the one that KILLS me. I don’t remember the last time I was in a performance and DIDN’T hear a damn phone ring. Silence. Your. Phone. And not just yours: Politely ensure that WHOEVER you’re sitting with, whether it’s a professional sex worker or your grandma, has their phone silenced. It’s truly unforgivable. I would personally love to see rigorous enforcement, extending to fines, bans, and possibly the bastinado (editor's note: 'a form of corporal punishment or torture involving repeated, blunt trauma to the soles of the bare feet'.) applied for these hideous errant rings. You were told at the beginning to make sure it didn’t happen and then, somehow, against god and nature, your phone goes off during an adagio. I am a tolerant and sweet person but I like to imagine 'ringers' exploding in their seats, bursting in a column of gore like something out of a Luca Guadagnino flick.
IV: Scherzo, “Don’t drop it, either, you absolute buffoon”
It’s not just the ringtones: don’t have it out* at all. It is horribly distracting to everyone around you to see you swiping on people clearly out of your league while the mezzosoprano cries her heart out for your entertainment. Not to mention the fact that you’re probably going to drop it. I’m serious: the second most common interruption at the average concert, behind a literal RINGING PHONE in the audience, has to be the loud thump-skitters of Dad dropping his damn phone and then shumbling around on the floor after it. I can’t understand it. I’ve been to MANY concerts where MULTIPLE people are derping their phones out of their pockets and thonking them on the floor of a room specifically engineered to amplify sound. Why? How? Why? JUST LEAVE IT ALONE! Here, I am also betrayed and gobsmacked by the increasingly-common production decision to provide digital programs meant to be viewed on mobile devices in lieu of paper: why on earth would you court this cretinous behavior? We’re not talking about a prissy debate over whither to surtitle an Italian opera: you’re putting the trigger to our collection attention thieves and social disorder IN OUR HANDS during a show where the lights are supposed to be dimmed, and so I’m compelled to gaze upon the mouth-open scrolling face of the ding-dong the aisle over, illuminated like the spectral villain of a Luca Guadagnino flick.
V: Finale, “Applause”
This one might earn me a few glances-askance, so I’ll try to tread lightly. So, for some rather silly reasons, you’re not supposed to applaud between movements (the shorter segments that make up longer works like symphonies and concertos and sonatas). Essentially, some composers were quite fussy about it rather recently, writing into the scores that audiences should hold their applause until the end to allow the vibe, so meticulously woven into the work, to carry itself through the entire piece. Orchestras have largely adopted it as the norm. I’m not here to police that part, truly. I don’t usually care when people applaud between movements; it feels authentic and well-intended…usually. If the movement was good and everyone’s already clapping, I’ll pump out two or three brisk ones right along with you. But there’s always the guy who just has to be the first one clapping: the last chord of Mahler’s 9th is fading into the hearts of the stricken audience, but then some dude just has to start banging his hands together right away, in that critical moment when the sound meant to fade actually has a chance to do so. He is absolutely the loud guy who talks over everyone else, the self-appointed center of the action. Last month I saw the LPO’s Matthew Kraemer sharply raise his left hand to silence an egregious early clapper, and damn me if the drunken bastard didn’t just keep going. I felt murderous. I was filled with rage. Bruh: chill. Listen to the music, and forget about yourself for a while. You’re not the important one right now, but it’s okay: you can be again in like, an hour. Watch the conductor for cues: if he’s still interacting with the orchestra, hands raised, baton activated, then they’re still playing, so you don’t need to be clapping yet. They’ll pause briefly between movements, but still look like they’re “with” the orchestra, so it’s still not your cue. A good tip if you’re not sure: don’t clap yet. The musicians aren’t going to start crying if you don’t immediately start screaming “Bravo!” Delay your applause until it’s obviously appropriate, but then keep it going: for way longer than you think is normal. After a good performance, it is common to continue to applaud even after the conductor and soloist have left the stage to bring them back out again for another round, sometimes three times. If the performers were great, let them know. Yeet flowers. Whistle and cheer; some may find that gauche, but historically, audiences would have been drunk, loud, and raucous in their externalized appreciations and it’s only the fur-collar snobs of 50 years ago that neutered audience response with their heavily adorned primmery.
VI: Encore, "Collective Respect"
All of these requests, pleas, and suggestions are meant to convey only one thing: that the musicians have worked tirelessly and for very little pay to learn how to do something rather marvelous, and the staff of these events are often doting volunteers, and the rest of us paid honest-to-god money to come have an experience that was special, perhaps spiritual or meditative or intellectually stimulating, and we owe each other the collective dignity of not screwing that up. Some people buy these (occasionally expensive) tickets to show off their wealth; others save up the money because they get something there you can’t get elsewhere. Help each other have a good time, enthusiastically applaud (at the right time), and put your phones in funeral mode. Let it be about someone else for a little while. Let it be about everyone else: relish your time in the community of the audience as the musicians take charge and lead a collective experience that will cease to be when the last echo stops: that is all the etiquette requested of you.
David S Lewis is our Classically Untrained columnist. Read more and see the latest monthly calendar for art music: classical, symphonic and experimental concerts around the city.
By David S. Lewis
I want to start by acknowledging my age: I’m not 85, but a sprightly 43. I went to the Peaches show. I’m still cool. But. I do attend a LOT of chamber and orchestral music in town, and I’ve been so astounded by some of the weird and terrible behaviors exhibited by audiences that I have to force myself to believe that they just don’t know any better. So, with that in mind, here are some of my tips for concert etiquette.
I: Allegro, “Attire”
Listening to this kind of music doesn’t mean you need to get your wigs powdered before attending a concert. It doesn’t really even apply to a dress code. I saw a whole group of goths at the LPO’s Beethoven 9th concert last month, and they looked INCREDIBLE: gowns, wigs, makeup, studs, spikes, lace, black leather, hella Victorian, hella everything. In my view, they got it: you don’t have to dress up, but you should make it an occasion. Show you appreciate the amount of effort the orchestras and support staff put into making these concerts a memorable event. It doesn’t matter 'how' you dress, but it is best to make your choices intentional. Do it up. Leave that polo at home, even if you're only there because it’s your weekend with your kid. See, and be seen. Live más.
II: Largo, “Punctuality”
This music is all about the vibes, and the tension created by a low, hissing chorus of violins playing lightning-fast, whispering tremolos, timpani thumping in the background, contrabassons doubling the basses on an ostinato, everyone holding their breath: all that goes right to hell when you bang open the heavy door to the auditorium. Be in your seat ten minutes before the show and use that time to chat, check out the program, or think about whether you left the stove burner on. Not long ago I arrived at a concert at Loyola five minutes late, and was gratified to sit in the corridor with eight people half my age while we waited for the first piece to conclude inside the hall. I loved it: I loved hearing them talk about the composers that were being played, and watched them take selfies with each other: a camaraderie of good manners. This extends to the intermission: don’t be asking your row to stand up when the orchestra is fifty measures into the first movement. It’s incredibly rude to make all of us party to your goatlike behavior.
III: Angoscioso, “Devices”
This one…this is the one that KILLS me. I don’t remember the last time I was in a performance and DIDN’T hear a damn phone ring. Silence. Your. Phone. And not just yours: Politely ensure that WHOEVER you’re sitting with, whether it’s a professional sex worker or your grandma, has their phone silenced. It’s truly unforgivable. I would personally love to see rigorous enforcement, extending to fines, bans, and possibly the bastinado (editor's note: 'a form of corporal punishment or torture involving repeated, blunt trauma to the soles of the bare feet'.) applied for these hideous errant rings. You were told at the beginning to make sure it didn’t happen and then, somehow, against god and nature, your phone goes off during an adagio. I am a tolerant and sweet person but I like to imagine 'ringers' exploding in their seats, bursting in a column of gore like something out of a Luca Guadagnino flick.
IV: Scherzo, “Don’t drop it, either, you absolute buffoon”
It’s not just the ringtones: don’t have it out* at all. It is horribly distracting to everyone around you to see you swiping on people clearly out of your league while the mezzosoprano cries her heart out for your entertainment. Not to mention the fact that you’re probably going to drop it. I’m serious: the second most common interruption at the average concert, behind a literal RINGING PHONE in the audience, has to be the loud thump-skitters of Dad dropping his damn phone and then shumbling around on the floor after it. I can’t understand it. I’ve been to MANY concerts where MULTIPLE people are derping their phones out of their pockets and thonking them on the floor of a room specifically engineered to amplify sound. Why? How? Why? JUST LEAVE IT ALONE! Here, I am also betrayed and gobsmacked by the increasingly-common production decision to provide digital programs meant to be viewed on mobile devices in lieu of paper: why on earth would you court this cretinous behavior? We’re not talking about a prissy debate over whither to surtitle an Italian opera: you’re putting the trigger to our collection attention thieves and social disorder IN OUR HANDS during a show where the lights are supposed to be dimmed, and so I’m compelled to gaze upon the mouth-open scrolling face of the ding-dong the aisle over, illuminated like the spectral villain of a Luca Guadagnino flick.
V: Finale, “Applause”
This one might earn me a few glances-askance, so I’ll try to tread lightly. So, for some rather silly reasons, you’re not supposed to applaud between movements (the shorter segments that make up longer works like symphonies and concertos and sonatas). Essentially, some composers were quite fussy about it rather recently, writing into the scores that audiences should hold their applause until the end to allow the vibe, so meticulously woven into the work, to carry itself through the entire piece. Orchestras have largely adopted it as the norm. I’m not here to police that part, truly. I don’t usually care when people applaud between movements; it feels authentic and well-intended…usually. If the movement was good and everyone’s already clapping, I’ll pump out two or three brisk ones right along with you. But there’s always the guy who just has to be the first one clapping: the last chord of Mahler’s 9th is fading into the hearts of the stricken audience, but then some dude just has to start banging his hands together right away, in that critical moment when the sound meant to fade actually has a chance to do so. He is absolutely the loud guy who talks over everyone else, the self-appointed center of the action. Last month I saw the LPO’s Matthew Kraemer sharply raise his left hand to silence an egregious early clapper, and damn me if the drunken bastard didn’t just keep going. I felt murderous. I was filled with rage. Bruh: chill. Listen to the music, and forget about yourself for a while. You’re not the important one right now, but it’s okay: you can be again in like, an hour. Watch the conductor for cues: if he’s still interacting with the orchestra, hands raised, baton activated, then they’re still playing, so you don’t need to be clapping yet. They’ll pause briefly between movements, but still look like they’re “with” the orchestra, so it’s still not your cue. A good tip if you’re not sure: don’t clap yet. The musicians aren’t going to start crying if you don’t immediately start screaming “Bravo!” Delay your applause until it’s obviously appropriate, but then keep it going: for way longer than you think is normal. After a good performance, it is common to continue to applaud even after the conductor and soloist have left the stage to bring them back out again for another round, sometimes three times. If the performers were great, let them know. Yeet flowers. Whistle and cheer; some may find that gauche, but historically, audiences would have been drunk, loud, and raucous in their externalized appreciations and it’s only the fur-collar snobs of 50 years ago that neutered audience response with their heavily adorned primmery.
VI: Encore, "Collective Respect"
All of these requests, pleas, and suggestions are meant to convey only one thing: that the musicians have worked tirelessly and for very little pay to learn how to do something rather marvelous, and the staff of these events are often doting volunteers, and the rest of us paid honest-to-god money to come have an experience that was special, perhaps spiritual or meditative or intellectually stimulating, and we owe each other the collective dignity of not screwing that up. Some people buy these (occasionally expensive) tickets to show off their wealth; others save up the money because they get something there you can’t get elsewhere. Help each other have a good time, enthusiastically applaud (at the right time), and put your phones in funeral mode. Let it be about someone else for a little while. Let it be about everyone else: relish your time in the community of the audience as the musicians take charge and lead a collective experience that will cease to be when the last echo stops: that is all the etiquette requested of you.
David S Lewis is our Classically Untrained columnist. Read more and see the latest monthly calendar for art music: classical, symphonic and experimental concerts around the city.