What Not To Do at a Concert

I often get tense during musical performances. Actually, it’s not during the performances that I tense up, it’s during the silences. Between movements, or between individual pieces of choral sets, my muscles tense up and I think, Don’t clap, don’t clap, don’t clap, and usually BYU students are pretty good about it, if only because the conductor knows enough to keep his or her hands raised (at least partially) as musicians turn their pages and shake out their French horns, or as a choir member walks to the piano to play the opening chord. But I can’t relax until after a few movements when I know that I can trust the audience to keep with concert etiquette.

I didn't think I would have to worry about that at the guest piano recital I attended last Tuesday. The concert was small and intimate enough that I was sure the only people who were in attendance would be, well, musically cultured, for lack of a less snobbish term (and I don't really mean to sound snobbish). I thought I would be able to completely relax and just listen to the music.

The first movement of the first piece the pianist played was amazing. I like playing classical music (classical as opposed to Baroque, romantic, 20th century, etc.), but I’m not always a big fan of active listening. To me, Mozart, Hayden, even Beethoven are better enjoyed as background music than as concert music. But I was absolutely entranced during the first movement of the Hayden sonata as I watched the pianist’s fingers and body movements and facial expressions, and as I just soaked up the music. I have never played Hayden like that!

The movement came to an end, and she pulled her hands away from the keyboard and dropped her arms to her side, and I basked in the silent anticipation of the next movement—until several audience members began clapping. I tensed up immediately, and my friend sitting on my right sort off shook her head, and a few claps gradually turned into full out applause. I wondered if the look that crossed the pianist's face was annoyance, but whatever it was quickly turned to gracious (though somewhat curt) acknowledgement of the applause, and then she launched unhesitatingly into the second movement. When the movement ended, she lifted her hands and let them hover above the keyboard for a short time, preventing any interruption before the third movement.

Good, I thought. Now the audience will know not to clap next time.

It’s not that I’m a total musical snob, or that I look down on people who clap between movements. I realize that some people just don’t know. And some people just really aren’t sure when to clap and when not to clap. The problem is that those who aren’t sure then become followers. They won’t clap if no one else does—but if a few people begin clapping, they assume it must be okay and join in. They hear the people who clap, not the people who remain silent. And once half the audience is clapping, at least a handful of the people who would normally follow custom just because they know it’s proper concert etiquette will give in and think, “Oh well—if everyone else is clapping, it’ll seem rude if I don’t show my appreciation of the musicians’ talent.” And so much for between-movement silence.

So I thought it had been taken care of. The pianist finished the entire sonata, I clapped along with everyone else as she exited the stage and then entered again, then we all fell silent as she took her place once more at the piano and began another sonata, Prokofiev this time. As much as I enjoyed the Hayden piece, the Prokofiev held even more of my attention. Recently I have become fascinated by 20th century music. Or some 20th century music, I guess—I still have a hard time with half tones and unconventional uses of instruments and experimental compositions. But I find most compositions by Prokofiev and Ravel and Shostakovich and Bartok to be very colorful and engaging, particularly the chamber compositions that tend to be less conventional than their large orchestral pieces.

The first movement ended, the pianist relaxed her posture and lowered her arms—and the applause began once again. A girl sitting in the row in front of me looked annoyed and then clapped along with everyone else. The pianist got that same funny look on her face, and then (once again) graciously and curtly acknowledged the applause.

And then the second movement, and then applause again, and the same girl in front of me looked even more annoyed and frustrated—and yet still clapped. And then the third of the four movements, and I just couldn’t take it and when the elderly gentlemen on my left held up his hands in preparation to applaud I couldn’t keep myself from shaking my head no, quite visibly. To my embarrassment, he noticed and looked over at me. And then to my relief he grinned and lowered his hands and said, “I’m watching you, now.” And even though the clapping was still going on around me I relaxed because I found it hard to be annoyed after his good-natured acceptance of my unintended criticism.

I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the concert after that. Of course, part of it probably had to do with the fact that the remaining pieces were all one movement long and I no longer had to worry…