Here Comes Treble: A Last Cough
...Etiquette requires that a cough during a concert be suppressed at whatever cost to the cougher. Tears pour down the cheeks, and suffocation is preferable to interrupting the music. Cough drops or sweets should be unwrapped before the concert and placed on one’s lap or in a convenient pocket where they can be reached with a minimum of movement. Standing, moving past people absorbed in the music, clattering up stairs, noisily opening the door and causing a disturbance before the door closes is totally unacceptable....
Musician Isabel Bradley gives polite advice on proper behaviour in the concert hall.
Isabel has now been contributing to Open Writing for a year. This is her 52nd column. Happy first birthday, Isabel!
Do please read more of her civilised words by clicking on Here Comes Treble in the menu on this page.
The New York audience that night should have taken note of the short essay on etiquette included in the programme: it was the most discourteous audience I’ve ever been part of. People arrived during the overture, talking, shuffling and blocking other people’s view of the stage; they coughed and spluttered, wore strong, nose-stinging perfumes, bobbed about in their seats, leaned heads together, rustled through handbags, opened cough-sweets with the greatest possible amount of noise, answered ringing mobile telephones, jangled bangles, and began leaving halfway through the last movement of the symphony, causing disruption to those around them.
During a performance of Luciano Berio’s Folk Songs at the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam, the large audience followed the words of each song on printed, stapled papers. At each page-turn, there was a waterfall of sound, drowning the singer’s voice and the orchestra for long, rolling moments. Possibly, management was at fault in handing out the words – it was impossible to turn the pages without causing a rustle.
Everywhere in the world, audience behaviour seems to fall short of the norms of etiquette.
Etiquette requires that a cough during a concert be suppressed at whatever cost to the cougher. Tears pour down the cheeks, and suffocation is preferable to interrupting the music. Cough drops or sweets should be unwrapped before the concert and placed on one’s lap or in a convenient pocket where they can be reached with a minimum of movement. Standing, moving past people absorbed in the music, clattering up stairs, noisily opening the door and causing a disturbance before the door closes is totally unacceptable.
Sneezes, too, should be suppressed or silenced – pinching the nose closed, greatly endangering the ear drums, is a better option than making elephant-noises in the middle of a delicate passage of music floating through the hall.
The number of people who fidget, rustle programmes backwards and forwards and whisper to each other, heads close together thus blocking the view of those behind, is uncountable. All these actions should be postponed to those moments between movements when the musicians are preparing for the next section, or to the longer, noisier times of applause.
It is torture to sit absolutely still, while soul and body are stirred by glorious music; yet moving any part of the body in response to the music disturbs others in the audience as well as those on stage. While performers can and should move and breathe with each note they play, swaying and feeling every moment with every molecule, we in the audience should contain our inner joy, at the most allowing a toe to tap silently, hidden in our shoes, and a smile to beautify our faces.
The ringing of a cell-phone, or worse, the answering of a call, is totally taboo. Any electronic device should be switched off before entering the concert hall.
Each Monday afternoon, Johannesburg’s finest musicians perform in various chamber groupings at our local university. It was here that a delightful disturbance occurred, with the attendance of one of the musicians’ children. The little one was about two years old, accompanied by a child minder – who wore clog-like shoes. Halfway through the first movement of Mozart’s flute quartet, the tot appeared in the wings, where she stood for a moment, surveying busy musicians and absorbed audience. Then she ran quietly, bare-footed, to the steps at the side of the stage, descended with delicacy into the auditorium, and found a comfortable seat. Her minder followed, clumping across the wooden planks and down the echoing steps. Apparently oblivious, the musicians continued to play with sensitivity and musicality.
It is common practice to maintain as much silence as possible between movements of a work, only applauding at the end. The little girl appreciated her mother’s playing, and let it be known with tiny, pattering applause, alone and very sweet in that great hall. Eventually her appreciation waned, and she headed once again for the stage, silently disappearing into the wings, followed by her minder, clumping in her heavy shoes.
If it is necessary for such young children to attend a concert, they should at best be seen and not heard. This little girl showed great promise as a future audience member, and possibly a musician. Her care-giver, however, needed education on the removal of shoes under emergency situations!
As members of an audience, we should remember the words of my grandfather: “Do as you would be done by!”
So, take a last cough and blow your nose before entering the auditorium: choking to death or rupturing your ear-drums aren’t really practical options.
We should all behave with courtesy to other members of the audience, and of course, to the performers who have worked so hard to share their talents with us.
Until next time, “here comes Treble!
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