It is no secret that the classical music world is going increasingly mental. Much ink has been spilled in an attempt to get to the bottom of the problem and many informed and even more less-informed people have tried to shed light on different aspects of the phenomenon. I personally believe that the classical music madness these days is most apparent in the amount of time you need to clap after a concert before you’re allowed to go home. Seriously, when was the last time you went home after a symphonic concert and felt you had not been given enough time to adequately express your appreciation for the musicians’ and conductor’s work by putting your hands together? Sitting in frozen-corpse position and stifling any movement or sound your desperately uncomfortable body wants to make, followed by a brief period of clapping, is no longer enough. What is wanted is an ecstatic multi-minute (yes, I timed it) frenzy that brings to mind the subjects of a totalitarian state having to pretend-adore their leader.
As I write these words, I can already hear the moaning. ‘Musicians are performing nothing short of a heroic act on stage’, the traditionalists among you will whine, ‘so they are worthy of the utmost respect.’ To that I can only say, ‘I know’. Playing an instrument up to a standard that allows you to play in a major orchestra takes a lifetime of dedication and deserves respect. That’s the reason I turned up to the concert on time and decently attired (think skirt but not too short). That’s the reason I read up on the programme, which can get quite excessive as the concert that I read three books for shows. If anyone wants to discuss Beethoven’s symphonies with me, please be my guest. Respect was also the reason I sat silently during the concert, ignoring the person who fell asleep in front of me and my friend who had an asthma attack. And it’s the reason I am more than prepared to clap and shout the appropriate words at the end – but not until I am hoarse and my hands start to bleed.
I can even tell you when all this started: it was the moment some conductor – in a misguided attempt to make the orchestra more equitable – thought it a brilliant idea to single out certain orchestra members who he deemed especially worthy of an extra round of applause. I did like the idea at the beginning. If you’ve just lived through a week of sleepless nights because you had a solo that could potentially cost you your job if you messed it up and you managed the solo without embarrassing yourself or the orchestra and without getting a divorce, you deserve some applause. However, once that tradition had been established, things escalated surprisingly quickly. First it was the guy with the solo who got a bit of extra applause. Then, in was the guy with the solo and three others with shorter solos. Soon after that, it was the guy with the solo, the person sitting next to him and three to seven others as well as people randomly related to them. These days, it seems that you have to clap for each and every one of the orchestra members individually before you have earned your freedom. If you manage to get away with fewer than two curtain calls, you have had an especially good day.
Which brings me on to my next problem: standing ovations. Everything seems to be getting a standing ovation these days. Not that a little exercise would hurt me, but I find it really boring to have to stand up for everything and everyone and one day I had had enough and just didn’t. Most of us say that they hope they would be able to go against the tide if necessary, to do the right thing, to express their believes and opinions in the face of a crowd contrarily opposed to what you’re thinking. I was never so sure that I would be brave enough to do that until I went to one of the worst concerts I had ever been to. The audience had collectively neglected to take their Ritalin that day and sprung up in rapture for what must have been the 12th time that evening to clap at a cheap attention-grabbing nonsensical bit of show. I had had enough and remained seated. To put that in perspective, in a hall that seats 1.800, everyone got up and I remained seated. People shot me glances. I looked back and stopped clapping on top of it. And never had sitting still and doing absolutely nothing felt so good.
Fortunately, I have a plan on how I can put an end to all of this mayhem. I am Austrian and Austria not only has a vibrant classical music scene, we also have no shame and a long tradition of the audience getting up and leaving when they’ve had enough, which is usually between the first and second curtain call. From now on I will be leaving the concert hall as soon as I have the feeling that I have clapped enough and am being taken advantage of. If I have to step over more obedient people, so be it. I can already see this play out before my inner eye. At first, I will get a few shocked looks, but eventually, the trend will catch on. Conductors will be taking classes from actors in how to make a graceful exit before the audience does, people will be flocking to the concert halls in droves because concerts are going to be so much better, I will be hailed the new goddess of audience development, speak at the AMA, and change the face of the classical music world forever. Let’s all work together to make classical music a tiny bit less mental. We might even get a mention in the history books. We’ll be the heroes who saved classical music – just because they refused to clap.
