I walked to the bus stop. Something was going on on the other side of the road. Then I realised - it was somebody lying, being tended to. A taxi parked up, a bike seemingly abandoned on the pavement. The person was moving, semi-conscious. Selfishly, I thought, I hope the police don't come and stop the traffic, then I'll have to walk to the tube. But it was okay, came, I got on. there were some sticky-beaking teenage boys. Nasty little boys, I thought, they're viewing an incident, something that relieves the monotony of the journey. And then one said, with feeling, "You know, I feel sorry for them..."
The bus was headed to Waterloo; so was I. Just before the Oval, three young boys got on. Barely out of Primary School, if that. They came upstairs. then, at the next stop, they went down again. Boys, I thought! Then I smelt it. Everyone stood up. We all went downstairs. A formidable black woman remonstrated with the boys "You're spiteful, stupid, selfish" and with the driver - "those three boys have just let off a stink bomb." I didn't hang around, I scooted across the churchyard, to the Tube, to Waterloo and into the Royal Festival Hall. Thinking I was short of time I had loads to spare.
It was a strange concert. A concert of accessible 'Easy Listening'. Part of the Listen Up! season. I'm not even sure what that is. And I don't know if it was the hall in general, or just near me that ignorami seemed to be the majority. It was the talking that got me. Now, I know, and many of you who have met me know that I am a very talkative person. But I know there is a time for silence. And reflection.
Perhaps people are not aware of how their voices carry. Perhaps they are aware and simply think they have the right to do what they want, not realising that their rights only extend as far as the point where they reduce another's rights.
I can understand it when between movements people will turn to their companion and make some succinct expression of approval or disappointment. A lively conversation is too much. And just a hint to he couple in D12 and D13. when the composer starts the music pianissimo, and the conductor and orchestra follow that instruction, it is not out of consideration for you, it's not so that you can complete your conversation. The very first note of the movement is as important as any other. Perhaps you should try listening next time. Although I rather hope there won't be a next time. Not anywhere near me, anyway.
And to the family in C11-13, there really is no need to hold repeated three way conversations during each movement. Though your son - an only child, perhaps? - is clearly a spoilt brat, perhaps he could have followed the example of the very many teenagers of his own age who were attending in school parties and knew how to behave. They probably learnt it from their parents. He learnt his loutish behaviour from you, that's obvious.
And to the couple in F12-13 - woman - did no one ever tell you that a whisper carries more penetratingly than spoken word. Man - if you insist on making clever remarks at every opportunity, please ensure they are a) clever and b) somewhat quieter than in my earhole.
Just to explain a few things - that man standing up at the beginning wasn't taking the register. He's the assistant leader of the orchestra, and, in the absence of the leader, due to walk on with the conductor, it's his responsibility to ensure that the orchestra is in tune. We like our orchestras to be in tune.
What's happening now? Well, the configuration of the orchestra is different for the piece we just heard than for the one we're about to hear, so some of the players leave; those that remain sit more snugly and compact to each other; and, also, there's a soloist (there usually is in violin concertos), and she needs room.
They haven't stopped to turn the page. They've stopped because one movement has finished, and another will shortly begin. The publisher has (hopefully) ensured that page turns are strategically placed so as to not interrupt the playing. In between movements is usually a good place.
The reason the organist has a rear-view mirror is to see the conductor. It's not so that he can check his hair is in place - although, like rear-view mirrors in cars it may also serve that, secondary, purpose.
And finally, to the very many people around me. This may well be your first concert. I didn't say anything, because, of course, we all do things for the first time, and it can be a little bit anxiety causing knowing what to do. It's best to observe other people. Some of them have been going to concerts for fifty or sixty years. In my case, thirty.
It isn't customary to clap in between movements. The first time is a mistake. The second time, you stopped swiftly enough when you realised you were in a majority. The third time...why? And the fourth time - were you really paying attention, or were you just concentrating on your next inane comment? If you want the people around you to think you're clever, smart, sophisticated, it's often best just to lie low. It's even better if you listen to the music. Not just with your ears, but with your eyes, and with your brain and with your soul. You will enjoy the experience more, and I most certainly will.
I am considering writing to the management of various concert halls and suggesting that they insert in the programmes a request for people not to talk during pieces - especially when the music is playing, but also in between movements. If they fail to insert a notice, and my evening is disrupted by such behaviour I will request my money back.
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