Why classical audiences don't boo

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3 minute read
Why classical concert audiences don't boo—
or cheer, for that matter

DAN COREN

In her thoughtful article on “Why opera audiences boo,” Diana Burgwyn touches on a question that I’ve often pondered: Why are classical concert audiences so much more staid– one might say repressed– than their vociferous operatic counterparts? It’s a complicated question, but I think the essential difference is this: Opera is secular; classical concert music is sacred.

From Monteverdi’s 400-year-old Orfeo to the present day, opera has its roots in public spectacle. Opera stars are cut from the same cloth as Roman gladiators and succeed only if they’re willing to take gladiatorial life and death risks, albeit in sublimated form. Operatic form has evolved accordingly; its isolated set pieces accommodate, even invite, audience participation: What’ll it be— thumbs up or thumbs down?! No wonder opera audiences, like modern sports fans, regard cheering and booing as their right.

On the other hand, only a few hundred years have elapsed since classical instrumental music became detached from its religious functions, and it wouldn’t take an extraterrestrial anthropologist long to recognize that a classical concert is still a religious rite. The Catholic Church has been replaced by the Temple of the Standard Repertory. The audience is, of course, the congregation. The performers are members of an elite priesthood whose role is to bring to life, by reading esoteric symbols that few can read and playing instruments that even fewer can master, the communications of the gods of this polytheistic religion.

Classical audiences are expected to follow the same rules of decorum that apply to church and synagogue. When solo instrumental performers mess up, the audience is more likely to cringe at the disgrace of the failure than it is to boo. And anyone tempted to shout, “You call that a crescendo?” or “Come on, take the repeat!” would violate a taboo almost as strong as the one that prevents us from, say, walking onto the stage during a performance of Hamlet.

Much as I love and revere the classical repertory, sometimes I simply can’t bear to sit with my hands folded for anybody’s music. Burgwyn’s piece brought me back to a particular moment in a jazz concert I attended on a Saturday night sometime in the mid-1990s, a concert at which three pianists– Tommy Flanagan, Shirley Scott (both since deceased) and Kenny Barron— participated in a sort of collaborative competition that was billed as a “piano summit.” In the middle of his set, out of nowhere, Barron suddenly let fly a quiet, lyrical riff of such elegance and beauty that the whole audience stirred; “oohs” and “aahs,” appreciative sighs, cries of “right on!” and the like filled the hall. The moment was a paradigm of what’s wonderful about jazz concerts and knowledgeable jazz audiences. If only classical music lovers, who are just as sophisticated and just as appreciative of their music, were allowed to express themselves with such freedom!



Top read responses, click here and here and here.
To read a response by Dan Rottenberg, click here.

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