Culture Club
Nov. 22nd, 2005 10:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfieldI went to a free concert last night at the Kennedy Center, where my friend C.C.E. was playing her bassoon with the Friday Morning Music Club Orchestra. (A brief review: the Sibelius was lovely and the Grieg was marvelous, with concerto soloist Chu-Fang Huang acquitting herself to a sustained standing ovation. The Brahms, however, was lousy -- just like all of Brahms, in my uneducated opinion.)
I was surprised to see so many people at the concert on a crappy Monday night, but the Terrace Theater was almost entirely full, bustling with lots of old people, many of them presumably parents and friends of performers. I took a seat far in the back, where it was well-lit enough for me to finish my crossword puzzle before the first downbeat.
In front of me were three gregarious young men, oafishly groomed and attired, clearly local university students. It was unclear to me whether they were student-athletes or merely fat, but they were clearly uncomfortable in their environment. I assumed they were in attendance to witness the performance of one of their more sophisticated colleagues and show support and solidarity, until they each produced a notebook and a pencil. I could then only deduce that these young men were there to fulfill some sort of educational assignment.
At the end of their row, one buffer-seat away, was a sharply-attired middle aged professional woman, the kind who colors her gray hair with jet-black dye and pecks compulsively at her PDA. (She would tap at her PDA through the entire program, bathing her dangerously angular face in a creepy pale-blue glow.)
With five minutes still to go before curtain, the ring leader of our Three Louseketeers dials a number on his cell phone and begins conversing very loudly with a classmate. Something about a worksheet, and how some guy needs to borrow that worksheet, and can that guy stop by and borrow this guy's worksheet because it would really save the caller's ass. The arrangement thus made, he makes another call to tell that guy that he can borrow the worksheet from this guy, and gives rambling directions to that guy's dorm room.
As soon as he claps the phone off, the hair-dyed woman turns down the row and lets out an exaggerated "Shh!", leading to the following exchange.
GUY: What?
LADY: Shh.
GUY: I'm sorry. Was I being loud?
LADY: Yes.
GUY: I'm sorry. The concert hasn't started yet.
LADY: You were disturbing me.
GUY: The concert hasn't started yet, Ma'am. I'm sorry, but the concert hasn't started yet.
LADY: [turns away.]
GUY: Did you know that the concert hadn't started yet? Can you hear the other people talking? Are they bothering you?
LADY: [no response.]
GUY: I'm sorry. The concert hasn't started, though. The concert hasn't started. But I'm sorry. But the concert hasn't started yet.
LADY: [silently folds her hands in her lap]
GUY: I'm sorry. [Then, to his buddies, loud enough so that everyone nearby can hear.] Bitch.
Part of me wanted to intercede at this point, even though the discussion was over, to censure the young man for his profane language and his generally disrespectful attitude. The lady's "shh" had spoken for all of us; he was being obnoxious, and sort of a bully about it, and I thought that a calm, reasoned reprimand might reinforce his knowledge that he was not in a frat house at the moment.
Another part of me, though, thought: He has a point. Not that she was a bitch -- she might have been, but it was still inappropriate to say -- but the concert hadn't started yet and plenty of other people were blathering to their neighbors. She probably just wanted the Louseketeers to shut up and couldn't wait for the concert to begin. No need to get involved.
What would you have done?
I was surprised to see so many people at the concert on a crappy Monday night, but the Terrace Theater was almost entirely full, bustling with lots of old people, many of them presumably parents and friends of performers. I took a seat far in the back, where it was well-lit enough for me to finish my crossword puzzle before the first downbeat.
In front of me were three gregarious young men, oafishly groomed and attired, clearly local university students. It was unclear to me whether they were student-athletes or merely fat, but they were clearly uncomfortable in their environment. I assumed they were in attendance to witness the performance of one of their more sophisticated colleagues and show support and solidarity, until they each produced a notebook and a pencil. I could then only deduce that these young men were there to fulfill some sort of educational assignment.
At the end of their row, one buffer-seat away, was a sharply-attired middle aged professional woman, the kind who colors her gray hair with jet-black dye and pecks compulsively at her PDA. (She would tap at her PDA through the entire program, bathing her dangerously angular face in a creepy pale-blue glow.)
With five minutes still to go before curtain, the ring leader of our Three Louseketeers dials a number on his cell phone and begins conversing very loudly with a classmate. Something about a worksheet, and how some guy needs to borrow that worksheet, and can that guy stop by and borrow this guy's worksheet because it would really save the caller's ass. The arrangement thus made, he makes another call to tell that guy that he can borrow the worksheet from this guy, and gives rambling directions to that guy's dorm room.
As soon as he claps the phone off, the hair-dyed woman turns down the row and lets out an exaggerated "Shh!", leading to the following exchange.
GUY: What?
LADY: Shh.
GUY: I'm sorry. Was I being loud?
LADY: Yes.
GUY: I'm sorry. The concert hasn't started yet.
LADY: You were disturbing me.
GUY: The concert hasn't started yet, Ma'am. I'm sorry, but the concert hasn't started yet.
LADY: [turns away.]
GUY: Did you know that the concert hadn't started yet? Can you hear the other people talking? Are they bothering you?
LADY: [no response.]
GUY: I'm sorry. The concert hasn't started, though. The concert hasn't started. But I'm sorry. But the concert hasn't started yet.
LADY: [silently folds her hands in her lap]
GUY: I'm sorry. [Then, to his buddies, loud enough so that everyone nearby can hear.] Bitch.
Part of me wanted to intercede at this point, even though the discussion was over, to censure the young man for his profane language and his generally disrespectful attitude. The lady's "shh" had spoken for all of us; he was being obnoxious, and sort of a bully about it, and I thought that a calm, reasoned reprimand might reinforce his knowledge that he was not in a frat house at the moment.
Another part of me, though, thought: He has a point. Not that she was a bitch -- she might have been, but it was still inappropriate to say -- but the concert hadn't started yet and plenty of other people were blathering to their neighbors. She probably just wanted the Louseketeers to shut up and couldn't wait for the concert to begin. No need to get involved.
What would you have done?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Brahms
Date: 2005-11-25 06:18 am (UTC)However, after reading this posting, I continue to be curious about exactly why people feel so uncomfortable and out-of place in classical music concerts. I attend several per week so obviously my perspective is totally skewed. I know there are barriers. But what is it precisely that is most off-putting? Is it the way people dress? Is the shushing old people? Is the music presented in such an unfriendly format that it seems completely unapproachable? Or is it just boring?
I think I know the answer.