Despite not having evening dress - a lamentable state of affairs, still not made good - I decided a few years ago, when I was in Poland, to go to a classical music concert. I was well-prepared for the suffocating formality of it all, the snobbishness, the applause for the conductor even before he had conducted anything, the frowning at all instances of frivolity, and the feigned aesthetic appreciation of every nuance of every musical passage, indicated by a knowing smile. But I had discovered Chopin and I did not care. I determined to buck the conservatives and turn up for the recital wearing the usual pair of jeans and geansai.
You can imagine that I was somewhat nervous as I walked into the foyer of Old Town Lublin's Tribunal Building. My scuffed shoes sank into the carpet, and my heart rose into my mouth as a ferocious looking old man in a black suit with shining shoes approached me. Far from throwing me out, though, he took my coat and showed me through to the concert hall. So far so good; now there was only the audience to face, and of course the pianist.
Chopin's studies
I was well-received by the audience: they ignored me slinking into the back row of wooden seats and I started to think I was going to get away with my monstrous deception. Did any of them know how little I knew about music? To this day I can't name any of Chopin's pieces - they all seem to be studies. Studies for what? And instead of naming them, he numbered them. Did I like the Etude in E major? Well which one is that? To cover my embarrassment I looked at the programme, which meant nothing to me.
Something was happening. A man of my age, but wearing a suit and a gravity I know I can never hope to achieve had taken the stage. This was the MC. He spoke in Polish about the pianist, about Chopin, and about the foundation that had organised tonight's entertainment. Then the pianist came on. My worst fears were confirmed. They do applaud before the show begins. Such fusty old rituals they have!
The concert itself need hardly be described. That is not my point. It was wonderful, and afterwards I remember there was a wine reception where we chatted with the soloist, before going home into the night through the narrow cobbled old streets of Lublin.
My point is that I have been to many classical music concerts since, and to many rock concerts, and as far as pointless ritual, stuffy formality and highbrow arrogance towards audiences go, rock concerts come out worse every time.
Consider the ritual associated with a rock concert. It can start long before the concert, with the free-phone credit card line and/ or queueing for hours if it's a big event, and arguing your way past a bouncer if it's a small gig. Once in the venue, you have to entertain yourself for the mandatory two hours that must pass between the advertised start of the gig and the actual start. It may be possible to buy plastic glasses of watered-down beer at exorbitant prices, but that invariably means being in the queue for the filthy, blocked toilet when the band finally takes the stage.
Sound checks
Smaller concerts have a more intimate feel. What this means is that members of the band will help you to pass the time by doing sound checks for a couple of hours. Finally the concert begins, and carries on for a little over an hour, punctuated by sullen commands from the lead singer to get up and dance. Enjoy yourselves, for God's sake. We gave up a night in the pub to play this concert for you. And no, we don't do cover versions; what do you think we are, a wedding band? We're artists.
Never have I had my bag searched going into a classical music concert. Never have I had to pay for the cloakroom. Never have I had to wait over an hour for the concert to start. Never has the concert been cut short because the management wanted to go home. I have never heard a violinist ask for more reverb on the monitors. You won't find conductors repeating "one two" for half an hour before going up to the bar and demanding free pints for the night. Best of all, a full symphony orchestra takes about 30 seconds to tune up. I have seen Dublin four-piece bands, long since extinct, thank God, spend two hours tuning their three miserable instruments in order to take the stage the moment the last bus has gone and play for 70 minutes. And I have certainly never been invited backstage to have a glass of wine with the band.
Of course, you can't scream and shout your way through Vivaldi's Four Seasons and singing along is frowned upon, unless you happen to be Glenn Gould, but this is generally A Good Thing. Three years ago I saw Neil Young play at the RDS. At one point he put away the electric guitars and played an acoustic set. He needn't have bothered, for all anybody could hear of his guitar or voice. Everyone knew the words to The Needle and the Damage Done and everyone "sang" along. I didn't pay for this! I can hear a bunch of drunks singing Neil Young songs for free at any old party.
Common courtesy
The often-criticised formalities of classical music amount to little more than the common courtesy of not interrupting the musicians. There are those who claim they would like a return to the good old days (very old days) when people used to sing and clap along with the likes of Beethoven and Mozart. Perish the thought. The fact is that musicians are more musical than the rest of us. That's why they are on stage playing and we are in the audience listening.
Some people object to applauding the musicians before they have played a note, but this not confined to classical music. And yet, the musicians always wear formal evening dress. What of it? No one has ever refused me entry to a concert because of my dress, which can't be said about pubs and clubs in Dublin. There never really was any need for Nigel Kennedy to wear interesting waistcoats. Formalities? The last time I went to a classical concert, I arrived late and sat on the floor not five feet away from the musicians.