For a variety of reason – some metaphorical, some literal – I find the experiences of air travel and concert going strangely similar. The ticket costs more than you hope to pay, the service is frightful, you are inevitably seated next to the loudest person in attendance, and following the experience, you have been (or ought to have been) completely transported. In much the same way that airlines have managed to distract its patrons from the absolutely terrifying realities of flying (the cabin wall is usually no thicker than 3 inches!), performing arts organizations have removed so much from the concert experience that most people fail to grasp the humanity and the social bonding that once defined concerts.
There are, of course, two schools of thought when it comes to the concert experience. Both of these schools happen to be the progeny of the administrators, not the public, which is good reason to dismiss both schools, or drop out I suppose. The first is that a performance of the fine arts is a hallowed and scared experience that demands absolute concentration. Lights are blacked out, seating is cramped so as to prevent snoozing, and a strict code of etiquette whereby coughs are stifled until the pause between movements. Despite the snarky way that I’ve painted this picture, I am a subscriber of this school.
The second school is perhaps more in touch with the human touchy feely side of the concert experience, which, being a Midwesterner, I instinctively avoid. As it is with nearly all pop music today, the concert experience of yester-year was a participatory experience, with the masses communing, in a way, with the music, the performers, and each other. It might be argued that this experience is what drives popularity. It is certainly easier to personally connect with an art form when it is sweating all over you and spilling beer on your backpack than when it is dispensed carefully from the other side of a velvet rope, but what is lost in that experience?
Sitting in a meeting today, a rather telling question was asked. We have a new program that will take place outside of the usual theatre in what has been termed a ‘found space’ (think Opera Under the Overpass, but with more Chiavari chairs), and without the austere surroundings, someone asked if patrons could take their wine into the performance. The discussion went very quickly from logistical to philosophical (“Is this the kind of company we want to be?”). Perhaps the dignity of some performance settings are appropriate for the kind of social exchange which wine and words tend to spark, but there is also something to be said for the last bastion of silence and attention where every flavour of a masterpiece can be experienced.
In keeping with habit, I am unable to pose a solution or even a firm position on the matter. I merely thin k it’s a worthwhile idea for discussion.
At the premiere of Mozart's Die Zauberflöte.
Filed under: All Arts Disciplines, Arts Management, Dance, Erik Johnson, Music
