The McPhail and the Question of Audience Participation

[lydamorehouse]

 

MomCulture spoiled me.  When Mason and I got a flyer in the mail from the McPhail Center for Music about the Bakken Trio (violin, cello, and piano) who were going to be giving a free, (supposedly) informal concert over the lunch hour in the fourth floor rehearsal space, I thought: hey cool, this would be another music thing Mason and I could enjoy.  When I showed him the flyer, he hopped up and down and said, “A cello!  I finally get to see a cello!”  We were psyched.  On the big day (last Friday), I packed up our activity books, some snacks, and a boy who could hardly wait to see the mythical cello up close and personal.

 

I totally forgot how most people experience classical music. 

 

I need to preface what happened at McPhail by saying that Friday had started out somewhat poorly, and it was quickly becoming a day of being “hushed.”  We foolishly brought along our pennywhistle to our local (coffee shop in this case) and had settled in for reading some Thomas the Tank Engine and hooting along whenever the engines whistled at each other.  Not surprisingly, we were hushed. 

 

I have always hated being hushed. 

 

I understand that people were trying to work.  And as the supposedly responsible adult in charge I did, in fact, quite promptly take Mason’s whistle from him and explain that we were being too noisy and other people were trying to do their own things, which we had rudely interrupted.  However, internally I twinged.  I have always been an enthusiastic participant in life, and thus have spent much of my life being hushed.  I think, too, that many people are unfairly hushed.  There are times, of course, when exuberance isn’t called for, but those times are, in my opinion, fairly rare.  And, I’m so very sorry that my happiness interrupted your dull, drab and lifeless existence.  Excuse me while I chortle noisily and go on enjoying myself without you.

 

That being said, we were being loud and people were trying to work.  In deference to them (and, really, that whole golden rule thing,) we took our fun selves elsewhere.

 

On the drive home, I noticed a woman walking three dogs.  They were barking, running, and generally being happy dogs.  She looked absolutely miserable.  And, I thought to myself, “How often do I pass people on the streets that are actually smiling to themselves?”  Watching over the rest of the day, the answer was: almost never.

 

Fast forward to noon.  Mason and I had to rush off from a very pleasant, if disorganized (as eating out with a nearly-four year old often is) lunch with our friend Rosanne.  Still in a somewhat frazzled mood we arrive with plenty of time to spare at the McPhail.  Remembering the lessons of last time, we parked in a hotel lot across the street and hustled to the rehearsal space to get a good seat.  When we got off the elevator on the fourth floor, there was a crowd of “the walker set” as Eleanor would call them -- retirees all looking for some culture.  

I started to get nervous that Mason and I would be the only people under the age of sixty-five at the event.  A couple of other moms with kids in tow showed up.  Mason insisted we head for the front row – which was a row, btw, none of the nice cafeteria style set up they’d provided before – and we settled in to wait with our dot-to-dot books. 

 

Then the show started.  Mason perked up to watch the performers get ready.  When the music started he exalted, “Ima, look!  Her hands are dancing on the strings!” 

 

We were instantly and profoundly hushed.

 

Worse, soon after, I became complicit in hushing Mason. 

 

Normally, Mason is very attentive, but after being disallowed his opportunity to express his joy – in my opinion – he disassociated.  He got antsy, fussy, and started to ask me in a loud voice when we could go home.  We stuck it out for a while.  I encouraged him to dance, but he soon felt conspicuous since all the eyes in the room weren’t smiling, but glaring at me as if to say, “Can’t you control your little monster?  How DARE he enjoy the music as if it were common music!”

 

I nearly cried.  We left the hall, and while I was tying my shoe out in the lobby Mason perked up and said, “We can still hear it out here!”  I thought he might like to say and enjoy the music from the other side of the closed door, at least, but he decided he’d rather go. 

 

At least the experience doesn’t seem to have dampened his interest in music entirely, thank the Goddess.  Mason says he still wants to try again when the harp and flute players are there next month.  I’m a little leery, if only because I’m angry that in order for Mason to go to these sorts of events he has sell his soul.  If we’re not going to spend the whole time getting hushed and glared at, I’m going to have to teach him something I don’t believe, which is that music has to be enjoyed while sitting still and being quiet. 

 

I ended up having a long passionate discussion about this with Sean M. Murphy on the phone later on Friday, and though I’ve mellowed a little bit on my stance that art should be one hundred percent participatory, I still think that it’s a bloody, ugly shame that music (at least of the variety that involves cellos) has become something so DEAD that it’s not okay to shout and dance while experiencing it.  I get that grown-ups like to close their eyes and become the music, but many grown-ups, in my most humble opinion, are kids who have forgotten how to dance. 


This is one of the biggest crime our culture inflicts on children:  learn to sit still and be quiet.  I think in many ways, it is the root of some of the deep unhappiness that poisons modern Americans.  I mean, is it any wonder people are depressed when you can’t even shout with joy when the spirit moves you? 

 

Mason and I are going to have to find a happy medium, I know.  He’s going to go to school next year and this will be the first hard lesson of his life, the whole learning to sit still thing.  It has its benefits, I know. 

 

But sometimes, man, you just gotta dance.

Comments

[ex-hellocth126.livejournal.com]

As much as I'd like to empathize with you, I really can't here. In this case, allowing Mason to enjoy the music as he wanted to would have severely impaired the rest of the audience's ability to enjoy it how they wanted to. You simply can't relax and get lost in the rhythms of the music if there's a small child running around being noisy. Not to mention how terribly distracting such outside movement and noise could potentially be to the performers. Admittedly, it sounds like you were mislead as to the theme of the event, and it would be wonderful to have settings where children and children-at-heart could dance and "express their joy" at music... but this obviously wasn't such an event.

I love going to the Rocky Horror show and yelling out random hilarious lines, but I'd be mightily perturbed if that was accepted practice in all movies. What Mason needs to learn isn't that he ALWAYS has to sit still and be quiet, but rather that there's a time to do that, and a time to run and shout and dance, and that when you do which is heavily dependent on how it will influence other people who have just as much right to enjoy themselves as you do.

There's certainly something to be said for participatory art, but there's also a time to turn off your own soundtrack and just appreciate someone else's work. Photoshop contests and slash writing is a great medium for adding your own ideas to someone else's art... but you certainly wouldn't want to be unable to see the original Mona Lisa or read the original Harry Potter because every copy in existence had been modified by someone else.

[lydamorehouse]

Your metaphor is a bit flawed. Dancing along doesn't change the nature of the music, and if music wasn't meant to be participatory why are we there at all? Why not have the music performed once, statically, perserved and we could all watch it on television? Music changes BECAUSE there is an audience -- ask any live performer. The music would be different if played alone. Musicians (like actors) perform for an audience with more spirit. It is meant to be heard, experienced, and responded to.

Otherwise, none of us would clap. Does clapping change the performance? YES, it does. As someone who used to do theatre I can tell you the difference between acting to an empty hall and acting to a packed one is a completely different experience... and yes, having a live audience "distracts" an actor -- but in a good way. It makes him/her more sharp. It is, in point of fact, the magic of theatre.

I refuse to apologize for noisily enjoying something. I will apologize if my child (or I) does or says something that's not an act of participation -- ala asking to go home or talking about things not related to experiencing the performance. But, if my (or my child's) only reaction is a particapatory one, screw your needs. If you so desire the experience of music as a sterile, unchanging experience buy a record and listen to it at home alone in the dark.

Reply to My Own Reply

[lydamorehouse]

I's take back the vehemence in my earlier statement, if I may. Obviously, this is an issue I'm passionate about, but I didn't mean the bit about screwing other people's needs -- at least not entirely, or how it comes off after thoughtful reflection.

Because I think it's clear from my original post, I actually do understand the need for circumspection in public and in some places where art is participated in (thus the reason Mason and I left the concert early). And, I do believe in teaching Mason respect for other people and other people's spaces, particularly in public.

And I think my rash response may have obscured what is essentially my point: art, in my most humble opinion, is by its nature participatory. I think, as an example of that, livejournal and places like it are one of the fews instances where writing is truly participatory. Writing is reacted to -- instantly. It's like getting to do a reading, only better, because people actually take time to reflect and comment on what has been written or said.

I still don't think reacting to art -- in whatever form, particularly though, LIVE art -- is a bad thing.

[skinismy13.livejournal.com]

I think what made me most sad about this was the hushing of the line "Her fingers are dancing on the strings." What a poet!! Seriously, as an avid classical music-listener and former musician, if I had heard that I would have melted. (w00t cellos!) Also, I know that Mason is not a "loud" dancer, and I would have hoped that he felt comfortable enough to get up and groove. He is a respectful child, and for someone that young to be into the music and not starting OUT by whining to leave is impressive. People need to lighten up. I hate the feeling of shame when I'm sitting in Orchestra Hall suffering from the 2nd worst cough of my life and feeling like an ass for being sick. Pah. Maybe I'll go grump about humanity in my OWN blog.

[bibliofile.livejournal.com]

Yes, poetic! Having attended all sorts of shows, and as another former classical musician, I can safely agree that the only time someone is truly disruptive is by being noisy, and that's only because it makes it harder for other people to hear the music. Of course, dancing would probably be discouraged at a formal evening concert, but that's not at all what you attended. Maybe next time you could discuss where to sit -- on an aisle, maybe? There are many ways to show respect and appreciation of music, and sitting attentively and quietly is only one of them.

Mason sounds like a cool kid. It's all about the music, isn't it? (That's one reason I stopped doing classical music; too many other agendas present.)