Concert-goers

It seems to me, sitting in the audience for a concert of classical music multiple times, that there are recognisable concert-going types. I'm not saying which type I am. 😉

• The latecomer: sidles in through the back door and stands at the back or the side, restrained by the ushers from trying to find a seat until the performers are acknowledging the general applause for Item 1 on the programme. If the latecomer is a cyclist, he may be damp with perspiration and still wearing a helmet, carrying a large water bottle. He will then squeeze past the people in the row he's chosen to sit in, whispering Sorry, thanks, sorry, excuse me, sorry, thanks! before lowering himself into the seat and downing his water in one draft. He is still packing his bottle away when Item 2 begins.
• The head wagger: often sitting near the front of the audience, can be spotted from a long way off, swaying to the music, oblivious to everything else. In his youth, as a prom-goer in prewar 1930s London, my dad was one of these. My mother, elsewhere among the prewar prommers, noticed him thus, years before she actually met him, postwar.
• The finger tapper: a discreet version of the head wagger, probably not quite so oblivious to others in the audience, but still very caught up in the music, with which he seems familiar. He wishes that his dream of being a conductor had come true.
• The foot tappers: everyone in the concert hall, if the piece is rhythmically irresistible! (Except for the introvert, see below.)
• The novice: bewildered by the whole experience, feels very embarrassed when he claps at the end of an in-between movement and nobody else joins in. The performers usually give a little smile when this happens, but do not bow in acknowledgement. Sad to say, a younger novice probably spends most of the concert thinking how grey-haired and uninspiring the rest of us look.
• The proud mother: sits on the front row with one or two very straight-backed children, smartly dressed and behaving themselves impeccably. She has great ambitions for them and will one day see them on the stage, too, doing something impressive.
• The inseparable couple: have their favourite seats in the concert hall and if one of them arrives first (s)he saves the other one's seat by plonking a programme or hat on it. They sit close together, arms and thighs touching, and clasp hands or give one another knowing grins at the big moments in the music. During the intermission they do the rounds of other audience members, introducing one another.
• The enthusiasts: whose favourite part of the evening is at the end, when they can leap to their feet shouting Bravo! (sometimes bringing the rest of the audience up with them) and who carry on applauding, hands in the air, after everyone else has stopped. These people may turn out to be close friends or relatives of the performers.
• The fidget: usually female, has trouble with her hair-do during the slow movements, or feels a draft and makes a fuss fishing out her shawl and putting it on, taking it off, and then putting it on again. Often she will go to the extent of moving from one seat to another, even while the artists are playing, to find a more comfortable spot. Heaven help the rest of us if the fidget has a brought a fan or a bag of cough sweets with her.
• The creeper-out: rather like the latecomer, makes his or her presence felt. She makes a dramatic exit, doubled up to make herself as small as she thinks possible, tiptoeing to the nearest exit with whatever hand luggage she needs to carry along, like a cartoon thief, whispering apologies to the people around her. The more experienced early leavers or urgent washroom visitors do not creep, and therefore get out of the hall more quickly.
• The chatterbox: has a friend along and keeps her engrossed in a long anecdote, standing up, until the performers have come on stage, have picked up their instruments and are at the very point of starting to play. Even after the chatterbox (usually female) has finally sat down in her seat, the anecdote sometimes continues in sotto voce whispers, interspersed with giggles, during the actual music or introduction to it.
• The solitary introvert: sits right at the back and / or the far side of the hall with as many empty seats around him as possible. He just hates it if there's a full house. He does not move from his spot during the intermission, which he also hates, but has brought a book along, that he will read undisturbed, so he hopes, until the performers return. The best moment for him is when the hush descends, just before they take up their instruments again. He likes the sad or solemn pieces best, not the jolly vivace ones, and especially not music for which the audience is expected to join in, clapping the rhythm or even (God forbid!) singing along.
• The erudite listener: may bring the score and a pencil with him, and can sometimes be seen taking notes during the performance. This may or may not be the music critic for the local paper or an ex music teacher or prof. After the performance, for anyone who'll listen, he will compare it in detail with other performances of that same work or the same musicians, or with other works by that composer. At moments when a performance doesn't agree with his ideas of how it should have been done, and especially if the performer makes a mistake, he may ostentatiously frown, wince, or shake his head. Some such people are jaded, musical snobs, who, after listening to a piece everyone else has found thoroughly entertaining, will say something along the lines of... "I feel that was a very slight work."* Other erudite people, though, are genuinely appreciative of what they have heard, far more profoundly so than the uneducated masses.

*  I overheard this dismaying remark once from an adult at a concert for children.