Playing the spoon

I’ve been working hard. I’ve been preparing for an audition for a Pro orchestral job. Last night I decided to go and watch the orchestra, partly as a fact-finding mission and partly for a boost in confidence. It was the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto and Elgar 1 (this may be enough info for the more Google-savvy of you to find out where I went, and who I’m auditioning for if you’re interested). It was a weird one though.

I think I entered some sort of ‘Eerie-Indiana’, Bermuda Triangle-type dimension. I’m not sure what first brought it to my attention. The gig was part of a subscription series, but one of those where I’m sure many subscribers ask whether they can subscribe quarterly in case they aren’t around to use the full year. The average age was well-above that of the average stars of Olive Oil adverts, and the ocassional head of hair with colour left in it stood out in the crowd like the last remaining flowers of autumn. This kind of crowd comes with drawbacks. Mostly, you are assured that you’ll get a running-commentary from someone around you. Tonight, my commentary was given by the nasal drone of an elderly chap behind me, with ocassional ‘Oh, she’s doing that now’. What exactly was ‘that’? Which ‘she’???

Soon enough the commentator behind me noted that it was the interval, probably a reaction to the fact that 20% of the audience had already left the hall. Those in the choir seats had an unsual journey though. Shunning the doors beside their seats to the rear of the stage, they chose to walk ‘Bruce’s Price is Right‘-style down the steps and across the stage. It was like watching a Channel 5 version of Supermarket Sweep. In their rush to get to the old-style ice-cream sellers, with tray on string around their necks (think Python Albatross Sketch), they forgot one thing – Let the musicians off first!. There were elderly men in beige and women in Cyan and Magenta crossing paths with violin and horn-wielding musicians in a spectacle more akin of a police motorcycle display team.

Elgar 1 began the second half with an unusual percussive accompaniment – an octagenarian had joined the orchestra. Not the subtle and gentle whispering of the first theme for this universe. Oh no. This has choreography in the form of an elderly gentleman shunning his cushioned seat and gently placing his jacket on a side wall, before jumping backwards to his new-found vantage point. He then carefully removed his ice-cream tub (vanilla I think) and spoon and set-about eating his pudding. I was expecting him to follow this with his usual evening medication, but no, he sucked his fingertips clean – IN THE NOISIEST WAY I HAVE EVER HEARD. He managed to successfully drown out a string section of around 40. I know many of these people are old enough to have personally known Elgar, and yes they probably attended the debut performance, but I mean, he was really loud!

I know at this point I’m in danger of sounding like a musical snob. You’re probably imagining me at home with my Wharfdale and Boise stereo listening to vinyl LP’s through large cushioned headphones (I don’t by the way). I just have this idea that just because you’ve paid £12.50 for a ticket, it doesn’t mean you own the orchestra. They’re not court minstrels anymore. You haven’t hired them as musical entertainment for 100 minutes of an evening. It’s not just for you. These people have worked hard. They’ve trained for years to get good at their profession. They still practice hard to keep their skills up to scratch. They haven’t done that for all this time to be accompanied by an elderly gentleman dressed in a maroon linen suit and navy socks eating his organic low-fat vanilla ice-cream!