Let’s just be honest: Everyone discriminates. Everyone has their own personal set of beliefs, their own life experiences that shape their perceptions of things. Understanding (accepting) the prejudices of oneself is difficult and rare for many since the level of introspection necessary to change our ways of thinking is often left undone. And so instead of self-analysis to eradicate our own personal biases and teach others respect for differences through our actions, many of us tend to deflect responsibility. This week’s topic will touch on how those who have never been to a classical music concert could ever know what to wear and how to act, if it matters, why it matters, and what standards the people that snicker at them are using to judge. Yeah, LOTS to discuss. Let's get started!!

So, why should new audiences conform to antiquated rules about who should be in the concert hall? And who should care what they look like as long as the seats are filled and people are appreciating the musicians and performances?

I recently went to a solo performance by the principle harpist of the Berlin Philharmonic. Never mind her actual performance, the audience entertained and annoyed me (both of which I’m regrettably accustomed to). In the ladies room, I was asked how in heard about the concert, a question which gave everyone pause. Now, I don’t really give much thought to these kinds of questions, the basic “why are you here?” questions. I’m often the subject of interest of curious older white people sitting around me in the hall. They test my knowledge of music and instruments as if I’m some fraud posing as a music lover just to, what? Snoop in their private club? Yes, that’s exactly it. What am I really doing there, they wonder? When I had my pad and paper for class, that was acceptable—I was there for school, for research. However, how could I, Chocolate Grrrl Wonder, possibly be there for the love of their sacred classical music? Aren’t I part of the MTV crowd? Don’t “my people” like jazz and that rap stuff? Doesn’t my generational ADD prevent me from sitting that long?

At this harp concert, I was asked about the number of strings, the color-coding, the price of instruments, the repertoire, the this and the that. Ugh! Too many questions when I was just trying to enjoy the music. Now, if I see some white person at a jazz or hip hop show, I don’t test his knowledge of music history and instrumentation. I don’t really care what he knows as long as he doesn’t snap off rhythm and throw me off. (*wink*) But perhaps my presence, my mystique level, was threatening their good time? “Why is SHE here?” One little white girl pointed at me and whispered to her mother who looked at me and grabbed her child’s pointing hand. Was there spinach in between my teeth? Was my hair on fire? Or was it my perma-tan?

Now I could take the position of “it’s like 2007 already. It’s high time for white people to get over the fact that people of color can and do enjoy their precious art music. We are no longer subjugated to liking or producing ONLY music for brothels. So stop it with the “what is SHE doing here?!” when you see me in the hall and accept the fact that if you can be at the Blue Note, I can be at Symphony Center.” It's Gershwin sitting on the floor of some Harlem jazz club and no one saying anything as he absorbs their soul and creativity and makes it his memorable career without giving credit where due versus the 19th century balcony where only freed Blacks could sit to enjoy concert music performed by Black performers all over again.

There is always someone who doesn’t fit the mold, so why not just celebrate our differences and rejoice in the fact that we can all be in the same place together connected through the power of music?

Because when the shoe is on the other pedicured foot…

I decided in high school and confirmed in college that I didn’t want to be a classical musician, as overwhelmed and excited as I was on stage to be in the middle of the heart-wrenching chromatic descending bass lines of Shosti’s 5^th, 3^rd mvmt. Sitting there counting my 15 gazillion measures of rest as harpists often do, I stared into the audience and around the stage. I wanted a connection. I wanted a knowing or proud smile. I wanted someone with whom I could trade secret glances when the saxophonist tried to “jazz up” his solo in Ravel’s ‘Bolero,’ someone with whom could I laugh at the unnecessary pretension. I certainly couldn’t do that with the pretentious people themselves!!

So I quit. Adios bureaucratic orchestras and snobbish audiences wondering if I was up there due to affirmative action. ¡Ya Basta!

Then during my graduate studies, I took a class entitled ‘Ethnographic Methods.’ One of our assignments was to frequent a place of live music and write about the culture, i.e. interview audience members and/or performers, observe the audience, the musicians, who did what, who sat where, etc. Since I was new to town, I decided to visit the Chicago Symphony Orchestra for my project. I found out some interesting things, such as why people buy single tickets as opposed to season subscriptions, who comes on which night to see what kind of performance, and how the only permanent Black member of the orchestra feels about his new (since 2000) position. Of all the interesting discoveries, the most was personal—my real education was manifested after I turned in my paper and received back immensely thorough comments.

RocaWear jacket

Waiting for the concert to begin, I saw many people who I’d never EVER seen in any concert hall ANYWHERE. That’s good and maybe not so good. While it was wonderful to see kids and teens from all races in Symphony Center, their presence changed the whole vibe of the place. Generally, audience members (yes, a majority old and white) tend to dress business casual, somewhat conservative, neat, what have you, so it really took me by surprise to see RocaWear jackets (top), Baby Phat jeans, door knocker earrings (bottom left), and nameplate belts (right).

Name plate belt

Although my prejudice was exposed, I couldn’t help but stare at these kids shaking my head and thinking, “Wow, that’s so inappropriate. Their momma’s should’ve dressed them like they were going to church. Or at least, if they’re going to wear jeans, put on some cute heels and a blazer or something, you know? Dress it up a little.” But perhaps in today’s hip hop/pop cultured mind, wearing those designer threads IS dressing up.

White door knocker earrings

Okay, so they clap in between movements even though the program says not to. Yes, they get up to leave during one of the quietest moments in the piece, but so what? I’ve been to concerts with season subscribers who unwrap peppermint candies in quiet places and clap in between movements as if they didn’t know any better. And then, what’s knowing better? Withholding applause until the double bar is an American thing—Europeans clap whenever they want! After a cadenza they clap! Trills could be equivalent to ballerinas’ pirouettes—the more they do, the more applause.

Isn’t clapping simply the audible enjoyment of some appreciated ingenuity? If the audience is overwhelmed, let them show their appreciation. Sure it breaks your concentration if you were really into the music, but it’s that person’s self-expression. Let them clap! That’s how it works in the jazz world (although to be fair, there are “rules” there too. For instance, although the audience may/does clap after a solo, the level of applause is dictated by the dynamic of the piece—when the soloist is blowing hard, the applause is louder so that the soloist can hear the accolades, more so than if someone is playing a mournful ballad). But classical music is about order. Fundamentally, it’s the antithesis of jazz. Classical is about structure and form and regulation and properness and tightassity. And I adhere to all of that as the “culture” of the place in which the music is performed. When in Rome… 

So, were these kids and non-regulars ruining my good time? Not really. But I did find myself making judgment calls about their education and class based on their appearances and venue etiquette.

That’s what’s wrong. I should have been happy to see so many youths and faces of color there for this night of movie music madness. Wasn’t that been my complaint that there wasn’t anyone like me in the whole place? The exposure of my own prejudice, my own ascribing to the rules of American symphony etiquette, was embarrassing. I realized quite suddenly that I am a hypocrite.

But this is all just my opinion. What's yours?

Next week we’ll discuss talking from the stage to audiences. Love it or hate it?