Alex Ross some time ago wrote a revealing essay on concert etiquette. We learn that over two centuries ago, the Paris audience was no better, if not worse, than today's Chennai rasika-s! So there is hope, maybe in 200 years.

When I went to England (Leeds) for the first time in 1947, I attended a concert (Bach) soon after arrival. Everyone was in place, there was total silence, stillness in the air, not even nodding of heads. I even wondered whether the music went over the audience's heads; probably they were there only to pass off as highbrow. Used to the unstoppable chatter, visible appreciation and the general fish-market scenario at Rasika Ranjani Sabha kutcheri-s, it was a novel experience for me. A few days later when I met the Music Professor at the University refectory, I told him of my experience. He first laughed and said that he had visited India and was familiar with the restive audience, who seemed to do everything except conduct business in the hall. Only at the Bombay Madrigal Society (where Mehli Mehta, father of Zubin, was the Director) was there a serious concert atmosphere. He also said that in the West things were overdone a bit. As for himself, when he conducted, his concentration was so complete that even a tornado raging at the back of the auditorium would not disturb him or his orchestra. But movement of people inside the hall was another matter.

In our society, the interaction between audience and artiste is the other extreme. Our own artistes seem to relish the interruptions – they stop singing to greet a VIP, tolerate loud talam-keeping (except the tappu-talam) in the front seat; they appreciator doing abhi­naya, and even loud requests for 'Eppo varuvaro', 'Jagajjanani' and the famous 'Chintai arindu vaadi'.

In our society, the interaction between audience and artiste is the other extreme. Our own artistes seem to relish the interruptions – they stop singing to greet a VIP, tolerate loud talam-keeping (except the tappu-talam) in the front seat; they appreciator doing abhi­naya, and even loud requests for 'Eppo varuvaro', 'Jagajjanani' and the famous 'Chintai arindu vaadi'.

In contrast, Western culture, as Ross says, is "sheer routine and funereal boredom". There is a charm in our kind of madness. I don't think we would ever want to change the way our artistes and their audience (mis)behave. We must of course deal strictly with latecomers who march in and out in the middle of a concert. The sabha organisers should lay down the law, with no exception being made for anyone, in enforcing the rule that no one be allowed into the auditorium in the middle of a song. Likewise, those who are in but want out should not be allowed to walk out during the rendering of a song. To that end, the gates should be closed. Latecomers should only be allowed to sit in the back rows.

Lincoln Center (New York) has been presenting the "Mostly Mozart Festival" continuously since 1966. It was only this year that I was able to attend a performance – that too on the opening night! As the title suggested, and was elaborated in the pre-concert lecture and programme sheets, the programmes in the series were not all Mozart, but judiciously mixed with the works of other composers in a meaningful way, with connectivity and continuity. The entire festival was designed "to view through the lens of Mozart", and celebrate his 'heirs', Haydn and Mendels­sohn, on the 200th anniversary of the death of the former and the birth the same day of the latter.

All in all, it was a wonderful evening, but I had my anxious moments. The programme sheet warned that coughing and rustling of papers would disturb the performers as well as the audience. I had this persistent dry cough but somehow managed to suppress it with cough drops and sips of water, managing to cough a bit only at the pauses between movements and the interval. God be thanked, I didn't have to leave the hall. ­(Courtesy: Sruti)