I sometimes wonder why I bother to go to piano recitals. I really do. Some weeks ago, I saw a well-known pianist advertised with an unusually fascinating programme. I stumped up the extortionate ticket price and went.

Not for the first time, within minutes of entering the hall, my anticipatory pleasure was reduced to that of taking a budget airline flight to Ibiza. Just before the scheduled start of the recital, four people edged their way into the four seats in front of me. He (sharply suited, fashionably stubbled), she (dressed unobtrusively but expensively) and – oh no, please God! – two small children, a boy aged about four, a girl of about two. The latter had a dummy in her mouth. The boy was armed with colouring books and pens. Get them young, yes, but not this young. Would they last the course? Of course not.

No doubt about it, audience behaviour is getting worse. How come I managed to get to this concert before the start, found my seat, read the programme and switched off my mobile phone, all accomplished before the scheduled start time, while about 20 per cent of the audience were unable to do so? After the first item, latecomers were admitted, shuffling sideways to their seats, once they had found out where they were.

Mobile phones are the bane of the modern audience and anathema to the artist. The soloist that night specifically requested no photos, no filming, no flash photography. There was a loudly projected pre-recorded announcement to reinforce this request. Ushers held up cards reminding people to switch off their phones. Perhaps it was a language problem, perhaps a cultural one, but throughout the evening, I – and I can’t have been the only one – was distracted by the ushers moving up and down aisles tapping transgressors on the shoulder asking them to stop filming. Fellow audience members leant forward to do the same. Switch off your phone! The light is distracting! What part of ‘NO’ did these people not understand? And, anyway, what kind of moron goes to a serious classical concert and, instead of immersing themselves in the moment, spends their time filming it? Why? To watch it again later? To share it with friends? Or to try and monetise it through some social media channel?

During the interval, I asked one of the ushers what the biggest problem was when policing an audience. She was sanguine. There was no printed programme. The programme had to be accessed via a QR code and delivered to … a phone. So if you wanted to consult the programme you had to keep your screen switched on. It was a trade-off: the distracting rustling of paper and the thump of programmes sliding from lap to floor, or the bright light of a screen distracting fellow audience members and artist.

The other policing was to ensure that no cans of drinks were brought into the auditorium. Now that drinks in plastic cups are allowed into the auditorium, after the interval, some audience members bring in the cans to top up their cups mid‑performance. The new sound is that of a can that has not been confiscated being accidentally knocked over. There were other interruptions: a woman who didn’t like her seat wandering around looking for another; a couple whispering sweet nothings to each other in the slow movement.

Want to go to the loo? No problem. Just leave at any time, but why not pick a quiet, reflective passage to do so, rather than, say, between movements or the conclusion of a piece? Come back in? Any time to suit you! As for the coughers: don’t you hate them? No handkerchief to the mouth, no attempt to muffle. I know the solution! Unwrap a boiled sweet to soothe the throat. No problem. It only takes a minute or so to get the wrapper off.

So what with the coughers, the visits to the loo, the ushers in constant motion, audience members moving about and mobile phones flashing in the dark, I wasn’t in a particularly receptive frame of mind when it came to the music. Thoughts drifting – not into an ethereal other world but how to strangle the little boy with his colouring book turning the pages in my line of vision, relentlessly, continuously, with no let up.

Venues are constantly thinking up ways to attract new audiences. I’ll tell you how. Ban mobile phones from auditoriums. Ban any drinks or food. Put a map of the auditorium on tickets so that customers know which route to take to their seats. Don’t admit latecomers until after the interval. Print programmes on a single sheet of paper. Reduce ticket prices. Ban children under the age of 10. I might start to enjoy piano recitals again. 

This article originally appeared in the Autumn 2024 issue of International Piano. Never miss an issue – subscribe today