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Taxonomy of a Philharmonic audience
May. 8th, 2010 10:24 amDue to some frantic and slightly confused planning six months ago, I ended up with tickets to two days of the New York Philharmonic's Stravinsky Festival back to back. So Thursday was Symphony in C, Capricchio (which is not the same thing at all as carpaccio, which is what I keep trying to say), and Petrushka; Friday was Symphony in Three Movements, Concerto for Piano and Wind Instruments, and The Rite of Spring. Excellent concerts, both of them, but a bit deja vu-y. Same seat, exactly one row back, the second night.
The Friday audience was much more demonstrative than the Thursday night audience, which is typical. Thursday had better people watching, though. We had a lot of the usual suspects. Old Man Who Falls Asleep and Snores. Teenage Boy Who Doesn't Want to Be There (and thus repeatedly shakes his overly long hair, throws his arms over the seat backs, etc.) Guy with Twenty Minute Attention Span (sits still for the first twenty minutes of each piece, and then starts fidgeting; vigorous scratching was the chosen fidget for Symphony in C, while Petrushka called for tapping steepled fingers a la Mr. Burns.) Lady Who Taps Her Fingers in Time on Her Purse.
We also had a few unusual occurances. Someone from the second balcony dropped a large metal object on the heads of the people in front of us. (It was a metal S, with a hinge so it could be turned into a heart. No one in our section could figure out the purpose of the object, however, nor could we guess how it came to be flung over the railing.) Also, afterwards, there was a woman in her late thirties dressed like an exquisitely-attired woman in her mid-twenties with what I'm sure was a very expensive black dress and heavy necklace and pair of Louboutins, who was completely smashed. We ended up behind her in the ladies' room. She was three sheets to the wind and had abandoned all dignity. She tried to ascertain whether stalls were empty by folding at the waist, so her upper half was completely upside down and her carefully styled blond hair brushed the floor, to look under stall doors. She gave the impression of a befuddled but genial flamingo. I don't know how you could get to the end of a two hour concert and still be that drunk. She must have arrived smashed, and then topped it off in the lobby in intermission. (And why would you waste a lovely Philharmonic concert being that drunk?) My guess is that she didn't actually want to be there, and someone dragged her.
In impressive news, however, these were the 15,001st and 15,002nd concerts the New York Philharmonic has given. They came out and gave a lovely little speech about the first concert (83 cents!), before predictably hitting us up for money.
The Friday audience was much more demonstrative than the Thursday night audience, which is typical. Thursday had better people watching, though. We had a lot of the usual suspects. Old Man Who Falls Asleep and Snores. Teenage Boy Who Doesn't Want to Be There (and thus repeatedly shakes his overly long hair, throws his arms over the seat backs, etc.) Guy with Twenty Minute Attention Span (sits still for the first twenty minutes of each piece, and then starts fidgeting; vigorous scratching was the chosen fidget for Symphony in C, while Petrushka called for tapping steepled fingers a la Mr. Burns.) Lady Who Taps Her Fingers in Time on Her Purse.
We also had a few unusual occurances. Someone from the second balcony dropped a large metal object on the heads of the people in front of us. (It was a metal S, with a hinge so it could be turned into a heart. No one in our section could figure out the purpose of the object, however, nor could we guess how it came to be flung over the railing.) Also, afterwards, there was a woman in her late thirties dressed like an exquisitely-attired woman in her mid-twenties with what I'm sure was a very expensive black dress and heavy necklace and pair of Louboutins, who was completely smashed. We ended up behind her in the ladies' room. She was three sheets to the wind and had abandoned all dignity. She tried to ascertain whether stalls were empty by folding at the waist, so her upper half was completely upside down and her carefully styled blond hair brushed the floor, to look under stall doors. She gave the impression of a befuddled but genial flamingo. I don't know how you could get to the end of a two hour concert and still be that drunk. She must have arrived smashed, and then topped it off in the lobby in intermission. (And why would you waste a lovely Philharmonic concert being that drunk?) My guess is that she didn't actually want to be there, and someone dragged her.
In impressive news, however, these were the 15,001st and 15,002nd concerts the New York Philharmonic has given. They came out and gave a lovely little speech about the first concert (83 cents!), before predictably hitting us up for money.
