Point no.4
I will probably be surveying the Hospital Drains before going straight to the Proms!
Hope this helps.
3VS
I will probably be surveying the Hospital Drains before going straight to the Proms!
Hope this helps.
3VS
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As I asked a bit back, when did the custom of applauding between movements die out? We are now simply seeing (or hearing) a return to a previous tradition or custom.Originally posted by french frank View PostComment
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You could use that argument to justify anything - capital punishment, the stocks, fox-hunting, trial by ordeal, feudalism, slavery, (even harpsichordsOriginally posted by Flosshilde View Post
).
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I feel sure that Tchaik intended there to be applause after the 3rd movement of the Pathétique: triumph then pathos. Wiki tells me that Patetičeskaja means "passionate" or "emotional," not pathetic.
Generally I would prefer silence in between movements, and for the conductor to indicate this by arms raised for longer than necessary, perhaps with courteous comments in the programmes.
I hate the clapping after operatic arias, while the music is continuing. One of life's torments.Pacta sunt servanda !!!Comment
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Somewhere around the beginning of the last century according to Alex Ross:Originally posted by Flosshilde View Post
'In the first decades of the 20th century, mid-symphonic applause was still routine. When Elgar's First Symphony had its first London performance, the composer was called out after the first movement. Around 1900, though, a group of German musicians and critics began promoting a code of silence, à la Bayreuth. Hermann Abendroth was among the pioneers: in Lübeck, where he led concerts from 1905 to 1911, he told his audience not to clap between movements. By the 1920s, several leading conductors were discouraging excess applause. At first, many listeners resisted, regarding this as a display of arrogance on the part of superstar maestros. Olin Downes, chief critic of the New York Times, campaigned against the Rule in the 30s and 40s. After describing how Koussevitzky had gestured disapprovingly toward his audience when they clapped after the third movement of the Pathétique, Downes exclaimed: "How anti-musical it is! Snobbism in excelsis!"'Comment
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Interesting, especially in its reference to the Pathétique. It happened much later than I thought, & means that we've had only a century, or less, when applause wasn't customary.
EA - I wasn't putting forward an argument in support of applause between movements, or even a justification. I'm not neccessarily in favour of it, although there have been times when I've been tempted.Comment
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I didn't think you were, in context in which you were referring to it. I was responding to more general "claim" that it was done at the time most composers were around and therefore we should emulate the audiences long since 6 feet (1.8m.) under.Originally posted by Flosshilde View PostComment
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I was just suggesting that 'applause' had been around longer than 'no applause', & that the outrage expressed at people having the temerity to applaud was probably misplaced. (not sure if that's quite the right way to put it, but it will have to do as I'm off to bed)Comment
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Actually, the full version of this text, from a talk given by Ross at the RPS, elucidates even more clearly how the no-applause rule took root over the course of a 50 year period. Wagner and Bruckner begat Wagnerites and Brucknerites, who begat the idea of concert halls as churches and temples, which begat meglomaniacal conductors who wanted to be worshiped as Gods.
Considering this, for a heathen such as myself who is not particularly bothered by intra-opus applause, I can't imagine a better argument in my favor than to say something was championed by... ugh... Wagnerites.
(link is in pdf format)
Yet, as far as I can determine, the No-Applause Rule originated not in America but in Germany. And it took hold
rather quickly, because at the turn of the century mid-symphonic applause was still routine. When Brahms’s Fourth
Symphony was played before the failing composer in Vienna in 1897, “the applause that broke forth after each
movement was indescribable.” At the first London performance of Elgar’s First Symphony in 1908, the composer was
called out several times after the first movement. Conversely, a lack of applause could be an ominous sign for an
anxious composer. Brahms knew that his First Piano Concerto was going down in flames in Leipzig when silence
reigned after the first two movements. And when Tchaikovsky said of his Pathétique, “Something strange is going on
with this symphony,” he was referring to a perceptible coolness that the audience showed at the premiere. Each
movement was “heatedly applauded,” as one critic said, but not as much as expected. It seems that the third movement,
in particular, drew a puzzlingly tepid response. Interestingly, though, the critic Herman Laroche interpreted the silence
as respect: “They behaved, as it were, in a foreign manner: without speaking or making noise, they listened with the
greatest attention and applauded sparingly.”
By the “foreign manner,” Laroche probably had in mind habits that were forming in Central Europe. As
historians such as Heinrich Schwab and Walter Salmen have described, the “reform of the concert hall” was the topic
of much discussion in German music journals in the period just after 1900. Ornate, decorative architecture was
criticized; showy vocal and instrumental soloists deplored; it was suggested that concerts be presented in subdued
light and that orchestras be hidden behind a screen; and it was proposed that no one should applaud until each work
was done. All of this was very much in the spirit of the Wagner festival, with its sacred aura, its famous “Bayreuth hush,”
and its sunken orchestra. Karl Klingler, the leader of the Klingler quartet, took credit for instituting the No-Applause Rule
at his Berlin concerts during the 1909-1910 season, but before Klingler came the formidable young conductor
Hermann Abendroth, who, after taking charge of orchestral concerts in Lübeck in 1905, instructed his audience not to
clap between movements of a symphony. Abendroth was noted for his devotion to the music of Anton Bruckner, which
often assumed a churchly atmosphere and tended to avoid conventional “Plaudite” gestures. Two other outspoken
concert-hall reformers of the period—Paul Marsop and Paul Ehlers—were also avowed Brucknerites. Ehlers, who is
now best remembered (if at all) for his anti-Semitic attacks on Mahler, wrote of “consecrating a temple to symphonic
music.”
The hidden orchestra did not catch on, but the No-Applause Rule did. The entry for “applause” in the eleventh
edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica (1910-11) observes: “The reverential spirit which abolished applause in church
has tended to spread to the theatre and the concert-room, largely under the influence of the quasi-religious atmosphere
of the Wagner performances at Baireuth.” By the nineteen-twenties, several leading conductors—Toscanini, Klemperer,
Stokowski, and Furtwängler—were discouraging excess applause. (Furtwängler had succeeded Abendroth in Lübeck
and inherited his practice.) At first, many listeners resisted the Rule, regarding it as a display of arrogance on the part of
a new breed of superstar maestro. In 1927, a letter to the New York Times mocked the practice: “See, I not only have
my big orchestra well in hand, but I can also, by a mere gesture, control a manifold larger audience!” The composer and
commentator Daniel Gregory Mason sardonically wrote, “After the Funeral March of the Eroica, someone suggested,
Mr. Stokowski might at least have pressed a button to inform the audience by (noiseless) illuminated sign: ‘You may
now cross the other leg.’” Olin Downes, the chief critic of the Times, doggedly campaigned against the Rule in his
columns. In 1938, after describing how Koussevitzky had gestured disapprovingly toward his audience when he heard
clapping after the third movement of the Pathétique, Downes exclaimed, “How anti-musical it is! Snobism in
excelsis!”
Not all conductors liked the innovation. Pierre Monteux said in a 1959 interview, “I do have one big complaint
about audiences in all countries, and that is their artificial restraint from applause between movements or a concerto or
symphony. I don’t know where the habit started, but it certainly does not fit in with the composers’ intentions.” And Erich
Leinsdorf wrote: “We surround our doings with a set of outdated manners and even mannerisms, some of them
detrimental to the best and most natural enjoyment. At the top of my list is frowning on applause between the
movements of a symphony or a concerto. . . . What utter nonsense. The notion, once entertained by questionable
historians, was that an entity must not be interrupted by the mundane frivolity of hand clapping. The great composers
were elated by applause, wherever it burst out.”Comment
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There was a time not so long ago when you were not allowed to applaud at all at performances given in churches unless the Authorities gave permission, which would be announced in the programme or in an welcome speech. If no such announcement was made, you were expected to know not to applaud.
As the tradition gradually faded away, there was a period when, if no explicit leave to applaud was granted, audiences were left in some perplexity as to whether applause would be a faux pas and whether, if you did applaud, you might find yourself the only person doing so.Comment
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Fascinating, ProkkyS., thanks! Notice the bit about tepid applause after the 3rd movement of the Pathetique! And this does appear to show how the tradition of "reverence in the palace of art" took hold...Originally posted by prokkyshosty View PostActually, the full version of this text, from a talk given by Ross at the RPS, elucidates even more clearly how the no-applause rule took root over the course of a 50 year period. Wagner and Bruckner begat Wagnerites and Brucknerites, who begat the idea of concert halls as churches and temples, which begat meglomaniacal conductors who wanted to be worshiped as Gods.
Considering this, for a heathen such as myself who is not particularly bothered by intra-opus applause, I can't imagine a better argument in my favor than to say something was championed by... ugh... Wagnerites.
(link is in pdf format)
Yet, as far as I can determine, the No-Applause Rule originated not in America but in Germany. And it took hold
rather quickly, because at the turn of the century mid-symphonic applause was still routine. When Brahms’s Fourth
Symphony was played before the failing composer in Vienna in 1897, “the applause that broke forth after each
movement was indescribable.” At the first London performance of Elgar’s First Symphony in 1908, the composer was
called out several times after the first movement. Conversely, a lack of applause could be an ominous sign for an
anxious composer. Brahms knew that his First Piano Concerto was going down in flames in Leipzig when silence
reigned after the first two movements. And when Tchaikovsky said of his Pathétique, “Something strange is going on
with this symphony,” he was referring to a perceptible coolness that the audience showed at the premiere. Each
movement was “heatedly applauded,” as one critic said, but not as much as expected. It seems that the third movement,
in particular, drew a puzzlingly tepid response. Interestingly, though, the critic Herman Laroche interpreted the silence
as respect: “They behaved, as it were, in a foreign manner: without speaking or making noise, they listened with the
greatest attention and applauded sparingly.”
By the “foreign manner,” Laroche probably had in mind habits that were forming in Central Europe. As
historians such as Heinrich Schwab and Walter Salmen have described, the “reform of the concert hall” was the topic
of much discussion in German music journals in the period just after 1900. Ornate, decorative architecture was
criticized; showy vocal and instrumental soloists deplored; it was suggested that concerts be presented in subdued
light and that orchestras be hidden behind a screen; and it was proposed that no one should applaud until each work
was done. All of this was very much in the spirit of the Wagner festival, with its sacred aura, its famous “Bayreuth hush,”
and its sunken orchestra. Karl Klingler, the leader of the Klingler quartet, took credit for instituting the No-Applause Rule
at his Berlin concerts during the 1909-1910 season, but before Klingler came the formidable young conductor
Hermann Abendroth, who, after taking charge of orchestral concerts in Lübeck in 1905, instructed his audience not to
clap between movements of a symphony. Abendroth was noted for his devotion to the music of Anton Bruckner, which
often assumed a churchly atmosphere and tended to avoid conventional “Plaudite” gestures. Two other outspoken
concert-hall reformers of the period—Paul Marsop and Paul Ehlers—were also avowed Brucknerites. Ehlers, who is
now best remembered (if at all) for his anti-Semitic attacks on Mahler, wrote of “consecrating a temple to symphonic
music.”
The hidden orchestra did not catch on, but the No-Applause Rule did. The entry for “applause” in the eleventh
edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica (1910-11) observes: “The reverential spirit which abolished applause in church
has tended to spread to the theatre and the concert-room, largely under the influence of the quasi-religious atmosphere
of the Wagner performances at Baireuth.” By the nineteen-twenties, several leading conductors—Toscanini, Klemperer,
Stokowski, and Furtwängler—were discouraging excess applause. (Furtwängler had succeeded Abendroth in Lübeck
and inherited his practice.) At first, many listeners resisted the Rule, regarding it as a display of arrogance on the part of
a new breed of superstar maestro. In 1927, a letter to the New York Times mocked the practice: “See, I not only have
my big orchestra well in hand, but I can also, by a mere gesture, control a manifold larger audience!” The composer and
commentator Daniel Gregory Mason sardonically wrote, “After the Funeral March of the Eroica, someone suggested,
Mr. Stokowski might at least have pressed a button to inform the audience by (noiseless) illuminated sign: ‘You may
now cross the other leg.’” Olin Downes, the chief critic of the Times, doggedly campaigned against the Rule in his
columns. In 1938, after describing how Koussevitzky had gestured disapprovingly toward his audience when he heard
clapping after the third movement of the Pathétique, Downes exclaimed, “How anti-musical it is! Snobism in
excelsis!”
Not all conductors liked the innovation. Pierre Monteux said in a 1959 interview, “I do have one big complaint
about audiences in all countries, and that is their artificial restraint from applause between movements or a concerto or
symphony. I don’t know where the habit started, but it certainly does not fit in with the composers’ intentions.” And Erich
Leinsdorf wrote: “We surround our doings with a set of outdated manners and even mannerisms, some of them
detrimental to the best and most natural enjoyment. At the top of my list is frowning on applause between the
movements of a symphony or a concerto. . . . What utter nonsense. The notion, once entertained by questionable
historians, was that an entity must not be interrupted by the mundane frivolity of hand clapping. The great composers
were elated by applause, wherever it burst out.”Comment
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Well, it's certainly the inter-movement appluase issue that has risen to the top of responses so far to Ms Duchen's list of rules (which, I have to say, are rather less inspiring than Busoni's for practising the piano or Strauss's for a conductor).
I think that the nub of the problem here is that, now that the experiences of the respective condoning and condemnation of applause between movements have been well documented, the chances of establishing agreement over best policy are lessened and, whereas some people want to do it, others don't and most of the latter group would prefer similar restraint on the part of others whereas many of the former group probably don't much care if not everyone else joins in.
It's a pity that aynone has ever sought to associate a desire to eschew such applause with an expression of snobbery when it could as easily (or perhaps more easily) arise from a simple desire not to interrupt listener concentration, especially at a première or where some listeners are hearing the work for the first time.
I fear, however, that, on the (hopefully short) road to the establishment of a tradition in performing Bruckner's Ninth Symphony as the four-movement work that he always intended it to be, there will be a transition period during which trying to stop people applauding after the Adagio might prove to be quite exceptionally problematic - yet why would anyone want to applaud after that movement unless it were the close of a performance of the truncated version up with which we've all had to put until relatively recently every time that great work was performed? I've never forgotten a performance of THE Ninth Symphony (i.e. Mahler's) by VPO/Abbado where the applause after it didn't even begin for at least a minute and a half - and that was at a Prom! - and there was so little doubt that this delay was due to an uncertainty of audience response to the performance that the real reason - and the effect - were palpable even when listening on the radio.
I'm not in favour of applause between movements as a general principle (although I speak as a mere composer, so what do I know?), but I do sometimes wonder whether entrenched attitudinsing over the matter in either direction is even worse. Clapping between the final two movements of Tchaikovsky's Sixth Symphony seems to me to be one of the more glaring examples; having the emotional wrench between the close of the third and opening of the fourth movement shattered by an outburst of more than one hand clapping is something that I cannot help but find sickening.
Mahler originally intended there to be a pause of around five minutes between the first two movements of his Second Symphony, but we don't observe this today and haven't done so for many years; far be it from me to question the wisdom of such masters of the podium as Monteux and Leinsdorf, but I do wish that some people were more prepared than they seem to be to accept that "a composer's intentions" are not usually immutably set in stone - hence Mahler's grave mistake (I'm going to get lynched for this, of course!) in changing the order of the middle two movements of his Sixth Symphony during rehearsals for its première and not changing them back thereafter! - regardless of whether anone agrees with my thoughts on this, the point at issue here is that Mahler did actually make such a monumental change to the work after he had completed it. Would the attitudes of those who advocate or don't object to inter-movement applause be different for scherzo-second performances to what they'd be for adagio-second ones? (and do I really care?)...
Mendelssohn's linking of movements was probably not, as a rule, for the sole purpose of attempting to discourage inter-movement applause, but there are perhaps times when, in order to try to maintain the concentration (perhaps of performers as well as listeners, an issue that seems not yet to have been addressed) rather than give way to some kind of afflatus (whether or not interrupted by applause) after a movement has ended, some kind of device can be introduced by the composer. If I may indulge a little here (and please forgive such indulgence if possible on the grounds that I am merely attempting to illustrate the phenomenon as an insider), when the first movement of my (four-movement) piano quintet ends with a sustained (lasciare vibrare) quiet cluster in the lowest register of the piano, the score directs that the string players beging to tune up very quietly over it and the pianist then reiterates it very quietly a few times until the tuning is over, whereupon the music leaps into life again without there having been an actual silence between the first two movements and, at the end of the second movement, the score is marked with a few bars rest after which the third movement begins, as though the silence between those movements is deliberately a part of the music. Only after the third movement ends is there a real "break" between movements. The motivation here, however, was one of a desire for continuity, despite the fact that it would nevertheless be obvious that those first three movements are separate movements.
The other issue with inter-movement applause is that it seems very much to be a live concert phenomenon; I imagine that few who are tempted to clap between movements of a work at a live performance would do so when listening to that same performance on the radio at home. Why? It would appear not so much to be an instinctive response to the music itself but a mere adherence to a tradition that one can behave differently at a live performance that one would when listening in a private situation. Stating this is not to make a value judgement but merely to point out that such a difference exists.Comment
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Surely simply because when you're applauding you are showing appreciation of the performance - and if the performers can't hear you, there's no point!Originally posted by ahinton View Post
During live relays from the Met or Glyndebourne, the audience in the opera house may applaud, but the audience in the cinema never does, in my experience.Comment
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..which rather blasts a hole in the theory that it's an emotional response to the music.Originally posted by jean View PostComment
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