Why Not Just Ask?

Why is it, in conversations about encouraging more people to be interested in classical music, that we exclude the very demographic we are seeking to attract? We ask lots of classical music experts what they think will improve the appeal of the modern concert experience for a wider range of audiences, but we rarely ask the people outside of classical music what they feel is missing.
My friend Adam is one such classical music layman. Prior to the past year, he had some interest in classical music, and occasionally attended concerts with big names like “Mozart” and “Beethoven.” Still, he was far more likely to be found at Ozzfest than listening to Mahler. Part of friendship, however, is indulging each other’s’ interests, and I managed to drag him to a few classical music concerts with me.
The first one was a performance of Britten’s Requiem. He came into the concert expecting to be thoroughly bored. It was a little too long for him, but for the most part, he enjoyed the performance. The poetry in the piece (and reprinted in the program) held his attention. Although not totally “sold” on the idea of instrumental classical music, he was interested in the interaction between the words and the music. More importantly, he was open to the idea of attending further concerts.
The next concert he came to was my junior harp recital. His favorite piece was the most modern; Suite Galactique by Caroline Lizotte. He liked its evocative incorporation of the human voice. At the end of the recital, he asked me why I didn’t talk between pieces. “It’s kind of weird,” he said, “In rock concerts, they always talk between sets. You’re not going to the concert to see them play the music; you’re there to see them perform. If they’re just playing the music it’s boring.”
Performance, and not music, proved its supremacy during the most recent concert we attended together. It was Wagner’s Flying Dutchman Overture, Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto, and Beethoven 7. He’d never heard Wagner before, but was excited to hear Mozart and Beethoven. When we talked at intermission, he had a completely different take on the concert than I did. He really liked the flashy bombastic nature of Wagner, and indicated that he would like to listen to the composer’s music again. He also really liked the conductor: “He’s a good performer. I like him, he talked to us and explained the story behind the pieces and everything. It’s like when I went to the Utah Symphony and heard Mozart and Beethoven. The conductor always talked between pieces, and it was the one time I was engaged for the full two hours.” Adam’s evaluation surprised me; although I also appreciated the background information on the pieces and composers, I was too dissatisfied with the incorrect tempi and other technical musical issues to really appreciate the Overture. His response? “I didn’t really notice that. I liked it.”
Although these are the reactions of one person to only a few concerts, there are a few lessons to take away. Many people naturally like classical music, and they want to understand it. Feeling a lack of connection and comprehension is often what turns people away. To this end, words are just as vital as the music; whether they are lyrics or a brief description of the piece and its background, they provide a bridge between classical music and new audiences. This interaction and other non-musical aspects of performance can often make or break a concert experience. Perhaps most importantly, people who are not steeped in the traditions of classical music do not have the same expectations as the initiated. They have different needs and wants, and derive pleasure differently from the concert experience. And we can learn to understand and adjust to these desires simply by talking to people like Adam. These conversations would spur us to reevaluate and improve our own approach to our art form. And maybe, just maybe, we can encourage a little spark of interest in classical music in those who would otherwise be indifferent.