The parents follow their off-spring to the arena and just like the players they split into two groups: strings and pianists. Above the noise of the warm-up, snatches of the parents’ conversation are heard:
“Lovely day for it. Wouldn’t mind playing myself.”
“I’d be up there in a flash, if it wasn’t for this elbow.”
“Have you seen what that Nigel Kennedy is up to? It’s a disgrace.”
“It’s all about the money. And these foreign conductors coming over and running our orchestras. Can’t they find a local to wave the baton?”
“If I don’t hear a bit more melody from my lad this afternoon, I’ve told him it’s over. I’m not coming here just to listen to him plonking away again.”
The audience is asked to take their seats. The host reminds everyone that the aim is for the young musicians and their families to have some fun. A few grown-ups in the front row nod earnestly while the majority of parents take a sudden interest in the ceiling or their copy of the programme.
The show begins with a pianist, propped up on cushions to reach the instrument. There’s plenty of sighs and chuckles as the youngster completes her piece, vaults from her seat, grins at the crowd and scuttles off-stage.
Next up is the opening violinist. His first notes are shrill and dissonant. The noise of the instrument is abruptly drowned by a shout from the strings teacher, “Straighten your wrist! Keep it straight!” The boy struggles to the end of his piece. He stands, averting his eyes from those of his family and friends in the audience. His shuffle to the wings is speeded by his teacher, clasping his shoulder, pushing him out of sight.
The two sides continue alternating. Each string performance met with strong applause from one part of the audience; the piano pieces delighting the other. At the changeover, if a boy enters while another exits, they swap threatening looks and shoulder barges.
A pair of cellists take a while to set up their instruments and to get their chairs and music stands aligned. Impatience in one section of the audience escalates from mutters and tapping to a bellow of, “Gerron with it!” A man in another wing of the audience stands up, bristling and pointing, before he’s pulled back into his seat as the cellists begin their piece.
Each pianist to the stage is a new player, some are complete beginners using just a couple of fingers, others showing mastery of tempo and expression. Their teacher stands quietly, one hand on the piano lid, the other holding a stopwatch, monitoring the seconds, ensuring equal playing time, whatever the experience of the youngster or the quality of their play. One of the most talented of the group is forced to abbreviate a Beethoven concerto to keep within her allotted time.
There are fewer string musicians. The handful of newer and less adept players are given a quick run-out each. The teacher whispers each note they’re expected to play, making the sheets on the music-stand redundant. The pupils pay as much attention to the teacher as they do to their instruments. The more skilled violinists are indulged, playing longer pieces and returning to the stage to play duets. Meanwhile their teacher stands close to them, always in the audience’s eyeline, barely managing not to bow when a particularly tuneful rendition comes to an end.
The final performance of the afternoon features a cellist. A burst of loud, arresting notes subsides into a pianissimo passage. As the audience strains to pick up the nuances of the bowing, a shouted encouragement is heard, “C’mon lad, belt it out!”
The cellist stops and shouts back, “Shut it, Dad!” Then returns, brow furrowed, to his cello. Before the reverberations of the last note have reached the back of the hall, the cellist is up and stomps off the stage.
I have seen all of the behaviours described at numerous junior football matches. I’ve seen none at the junior concerts that I have attended.