Full House

Full House

The “Full house!” whispered to me by the steward on the door as I sneak in to today’s concert a few minutes late is self evident. The nave at St Martin’s is bursting with concert-goers (and a few casual passers by who look somewhat bewildered at where they’ve found themselves). I never get tired of surveying the audience here. There are the regulars who claim the front five or six pews as early as 12.30pm for the 1.00. A minority prefer the anonymity of the back rows or side aisles where, eyes closed they can soak up all, or sometimes just a work or two from the programme. One or two clients of the Connection at St Martin’s are just such regulars though today, their side-aisle boxes are shared with anoraked tourists and be-suited business men.

Then there are the ‘first-timers’, tourists and locals. Retired parties of ladies, popping down to London for the day with matching shoes and handbags, to take in some “Culcha”, visiting business people with an hour to spare between meetings, tourists laden with backpacks and money belts and trying to work out which coin is £1 for a donation. The church is full of London’s finest: workers, slackers, un-waged, retired, nose-parkers, busy-bodies, quiet connoisseurs, know-it-alls and wide-eyed innocents, the worldly and the world-weary and they all listen beneath the “arching Baroque splendour”, a gathering of honest diversity.

I cut off these thoughts before they drift too far in the direction of the superfluous.

A full lunchtime contingent is seldom a quiet or still audience. The creak of 18^th century pews, raincoat rustle and flick of programmes is a background murmour to which one either grows accustomed or which, on occasion, is enough to drive you mad. In such circumstances, it is best to slep discreetly out the side doors before the urge to leap up on a pew and shout “QUIET! PEASANTS!” becomes too strong. Ironically of course, no amount of caution in sneaking will stop you actually contributing to the noise from which you are beating a hasty and irritated escape. That is however, what it is all about, a free concert, open to everyone in the Church of the Open Door. That doesn’t stop it being annoying sometimes.

The majority of the time however, The Atmosphere is something of which I have become increasingly fond (and not a little proud).

Today’s artists, the Scotney Ensemble (an Octet from the Royal Academy of Music) perform Schubert’s Octet. It is an interesting choice of programme for this particular concert series. First, at a little over 50 minutes in duration, it is rather longer than the specified 45 minute concert length though the majority of the 400-odd audience members are content to sit with only sporadic burst of fidgeting, coughing and programme crackling. The ensemble themselves however are less stalwart and their performance wavers, frequently losing intensity and thread through the six movements. Unfortunate intonation from the upper strings serves to wake those listeners becoming too complacent with the altogether loose concept of ensemble. They are not bad players, in fact there are moments of true loveliness however, these unfortunately come from individual instruments rather than from the group as a whole. As they eventually embark upon the dramatic tremolo opening bars of the final Allegro, I find myself thinking of a fresh-faced cellist swaggering into a quartet rehearsal many years ago in First Year at University. Confident in my grasp of Shostakovich’s ninth string quartet I was astounded to realise by the end of the session that learning the notes in my part, even being able to play them quite well, was only the very beginning of a rehearsal process which would take months before we felt truly ready to perform. I remember learning over that time to play with my three compatriots as one, to feel the expression of the viola line in my own body and instrument and above all, to hear the whole and not the many parts. From back here in Row P, it seems pretty obvious that we are listening to the music, not the musics of eight players. Members of the Scotney Ensemble however, are still at a point where each part wandered only for a time hand in hand with the others.

Not that anyone seems to mind in the least. There is an air of the Proms about the place and several enthusiasts insist on clapping vigorously between movements. Unperturbed by the frowning silence and stern looks of other patrons, they continue to show their appreciation – something even a snob like me is all for. One particularly beautiful turn of phrase from the horn player has me wanting to call out “BRAVO!” and raise an un-caring eyebrow to the disapproving glances. It was a lovely phrase and probably the most memorable part of the whole concert.

After rapturous applause (they are an enthusiastic and supportive bunch) I cornered a lovely retired couple from West Hampstead to ask them what they thought. They explained that they come regularly and always enjoy the programmes (they had nothing but praise for Monday’s Hindemith!) and said they just liked to watch experts at work. After a lovely conversation, I retire to write up my notes and reflect on my close-mindedness. What are a few bung notes and ill-timed entries between friends if 400 people enjoyed it and one couple will come back, again and again?

Therefore let me finish by saying “Bravo!” to the applauders who defy convention in favour of appreciation and to the performers who have performed and the audience who have enjoyed. “Bravo”.