Classic

I rarely go to classical music concerts. I find the audience too distracting, the seats too uncomfortable, and I prefer the silent perfection of my own sitting room.

Last night my lovely friend B. persuaded me out to the Wigmore Hall for an evening of Mozart piano quartets (nothing you couldn't hum along to), so I suppressed my hatred of the Coughing Fit Men who always seem to flock to these events and went along.

Hubris... nemesis... Last night, to my eternal shame, it turned out I was the Coughing Fit Man. It wasn't just the Wigmore's luxuriantly abundant floral displays, it was the lunatic in the seat in front of me who had seen fit to bring a bunch of daffodils into the concert hall.

My throat was squeezed shut, my eyes were streaming tears, and the tickly cough became overwhelming. I swear I have never before made such strange noises in public in a futile attempt to suppress my violently spasming diaphragm: that only made matters worse, and noisier. I can only apologise to the musicians and the entire audience for my appalling behaviour.

Not as bad as the geriatrics in the row behind, who insisted on opening individual boiled sweet wrappers at critically important parts of the performance. What is wrong with these people?? Mind you, they looked like they were fast approaching their eighties so I guess they don't give a fuck anymore.

Which is one of the big problems with classical music: it is dying. The average age of the audience last night had to be in the mid-sixties. The promoters have responded by trying to sex-up their offer, selling their musicians as sex gods. Alas, this does not often work:

No, I think they're going to have to find a different approach to that one.

PS: It was the Fauré Quartet, whose Mozart was technically flawless but whose best work was a dramatic little Modern number I had never heard before by (I think) Tim Kirker. I am rubbish at Modern Classical music, but this was utterly engrossing. Wonderful, stripped-down music, almost cinematic.