We brought the two mammies to see Ennio Morricone at the weekend, joining about 10,000 other people in a field in Kilmainham (hardly an intimate setting!)
Now I’d consider myself a Morricone fan, in that I’ve heard Gabriel’s Oboe butchered at multiple weddings, however it was clear we didn’t exhibit the required degree of reverence towards the Italian master.
We were suitably chastised by members of the audience on two occasions for speaking during the music. I’m not talking about full blown conversations here, more whispered exchanges, along the lines of “oooh I think I know this one”.
In an audience of over 10,000 and about 100 rows back from the stage I don’t think our idle whispers interfered with the performance.
We obviously weren’t in the hallowed auditorium of the National Concert Hall. The ambience was more akin to a rock festival, with everything that entails – portaloos, cheap wine in plastic glasses and yes, conversation.
But some people just take their music too seriously. These are the elite who know when to applaud at jazz concerts, who wax lyrical about the acoustics and who shush anyone who has the audacity to cough out of turn.
I don’t understand why they can’t just relax and enjoy the experience, without the need for silent benediction and self-satisfied judgementalism.