Teens invade Philharmonic!

Not long ago I visited the New York Philharmonic’s archives. My main job was to research Stravinsky performances. Had Stravinsky’s neo-classic works ever been played during the 1920s, ’30s, and 40s when he himself wasn’t conducting? The answer, confirming my instinct, was that they hardly ever had been. But I was also interested in what the archives might show about the age of the audience in the past, and while there wasn’t much information, Barbara Haws, the Philharmonic’s fabulous archivist, did give me this. How times have changed! (And by the way, on a more serious note: This is one more piece of evidence that classical music wasn't always treated as serious, elite art.)

The Philharmonic As Singles Hangout
By Vera Brodsky Lawrence

In 1855 the Philharmonic concerts and public rehearsals became the favorite hangout of the city's teenagers. To more sedate music-lovers the rehearsals were a frustration: "There is hardly a place in which one is not disturbed by the shameless talking and flirting by which most of the audiences amuse themselves," wrote an unhappy subscriber. But all efforts to enforce silence were vain.

Assigned to review a Philharmonic concert the following year, a critic disgustedly wrote: "It was crammed, jammed, steaming hot, noisy, and uncomfortable. The entire youthful population of the city was present. All the ladies were under eighteen years of age, and all their male accompaniments twenty or twenty-one. Those are the recognized Philharmonic ages. Not only were all the regular seats occupied, but the lobbies were filled by the youthful musical enthusiasts seated on chairs and arranged in groups of from four to ten, enjoying t he Beethoven accompaniment to their chit-chat and tittle-tattle. It had been suggested that another Society should be started, to be called the 'Old Philharmonic,' to which mamas and papas should be eligible."

The craze persisted. In 1857, George Templeton Strong, dedicated concertgoer, brilliant diarist, and future President of the Philharmonic Society, just back from a Philharmonic concert, wrote in his diary: "Crowd. Clack. At last an excited individual--Teutonic--rose up in the midst of a dreary Adagio on the violoncello ... and exclaimed, with much emphasis: 'Well, I can talk, too. So the every bodies can hear me! Is it not possible for us to have some place where we can hear?' And then subsided with like abruptness. People were still as mice in that neighborhood for some time."