The first thing to do on arriving at a symphony concert is to
express the wish that the orchestra will play Beethoven’s Fifth.
If your companion then says “Fifth what?” you are safe with him
for the rest of the evening; no metal can touch you. If, however,
he says “So do I”—this is a danger signal and he may require
careful handling.
The next step is a glance at the program. If your escort is quite
good looking and worth cultivating, the obvious remark is “Oh
dear—not a very interesting program, to-night. But George—_look_
at what they are playing next Thursday! My, I wish—.” If George
shies at this, it can be tried again later—say during an
“appassionato” passage for the violins and cellos.
As soon as the music starts, all your attention should be
directed toward discovering someone who is making a
noise—whispering or coughing; having once located such a
creature, you should immediately “sh-sh” him. Should he continue
the offence, a severe frown must accompany the next “sh-sh,” a
lorgnette—if available—adding great effectiveness to the rebuke.
This will win you the gratitude of your neighbors and serve to
establish your position socially, as well as musically—for
perfect “sh-shers” do not come from the lower classes.
At the conclusion of the first number the proper remark is
“hmmm,” accompanied by a slow shake of the head. After this you
may use any one of a number of remarks, as for example, “Well, I
suppose Mendelssohn appeals to a great many people,” or “That was
meaningless enough to have been written by a Russian.” This
latter is to be preferred, for it leads your companion to say,
“But don’t you like TschaiKOWsky?”, pronouncing the second
syllable as if the composer were a female bull. You can then
reply, “Why, yes, TschaiKOFFsky _did_ write some rather good
music—although it’s all neurotic and obviously Teutonic.” Don’t
fail to stress the “v.”
The next number on the program will probably be the soloist—say,
a coloratura soprano. Your first remark should be that you don’t
really care for the human voice—the reason being, of course, that
symphonic Music, ABSOLUTE music, has spoiled you for things like
vocal gymnastics. This leads your bewildered friend to ask you
what sort of soloist you prefer.
Ans.—Why, a piano concerto, of course.
Ques.—And who is your favorite pianist?
Ans.—Rachmaninoff. And then, before the boy has time to breathe
—SHOOT! _“Did you knoow that he has a daughter at Vassar?”_
Although not necessary, it might be well to finish off the poor
fellow at the end of the concert with one or two well placed
depth bombs. My own particular favorite for this is the
following, accompanied by a low sigh: “After all—Beethoven IS
Beethoven.”