Over the years, I’ve been to more concerts than I can count. Venturing a guess, I’d say it is somewhere in the 300 mark. And what often is a great topic after a concert is to systematically deconstruct the audience behavior/interaction, the respect shown for the performer, or the complete lack of respect and rudeness, depending on who is playing and where they are. Concert going etiquette, especially in the YouTube age, has gone completely the way of the dinosaur. That is, until I saw Eric Clapton in London a few nights ago. It was, by all accounts, one of the most interesting experiences I’ve had as a concert-goer.
To understand the setting, Royal Albert Hall is for all intents and purposes, one of the greatest concert venues on earth. Built in 1871, it’s named for Prince Albert of the UK who despite leading the charge to have an arts building built for community enlightenment, never saw it completed. Ten years after his death, it was finished, and it’s been one of the most distinct buildings in London ever since.
Clapton, who has made it his virtual home arena in London, has played the hall just about every year since 1968, when Cream played their farewell show. It’s probably the venue he is most synonymous with, and seeing him here is a real privilege.
Taking my seat, I first had to overcome the height of where we were sitting, as the crowd was funneling in before the show began. As the lights went dark, the normal cheers and screams erupted for Clapton, as he took the stage with his band. His set began, and the normal concert behavior I was used to went out the window. Clapton started the show with the classic tune Key To The Highway, and I was struck at the lack of, well-anything- from the crowd. No bobbing of the heads. No standing. No cheering. There was nary a foot to be tapped here. I was confused to the point of feeling guilty if I made any motions at all. And once the song was over, there was thunderous applause. There was a bit of a yell from the upper tier, but it was pedestrian applause for one of the world’s greatest musicians.
As the show went on, I began to take notice of some other things that were, for lack of a term, not what I was used to. No constant up and down, no incessant in and out from the arena, and no drunken revelers walking back to their seats with beers for the entire row. No, this was a show that explained clearly that once you are seated, you are seated. End of story.
One of the most glaring differences rested in the fact that we weren’t subjected to the faint blue glow of 3,000 cell phones being held up, capturing the concert in 5 minute increments for all the world to see on YouTube. (And I’ll confess, I’ve been guilty of it myself…..30 seconds if fine. But the aspiring Scorcese who films the entire show goes a bit far.)
I had a bit of a mixed reaction to this new way of etiquette, as it was great to not be constantly subjected to conversation from neighbors, who save life-changing conversations for the middle of a rock show. However, the seats at Royal Albert Hall, while they are witness to some of the great musical performances London has, aren’t comfortable. At all. In fact, I’d say they might be the worst seats I’ve ever subjected my backside to for the better parts of two and a half hours. It’s a good thing it was Clapton, otherwise I would have thrown concert etiquette out the window and stepped over 10 people to give my body some relief.
Towards the end of the show, it seemed the rules were suddenly thrown out the window, as a large portion of the crowd on the floor ran towards the front, standing right in front of the stage for Clapton’s encore. Almost on cue, as if waiting the entire show for the signal to unleash their inner dance machine, the crowd was front and center while Clapton played a searing version of the Robert Johnson classic Crossroads. Save it for the end, I suppose.
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