Earlier this week, at a solo piano recital in the Wigmore Hall, London, a man near to where I was seated started complaining in the interval about how poor he thought the performer was. His statements were apparently unsolicited. The people seated either side of him disagreed with his view, and asked him to be more specific. This occurred as people were returning to their seats at the end of the interval, and he could be heard several rows away.

The man stated that he thought the performer was not deficient technically, in his piano playing. But, apparently, the pianist was not educating the audience in an historically-accurate way and his interpretations were suspect. The critic then compared this particular performance to one he had heard from another pianist in London the night before; he viewed the previous night’s performer as being a much better pianist, and significantly better as an educator of the audience. Despite the efforts of the two people beside him, he continued to be both strident and vague in his criticisms – and loud.

I later had several responses to what he was saying. First, is it the job of a performer to educate their audience? Why should that be so? Even if that were the case, why need a performer educate the audience in an historically-accurate manner? There surely can be value in unhistorical or anti-historical perspectives on music history. The widespread complaint (almost never made by musicians) that Bach wrote tedious music (so-called “sewing machine music”), for example, is really a statement that he was a proto-minimalist, a view of his music which – entirely unhistorically – adds depth to our listening experience. We listen to minimalism for different things than we listen for in the mainstream western tradition (eg, for rhythmic patterns rather than harmonic patterns), and so this viewpoint can change what we listen for in Bach – in other words, how we listen to his music.

Secondly, I suspect the critic’s real objection, which he did not voice, was to the running order of the pieces played by the performer and the interpretations this order enabled. These works were played very much out of historical sequence. So a Bach work was preceded by some mid-twentieth century works and then followed by a late Romantic work. This, I think, was the man’s fundamental criticism – that this order was not historically accurate. But, of course, it wasn’t! That was the whole point of the recital programme, to alert us to similarities and differences across different chronological eras, so that Bach, for instance, had something in common with mid-century serialism. What we heard and how we listened to it was strongly influenced by what we had just heard and what came afterwards. Indeed, the programme was not some random collection of works thrown together higgledy-piggledy but had considerable intellectual heft, all apparently lost on our critic.

At the end of the evening’s performance, the pianist was given a standing ovation by the audience and called back for an encore. While those near to our critic were shouting “Bravo”, he stayed seated (for which there may be many good reasons) and did not applaud at all. In my view, not applauding was most churlish, and a sign of emotional immaturity. In addition, I think this behaviour was disrespectful to the performer, as I will explain.

What responsibility does an audience have to a performer (or performers) at a classical music concert? Most people would agree that the audience should listen quietly and politely, and, as far as is possible, not do anything to distract the performer. (Hence the recent debate we have had on social media about filming during musical performances.) Moreover, I believe the audience needs to do more than just listen politely, but also to listen with an open mind, to be receptive to the programme and the interpretations being offered by the performer, and to consider what is proposed seriously. This openness can involve giving one’s full attention to the performance and even prior preparation by the audience beforehand. Angrily tapping one’s hands repeatedly on one’s knees during a performance as if brushing dirt from them, as this man did, is not listening with an open mind.

Giving voice to strong negative opinions – and loudly, too – in the interval of a concert creates a bad feeling to those within earshot, and this feeling will affect the mood of the audience in the hall, and even, in turn, the mood of the performer. I don’t know if that was the intention of this particular critic. In any case, even if not intentional, most adults have learnt to think about the consequences of their actions, and to moderate their words and actions accordingly. Perhaps such reflective moderation is even a feature that distinguishes adulthood from childhood.

No musician nowadays gives a public recital without many weeks or months or years of preparation, in learning the works and in committing them to memory. At this concert, the pianist played more than 90 minutes of music completely from memory. Even if we disagreed about the selection or order of works played, or their interpretations, or the level of technical skills displayed, we should all agree that this feat of memorization deserves recognition. Likewise, giving a public performance, especially a solo performance and from memory, requires significant personal courage. Both these aspects (the hours of preparation and the courage to perform in public) in turn create a responsibility on the part of the audience to thank the performer for their efforts, in my humble opinion. In our western culture at this time, the acceptable ways of thanking a performer are by a gift of fresh flowers (or sometimes wine), and applause.

Being in the audience of a musical performance is a great privilege, one I value highly, not least because I grew up in an area and at a time without many such opportunities. Moreover, if due to good fortune, one only gets a ticket to a performance at the last minute due to a late return of an unused ticket, as this gentleman did, then this fact adds to the privilege received. Such a privilege creates consequent responsibilities for those of us receiving it. How disappointing it is that not everyone feels it necessary to honour their responsibility as a member of a concert audience.