The Hazards of Applause Inflation: Modern Day Concertgoing

So I'm at the Tower Theater on Saturday night, waiting for the Decemberists to start their set, surrounded by a palpable air of anticipation. Then the lights dim, and the crowd -- a mixture of oldheads and hipster doofi -- starts cheering wildly. Jenny Conlee's muted organ introduction to The Hazards of Love begins but nearly founders, overwhelmed by another wave of applause. A spolight illuminates Conlee at her keyboards; hysterics ensue. The cheers then come at regular intervals as the rest of the band assembles, and when Colin Meloy shows up -- well, you can imagine. The crowd had shouted itself hoarse almost before Meloy had sung a word.

I'm not, of course, singling out the Decemberists, who put on a great show Saturday night. But how did we reach this point? What drives the concert audience to shower praise onto performers before they've actually done anything?

It is safe to say that this is a new phenomenon. We're not, after all, that far removed from vaudeville, which featured audiences that demanded entertainment and were not shy about showing their displeasure to the acts that failed them. Today's Apollo Theater audience is probably the closest approximation to the old norm, and even there no one tolerates throwing things at the stage.

But one does not need to go that far back. If you want to get really startled, listen to some of the live albums from the '60s and '70s. I'm thinking of two in particular: House Full: Live at the LA Troubadour from Fairport Convention and the Who's Live at Leeds.

House Full features two virtuoso musicians, Dave Swarbrick on fiddle and Richard Thompson on electric guitar, battling each other to see who can play the best and the fastest, all the while anchored by as professional a rhythm section as rock has ever seen. And all that the crowd gives them back for their efforts is about ten seconds of golf claps. Granted, House Full is the product of the first American tour an electric British Folk act, so I can see why some may say that this is not the best example. But you won't hear much more applause in Live at Leeds, perhaps the most ferocious live album of the rock era.

So why do we cheer so vigourously? My guess is that it represents some latent insecurity, where our need to show our affection to a performer actually overwhelms the desire to listen to the performance? But that is a guess. All I wish to point out is that, if a concert audience actually wants to hear a great performance, they would be better served to sit on their hands at the start of the show and make the performer earn the applause.