Charles Petzold

One of my favorite pieces of music is Franz Schubert’s String Quintet, sometimes called the Cello Quintet because Schubert augmented the string quartet with an additional cello rather than the more customary viola. Here it is in a wonderful performance by the Borodin Quartet with guest cellist Alexander Buzlov. I believe this is the Mariinsky Theatre Concert Hall in St. Petersburg:

A performance of the Schubert String Quintet usually takes about 50 minutes. The music is divided into four movements, and you might think that the applause would come at the end. But in this particular performance, audience applause is heard five times: at the end of the first movement (at 19:29 in this video); at the end of the second movement (34:54) where it effectively breaks the spell of that breathtakingly gorgeous music; in the middle of the third movement Scherzo in the brief pause before the Trio section (39:36); at the end of the third movement (44:45); and finally at the end of the composition (54:16).

I don’t know what the situation was with that particular audience, but in most places around the world where such music is performed, it is the custom not to applaud between the movements, a custom that is understandably puzzling to newcomers to concert halls.

Apparently, there is no historical justification for this custom. We are told that in the 18th and 19th centuries, audiences often applauded after each movement, and that sometimes movements would be repeated if the audience expressed particular enthusiasm. Even today, there are some musicians who say they don’t mind if audience members applaud whenever they feel the urge. To those musicians, it’s better than making newcomers feel uncomfortable because they might be unfamiliar with the rules.

To my mind, however, the custom of remaining silent between movements is an essential part of the concert-going experience.

The main justification for not applauding between the movements is to maintain a distinction between the composition as a whole and the movements that make up the composition. This distinction is crucial. Schubert didn’t assemble his String Quintet from four random pieces of music that can be juggled amongst themselves or interchanged with other movements. The four movements form a harmonious whole. Understanding the dramatic and emotional arc of a composition requires that the primacy of the entire composition be acknowledged, and that happens when it is not interrupted.

Those who applaud between movements must eventually realize that conductors and musicians don’t usually even acknowledge the applause. Sometimes I’ve seen a musician give a little nod to those scattered applauding audience members as if to say “Thank you, but there’s more to go.” To those of us awaiting the rest of the compositions, the applause between movements often seems less like gratitude and more like impatience.

The Schubert String Quintet is not a particularly flashy piece of music. It might take a few hearings to get comfortable with its subtle charms and exquisite beauty. But if you’re lucky to be in a concert hall with live musicians, the least you can do is give the music a chance, because losing yourself in this music can be a transcendental experience. Don’t rush it!

The best way for an audience to demonstrate its gratitude and enjoyment of live music is not by applause but by listening in rapt silence. The best audience is one that is so totally spellbound that they barely breathe. They’re not whispering to their neighbors, or clearing their throats, or checking Facebook, or wrinkling candy wrappers, or snoring. This type of rapt attention is what binds an audience together in a communal silence that is so focused on the music that it makes a performance magical.

Pauses between movements are decidedly peculiar times. Often an audience reacts by shifting in their seats or releasing long-suppressed coughs. The musicians can take the opportunity to catch their breaths and tune their instruments, discard wayward threads from violin bows, empty brass instruments of spit, and run cloths through the woodwinds. All this is normal.

But even if it seems as if these pauses between the movements are dead time, and that a little applause wouldn’t hurt, these pauses should really be entirely under the control of the musicians rather than the audience. To not applaud is to show the musicians respect that they know how to pace the music. The contrast between the music and the relative silence can create a tension that is sometimes uncomfortable, but it is a tension that is best not dispelled. It is not necessary to fill every silence with noise.

There are certainly times when even veteran concertgoers feel an urge to applaud following a particularly long or spectacular first movement, usually of a piano or violin concerto, or perhaps a Mahler Symphony. What’s the harm?

The potential harm manifests itself at the end of the second movement. If the audience applauded at the end of the first movement, what does it mean if they don’t applaud after the second? Does that imply they didn’t like the second movement as much as the first? Are they insulting the musicians if they fail to applaud the second movement? Soon, they’re applauding after every movement as if they need to chop up the music in bitesize pieces, and that upsets the continuity of multi-movement compositions.

It’s best to avoid this awkward situation entirely by keeping all applause to the end. Custom then allows you to cheer and whoop and holler to your heart’s content. Such a response at the end is often all the more intense and appreciated if the urge to applaud has been suppressed until that time.