A battle has been raging among the audiences of San Francisco concerts, and the conflict came to a head Sunday night at the Nourse Theatre. There were jeers and hisses and contempt lobbed into the air.
But it was not the Juilliard String Quartet they were angry with. It was each other.
The Juilliard was busy breathing life into one of Beethoven’s lesser works, his String Quartet No. 2. It has little of the grandness and intricacy that are the hallmarks of the composer’s later greatness, but in the hands of these musicians we caught glimpses of his brilliant future self. First Violinist Joseph Lin infused each melody with vivacity, giving simple lines unexpected but welcome urgency. During one passage of thematic development, the quartet dug in with their bows and punctuated the chords rhythmically. The second violin and viola then brought out some almost Bartòkian dissonances in the middle voices, and effect was reminiscent of an older genius, one capable of composing the Grosse Fugue.
As the first movement ended, a few members of the audience gasped in awe and began applauding enthusiastically. This is how the drama began. After the second movement was performed with equal skill, the audience once again erupted in applause. Or rather, they tried to – before being cut off by a chorus of taunts.
The quartet smiled a little awkwardly and continued.
When people started clapping again after the third movement, a man in the fourth row lost his temper. He yelled, at the top of his lungs, that the happy clappers should be silent. Others joined in, crescendoing until everyone’s hands were resting firmly in their laps.
These episodes, in a way, made the Juilliard Quartet’s performance even more remarkable. That they were able to remain coherent, let alone deliver a powerful performance, is a testament to their collective mastery.
The no-clapping rule has always been an odd, counter-intuitive tradition in classical music, one that only took firm hold during the twentieth century. Wagner is often credited with starting it during the première of Parsifal, requesting the performers not to pause for applause. But it is likely Leopold Stokowski, who considered applause a sort of primitive ritual to be overcome, that inspired concertgoers to give up spontaneous clapping.
San Francisco, with its reputation as a free-spirited city, is a natural place for the rule to be broken. And it often is. At the San Francisco Opera, it is normal to hear applause after every aria. It is less common at Symphony Hall, but it is not unheard of. Chamber music is where things get tricky. The intimacy of a small venue makes it easy to connect directly with the music as more than just a listener – we can look the musicians in the eye and almost become a participant. Audiences become passionate, which might lead to clapping enthusiastically at any time – or passionately clinging to tradition and listening intently.