Feature: Now Showing: Cabaret Contempt

Recently, I was in a nightclub (one of the big ones) to see a show by a cabaret performer (one of the big ones), and it was a night to remember... in more ways than one. Everywhere you looked, there was a show business notable, a celebrity, a person of repute. There were revered artists, impressive industry professionals, award nominees and recipients, cabaret journalists and photographers, and all with the same goal in mind: to watch this singular and superb cabaret artist at work. And we did see the artist of our idolatry at their craft; we saw them and we heard them.

We also heard the ladies seated house left.

There is an epidemic in this country, and it isn't the one that kept us locked up for six months, it is one that holds us hostage for some sixty to seventy moments when we go out to see a show. This is an epidemic of etiquette, or, to be specific, a lack of etiquette. People are less well-mannered in today's world: there are notorious incidents of scuffles on airplanes, coffee shop tantrums, and bad behavior on Broadway. The people of today's society seem to have made the conscious decision to dispense with the observation of good manners, and it's a crying shame. It is also a nagging irritation.

All throughout the seventy-five-minute performance being given by one of the most respected artists in the business, in one of the more expensive venues in the industry, a group of women seated against the wall of the club insisted upon chatting and laughing and raising cain, so much so that the prominent (no, not prominent: important) members of the cabaret and concert community seated right in front of my table were becoming increasingly visibly upset. During an evening that was at least seventy percent made up of tender, quiet, heartfelt ballads, these women continued to raise their voices in not-so-private conversation and mirth, voices that could be heard clear across the room. It was unconscionable, it was unbelievable, and it was coming from another member of the cabaret and concert community. We could all see the faces of the courtesy criminals, clearly and plainly. Cabaret rooms are not big, and the lighting casts a glow over an entire venue, and these inconsiderate people might just as easily have been seated in the stands at a sporting event, their faces plastered across the Jumbotron, so visible were their features. Every person in the theater could see them, including the prominent (no, not prominent: important) person standing on the stage singing the songs. As, minute by minute, the prattle from the banquette grew ever more boisterous, heads turned as scowls were cast in the direction of the oblivious offenders, until, finally, the program was completed and members of the cabaret and concert community gathered in mutually miffed congregations to discuss the offense and raise the question: who will be the one to approach their colleague and deliver a verbal wrist slap for their unfathomable breach of etiquette?

Whether someone did or did not approach the person in question remains between the two of them. And there is every chance that such an encounter included a surprised, even sincere, apology and explanation. People rarely care to have the mirror of self-reflection held up to their mistakes and flaws. Everyone knows that what happened is that some inconsiderate people went to a nightclub, had a few drinks, and showed how little respect they have for the people around them, starting with the artist on the stage and ending up with those other patrons who paid over one hundred dollars to sit in a cabaret theater and watch an artist whose work they admire. There is no excuse good enough, no explanation reasonable enough, no apology acceptable enough to mollify the upset of every other person in that club who was there to witness the rudeness and have their enjoyment of the evening diminished. Excuses and explanations don't cleanse this behavior. This was a program of several quiet ballads - no mere enthusiasm for a show could explain away the rowdiness of their response unless it were a rock concert, a Gay Pride celebration, or New Year's Eve.

There is a famous saying: familiarity breeds contempt. In context, it refers to the concept that knowing a person or a thing too well leads to a loss of respect. There are two ways, though, to consider these three words - familiarity breeds contempt - and that is just one of them. The Talker, being a member of the cabaret and concert community, being a member of the family (as it were) feels entitled to behave any way that they may choose, during a performance. After all, they will be excused for their bad behavior, won't they? How many times have people treated us poorly because we are their kin? We can treat our family less than we treat a stranger because they have to forgive us - they are stuck with us. Why not apply that to the artistic community in which we walk? If we are a member of the community, won't our colleagues forgive us our disrespect? They are our friends and artistic family - why not treat them with the familiarity with which we treat our kinfolk? Why not treat them with contempt? The answer is simple: because now they will have contempt for us. And there is contempt felt for the Gossips that ruined the show for some members of the audience who were unable to shut out the blather, and they are people who know the face and the name of the offending party. That party's familiarity at the concert has led other prominent (no, not prominent: important) members of the community to feel a well-earned contempt for them - and, speaking from experience, this is a pattern of behavior that this writer has witnessed at no fewer than four other shows that involved this same person talking and texting from their table, all throughout the performance.

So, what's a person to do? When seated in a nightclub and faced with the struggle of hearing the artist singing into a microphone over an audience member who hasn't even the benefit of an amplification system, yet is out-performing the performer, what's to be done? Do we wait and silently wish that a server will speak to the manager about intervening? Do we stay still, all the while being taken out of the expensive experience by our frustration and indignation, yet still silent? Do we draw to the noisemaker's attention to their offense, ourselves, in some way? Do we confront and run the risk of the raucous?

I am reminded of a story I heard at the most recent Clint Holmes show, a Peter Allen tribute titled BETWEEN THE MOON AND NEW YORK CITY. In it, Mr. Holmes describes the origin of a famous composition written by the prolific songwriter. Mr. Allen was in a nightclub watching Julie Wilson perform and a nearby table of talkers grew increasingly loud, and so he took out a pen and scribbled onto a napkin, "Quiet Please, There's a Lady Onstage," and, thus, was born a song that became as famous for its existence as it was for being dedicated to his late Mother-in-Law, Judy Garland. There was a Lady onstage on this night, and another member of her own community displayed, throughout, conduct more suited to a Monster Truck Rally than a nightclub. This won't do. It was pure, old-fashioned, garden-variety rudeness, behavior inconsiderate of the artist on the stage, of the art form being presented, and of the audience that paid to be there. And it's too bad because that behavior is going to mark her and her own, personal, industry because you can bet that the morning after the performance (possibly, on the trip home from the performance) those important members of the cabaret and concert community were telling their friends and colleagues all about it, and they were telling the story with names, and with a certain degree of contempt.

To post a comment, you must register and login.