A memory which has stayed with me since the very early
days of the Malaysian Philharmonic Orchestra was of a complaint received after one
of the very first concerts in the newly-opened Dewan Filharmonik PETRONAS. Please, the complainant wrote, can you ensure
that the violinists clean their shoes before going on stage?
Here we were with a brand new orchestra in a brand new
hall bringing classical music to a city, a country and an audience which, in
the main, had not experienced anything like it before. And what were the
audience most concerned about?
Footwear! It caused us a certain
amount of amusement and incredulity. But
then someone had the bright idea of sitting in the concert in the same seat as
the complainant had used (the complaint forms asked patrons to tell us their
seat in anticipation of some issues concerning sight lines, audibility or
comfort) and realised that in the direct line of sight were, indeed, the first
violinists’ feet. In fact, in the front
few rows of the hall, all you could see without actually straining back to peer
upwards, was the stage floor and that part of the violinists’ anatomy which
went as high as the low shins. With nothing
else to see, little wonder that players’ footwear assumed disproportionate attention. An instruction duly went out to ensure that
shoes were immaculate before each concert.
Ever since then I’ve taken an interest in musicians’
footwear, and am delighted that so many orchestral players have now gone to
patent leather, which shines so brightly and requires just a rub over with a
duster to remove any unsightly blemishes.
However, it does not usually concern me, largely because I will never
sit in the front few rows of a concert hall where players’ feet are, as it
were, thrust at me due to the sight level of the stage from these seats. There are those who like to sit up that
close, but you can neither see nor hear properly, so I assume they are either
foot-fetishists or egotists who like the rest of the concert hall to know that
they are there. (Which is why, I assume, most late-comers have booked seats in
the front row in the middle, where they can make their disturbingly late entry
in full view of the assembled crowd.)
However, I was the guest at a concert over the weekend
where I had no choice of seat, and found myself thrust right in the middle of
one of the very front rows. It was a
terrible experience, and I took the first opportunity to nip to an empty seat I
had spotted at a more realistic distance from the stage. But for the time I was sat at the front, I
found all I could see without straining my neck muscles uncomfortably, was the
players’ feet. It was a piano recital in
which four different pianists took it in turns to come on and play.
There was one player whose black, lace-up shoes were
highly polished, whose long black socks disappeared into the comfortably loose
legs of his black trousers. I liked
this; it gave authority and distinction to the performances I could hear coming
from the instrument. There was another
who had fairly clean if matt-finished black shoes, but socks of such minitude
that I found myself staring at a bare expanse of ankle/lower leg before a tight
trouser-leg hid the rest from view. A
third had clean enough shoes but oddly patterned socks which struck a
discordant note with the black trousers, which seemed to have been applied with
a spray can. The fourth was
astonishing. From the high point at
which his black trouser legs stopped, it appeared that he had long outgrown his
suit (or borrowed one from a children’s store).
He wore tiny orange socks and bright brown shoes, which were so visually
disturbing that I found it difficult to take his playing seriously. So much bare, hairless ankle and leg were
visible that I wondered whether he had
spent his pre-concert preparation waxing his legs, when I should have been
concentrating on the music I could hear him play.
As I scurried to my better seat near the back, where
such visual distractions were negated by the totality of my vision of the
stage, I reflected on the whole subject of musicians’ footwear. Inadvertently, I had been affected in my
opinion of these players by what they were wearing below their trouser legs,
and, indeed, on where the trouser legs had stopped. For the first time, I really could appreciate
how our Malaysians correspondent had been so disturbed by dirty shoes. Fashion on the street or in the dance hall is
all very well, but a concert hall, were the musicians’ demeanour should be
entirely focused towards projecting the musical message, is no place for
fashion statements in the foot department.
I say; ban bare legs and ankles, ban coloured socks, ban brown or dirty
shoes, and, most of all, avoid any hint of showing bare skin below the waist. Unless, of course, you are Yuja Wang where from
any vantage point, the view is interesting!