There’s probably a thesis to be written on the influence of magazines found in waiting rooms.  Thanks to the rather upmarket selection at my dentist’s I was introduced to that wonderful publication The Word; waiting for my regular acupuncture sessions I catch up with Private Eye, and this Tuesday, in my local surgery, I found myself reading the Saga magazine and, rather to my horror, enjoying the experience.  Being one year short of the age which entitles you to become a member of ‘Club 55’ and get cheap train travel, I’m only gradually coming to think of myself as part of Saga’s target market.  The magazine is, of course, dedicated to demonstrating how those who have passed the ‘bus pass’ barrier can seek to Prolong Active Life, both mentally and physically.

It came to mind again two nights later when I was at a concert by the Scottish Chamber Orchestra in the fine (relatively) new Perth Concert Hall.  Mozart and Beethoven, conducted by Sir Charles Mackerras, himself a nimble octogenarian.  The Perth audience was, if anything, even more uniformly grey and white than its counterparts for such gatherings at the Eden Court here in Inverness.  Now of course, it is a regular cri de coeur that audiences for classical music are aging, and that more needs to be done to attract a younger audience.  Some of the attempts at this, like six o’clock ‘rush hour’ concerts, are a thoroughly good idea; others, like labelling introductory sessions as ‘naked classics’, smack of desperation. 

But is it really such a serious problem?  After all, no one ever laments the shortage of OAPs at T in the Park.  Shouldn’t the fastest-growing segment of the population be allowed its own pleasures without having to suffer trendy innovations? As one American writer pointed out recently, appreciating classical music properly demands patience, concentration, and the ability to sit quietly for half an hour or more.  Such reflectiveness tends to come with increasing age.  There is perhaps only a serious problem if that older audience is not being continually renewed. It is perhaps too early to judge if that is the case, but having an ex-PM who’s still obsessed with his guitar-playing adolescence is perhaps not a good sign.

But how was the concert, you ask.  A game of two halves.  Booking on-line turned out to be, for once, a mistake.  As a singleton, I was automatically assigned to probably the worst seat in the hall, at the very back, under the overhang of the gallery, where a little block of three seats was jammed against the control box. From there the sound was distant, restricted, lacking in impact.  But, oddly, the seats around me were almost full, whereas the front four rows (presumably cheaper) were entirely empty.  I moved there after the interval and was able to wallow happily in the rich sound of the SCO at full throttle.  But maybe that would have been too much excitement for the reserved concert-goers of Perth.  Anyway, the message is clear, when in Perth, avoid the Raised Stalls.