Lincoln Center Has To Relax & Here’s Why

The artistry displayed at the New York City Ballet is spectacular; don’t get me wrong. However, my first visit to that theater on the south side of the most recognizable plaza in Manhattan was admittedly quite bizarre.

While I’m open to being — rather, expect to be — told I’m complaining about something petty or insignificant, I’m going to try my best to justify why I found these scenarios to be just… odd.

I should start by saying that I’ve been to many a classical concert, so I’m accustomed to (and quite disciplined toward) the “no eating or drinking” rule where silence is an expectation for the duration of a showing and anything otherwise could substantially detract from the experience.

But like… the pack of gummy bears for which I paid you $5 that came neither wrapped in cellophane nor even half full is unlikely to distract the dancers from the fifth ring or the ticket-holding folk therein, especially in an environment where applause is actually quite frequent and welcome — at least relative to the symphony.

It’s clear why anyone would want to make a point to keep a venue this magnificent in pristine condition, but I don’t think the far-from-free bottle of Dasani that elderly patron purchased from concessions posed such a risk of long-term damage from spillage that it constituted telling her to traverse twenty filled seats and another dozen stair ledges to quell the itch in her throat.

The audience — admitted only if they can sufficiently thaw their numbed muscles to present proof of vaccination outside of the warm building — is permitted to remove their mandated face covering only whilst enjoying their snack or cocktail outside the hall, where there are ubiquitous surfaces to set their—

Oh, right…

Look, I know I brought up the mask thing, and I really don’t want to make it seem like I’m bothered by the principle of wearing them nearly as much as I’ll concede that I used to be. However, the selectivity in the enforcement thereof will irk me in perpetuity.

While staff don’t bother maskless patrons so long as they’re describing the notes of their glass of Pinot in hand to their fellow concertgoer in the lobby, during intermission I witnessed an usher acknowledge someone about ten rows up to grab the attention of their adjacent friend to tell her to put her mask over her nose — over which I noticed she had a very conspicuous bandage, implying that it was either bruised at best or broken at worst.

Perhaps all of the aforementioned are anomalous, but I’ve also been told similarly unbelievable anecdotes from these pauses between acts with the house lights on, among them of other starry-eyed lovers of Tchaikovsky being reprimanded for taking flashless, nonprofessional photos of the stage itself with their smartphone cameras.

There may be elements that we will inevitably strive to preserve in the tradition of attending performances in this realm, but I fear I am growing ever-pessimistic toward the sustainability thereof in our perpetual seeking to make these experiences pleasant and accessible to as many as reasonably possible.

I understand taking precautions to ensure everyone has a fair viewing experience — particularly as someone who is generally not only lawful but also very easily distracted — but I just find some of these to be wildly superfluous, and I’ve begun to recognize just how uppity these communities can be since my removal from prior immersion in the performing arts scene upon graduating music school, as well as deprivation during the pandemic from what used to be among my favorite pastimes.

I dunno, man. This was a bit too much to observe in a single night to not convince me that classical concert going is just always like this nowadays.

It’s not gonna stop me, but I can’t imagine none of this would bother anyone else in some capacity.