From staged applause to outright chaos in the concert hall
Applause, for Hire
In Paris, audience reactions were sometimes carefully arranged in advance.
Professional groups known as claques were hired to influence how a performance was received. They were not random spectators. They were organized, paid, and strategic.
A full claque could include different roles.
Some were there to lead applause at key moments. Others were known to laugh, cry, or call out “bravo” to guide the mood of the audience. There were even individuals assigned to request encores.
Not all of them were supportive.
If a performer or composer did not cooperate, a claque could just as easily turn against the performance. Booing, hissing, and disruption could be just as coordinated as applause.
In some cases, performers negotiated directly with these groups before appearing on stage, knowing that the audience’s reaction might depend on it.
The response in the room was not always spontaneous. Sometimes, it was staged.
When Approval Wasn’t Subtle
Not all reactions were arranged.
When audiences were genuinely dissatisfied, their responses could be immediate and unmistakable.
Boos and hissing were common. Shouting could interrupt a performance entirely. In some cases, objects were thrown toward the stage. Food was among them.
Accounts from 18th and 19th century theaters describe audiences expressing disapproval openly, without hesitation. Performers were expected to hold the room, and if they didn’t, the audience responded.
The boundary between performer and listener was less defined. Reaction was part of the experience, not separate from it. A performance was not only heard. It was judged, in real time.
When Audiences Became Devoted
Not all strong reactions were negative.
In the mid-19th century, performances by Franz Liszt created something closer to frenzy.
Audiences didn’t just applaud. They reacted with an intensity that surprised even those at the time.
The poet Heinrich Heine described the phenomenon as “Lisztomania.”
Listeners rushed the stage. Some fought over souvenirs. Gloves, handkerchiefs, and even broken piano strings were kept as keepsakes.
There are accounts of audience members collecting locks of his hair, and in one often repeated story, a discarded cigar was kept in a glass vial.
When Virtuosity Felt Unexplainable
Before Liszt, there was Niccolò Paganini.
His playing was so technically advanced that audiences struggled to explain it. Some believed it could not be entirely natural.
There were rumors that he had made a pact with the devil. Others pointed to his unusual appearance and intense stage presence as part of the mystery.
Whether exaggerated or not, the reaction was real.
Virtuosity had crossed into something unfamiliar, and for some, unsettling.
When the Audience Caused a Riot
In 1913, the premiere of The Rite of Spring by Igor Stravinsky did not unfold quietly.
From the opening moments, the audience reacted.
The rhythms felt unfamiliar. The movement on stage challenged expectations. Some laughed, others argued, and the tension in the room built quickly.
Accounts describe shouting, whistles, and disruptions strong enough that parts of the performance could barely be heard.
What is now considered one of the most important works of the 20th century began in near chaos.
Just a few years earlier, The Firebird by Igor Stravinsky had been received very differently.
Its premiere was a success.
Audiences responded with enthusiasm, and it quickly established Stravinsky as a major new voice.
The contrast is striking.
In one moment, music is embraced.
In another, it is resisted.