I detest blatant self-promotion, so let’s just get the stupid part out of the way: I’m in a band. We’re playing a show tonight at the Red and the Black on H Street. Drop by if you want to see the man behind this High Fidelity curtain playing guitar. Now let’s move on.
As with any upstart rock ‘n’ roll band that maintains any semblance of preparedness, my band has already planned a set list for the evening—which includes an encore. For those who don’t attend concerts with any sort of frequency (or maybe even for those who do), the idea of actually planning out an encore may seem like a presumptuous and generally douchey idea. I would tend to agree with you, at least in theory (sorry, band). Before passing judgment though, I would encourage you to consider this scenario: you’ve invited a group of your friends and family to watch you perform, and they all know that they have to at least pretend to like your music. Should the show end and no one call for “more,” it’s sort of like eating at your girlfriend’s or boyfriend’s house and not asking for seconds—no one wants to insult the host. The band in turn recognizes that if they have nothing prepared, they will let their guests go hungry (or at least pretend hungry), which would be pretty rude. Thus, both sides acquiesce to the ritual; the absurdity of the modern “encore” reveals itself.
Simply put, encores have become a disingenuous gesture within popular music performance, almost as if they were part of the ticket price—and in fact, some are required by contract. That is, even if an audience doesn’t particularly care to hear more music from a band at the end of a set, they still feel entitled to ask for it. And, by the same token, the practice has become so standardized that not asking for an encore can make it seem as if the band performed poorly.
So how do bands deal with this dilemma? If a group has a deep enough catalog, they don’t necessarily have to plan anything out, even if they still expect to play an encore. These bands have the luxury of keeping the applause going while they make decisions backstage, much to the chagrin of those who actually want to leave but can’t seem to quell their sense of curiosity. Other bands (like mine) will build the encore into their set lists, sometimes even purposely saving popular songs for the end. This strategy can be a surefire way of generating a sincere encore (“They haven’t played my song yet”), but it can also be pretty transparent (“Of course they saved this for the end”). Some bands—particularly ones with self-aware wise-asses—will draw attention to the absurdity of the ritual as they engage in it (guilty), or will simply play two “extra” songs without leaving the stage at all.
It’s gotten to the point that even a second encore doesn’t mean the sentiment is real (especially if the ticket was expensive—I’m looking at you, Paul McCartney). How this mindset came about is debatable, but I believe I have found the solution. Last semester, I attended a concert downtown that was put on by the Post-Classical Ensemble. Following a robust bout of applause at the end of the program, the conductor and music director, Angel Gil-Ordóñez, launched into an encore. However, rather than playing some other prepared piece, the small ensemble launched into a movement of the piece they had just played.
Brilliant. Shouldn’t that be the true impetus of an encore? To be so moved by a performance that you would sit through it again, note for note? I think so. And if nothing else, so many more people would get home ten minutes early.
Go home with Daniel at dcook@georgetownvoice.com.
