Japanese Concert Time

This past weekend we played a concert with a wonderful Japanese soloist.  I loved the way that she sustained time and lived in a sound.  And when she had finished playing the Brahms concerto, she walked off stage, took her time and smiled, and then came back and then walked off, drank some water, laughed with the stage crew, then came back, then walked off again.  Several times this happened.  The audience, typical of a Japanese audience, remained seated and remained clapping.  No rush to get to the bathroom, no sly attempt to turn a standing ovation into a dash to the front of the bar line.  They waited for her.  Surely she must have an encore.  This is Japan.  A concert without an encore would be like ice cream without delicious.  It doesn't happen here.

And finally she delivered.  A movement of Bach for each performance, at the last concert she played two, separated by still more applause and curtain calls.  They waited for her, she waited for them.  And the hall filled with time and listening and waiting.

Would it have been different for a non-Japanese audience?  Would it have been different for a non-Japanese soloist?  Perhaps it was her unique energy that sustained their steady response.  But there is no question that it is something ubiquitous among Japanese audiences, this applause that doesn't look forward to the end, that sustains the present gratitude of the music offered.  A slow breath from which a sound is released.