By Bill Shein
July 24, 2015
Let’s get this straight at the start: I love Tanglewood. The combination of talented musicians, lovely grounds, affordable lawn tickets, and the chance to enjoy warm summer nights with friends and classical music is a treat. I’ve already been several times this season.
And having a picnic during a Tanglewood outing is de rigueur. And by “de rigueur” I mean, of course, de rigueur. Maybe it’s too cute by half, or by some other fraction, but sometimes I prepare musically themed picnics. For example, when Beethoven is on the bill, I like to make a beet salad with some lightly roasted hoven on the side, even though I have no idea what “hoven” is or if it’s even a food product that can be roasted. So let’s move on.
One little-discussed downside of Tanglewood is that you sometimes have to endure the pretentiousness of attendees who want to look like Gilded Age robber barons, setting up their attention-grabbing picnics to look like a Berkshires estate dinner party in the 1890s. They bring elaborate dining tables set with candelabras, expensive silver, the finest china, pressed linens, fresh-cut flowers, an assortment of expensive wines, Van Goghs borrowed from the Clark and set on wooden stands, and even servants flown in directly from the set of “Downton Abbey.” (Exaggeration. Effect. ‘Nuff said.)
These extravagant displays are far removed from the humble if delightful picnic – veggies and hummus and bread and cheese and pasta salad, served on paper plates and accompanied by a $9.00 bottle (or box) of wine – that’s just fine for regular folks.
To each his or her own. Live and let live. But years of witnessing these displays has inspired how I like to enjoy Tanglewood, presented here as an informal guide.
First, find a location on the lawn directly next to one of the elaborate Vanderbiltian spreads. Bring five or six large, fraternity-house-style Bud Light inflatable plastic chairs and blow those suckers up, ideally while laughing too loudly and guzzling Pabst Blue Ribbon from cans.
Next, lay out a plastic 25-foot Slip ‘N Slide, pour water onto it from the 50-gallon drum you’ve inconspicuously rolled onto the grounds, strip down to your bathing suit – or to nothing at all! – and enjoy some refreshing watery fun. Ignore the aghast looks-down-noses aimed at you by the Rockefeller wannabes who clearly don’t know how to enjoy themselves.
When it’s time to eat, break out enormous shopping bags from McDonald’s filled with Big Macs, chicken McNuggets, apple pies, milkshakes, enormous sodas, and enough French fries so that you could, with enough time, use them to build a life-size rendering of Serge Koussevitzky, the famed Boston Symphony Orchestra music director for whom the Tanglewood music shed is named. And who really loved French fries, according to the sentence you’re reading right now, if not according to actual biographical facts.
One person in your party should be dressed like a butler, perhaps wearing that classic 1980s T-Shirt that looks like the front of a tuxedo. A large top hat is a nice addition, too. Within earshot of your neighbors, he should say things like, “May I dip your McNugget into the spicy buffalo sauce, your Lordship?” and then tip his hat, bow, and add, “How ‘bout a bit of silver for my trouble, guvnor?”
Depending on your mood, you might query your pretentious neighbors like in that 1980s TV ad: “Pardon me. Would you have any Grey Poupon?” Then roll around on the ground cackling and laughing far too loud and for way too long.
As the concert begins, settle down to respectful silence but then applaud wildly at the wrong times, like those moments when there’s some shuffling of instruments and turning of pages and stray coughs and clearing of throats, but the piece is not actually over. That’s a good time to initiate “The Wave,” the coordinated standing and sitting and hollering that is, in my humble opinion, far too rare at Tanglewood. Scowl at anyone who doesn’t join in.
At the end of each piece of music, add some whooping, whistling, raising of lit cigarette lighters, and boisterous, possibly drunken chants of “MO-ZART! MO-ZART! MO-ZART!” or similar. If you can smash a beer can on your forehead in the midst of your reverie, all the better.
Finally, if you’re really committed to classy Tanglewood fandom, bring those giant foam hands with the index finger extended into the well-known “We’re Number One!” position. They’re a wonderful way to show your enthusiasm for standout performances by the evening’s soloists. Just raise them as the soloists bow and shout, “You! You! You! You! You!” so they know they’re being recognized.
You’re now ready to fully enjoy Tanglewood. See you on the lawn! And then, quite possibly, in the Tanglewood Security holding cell.
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Bill Shein’s memoir, “Most People Look at Me Strangely,” may be written someday.
This column first appeared in The Berkshire Record newspaper on July 17, 2015.