Here's a data point tangentially related to the recent discussion of applause and its variants. Shortly after Michael Morgan and the Oakland East Bay Symphony had delivered a pretty swell account of the first movement of Brahms' Fourth tonight, a voice rang loudly through the Paramount Theater: "Right on, brother!"
That guy was my hero — not because I shared his sentiment or appreciated the contextually unusual choice of phrasing (though both of those are true), but because his timing was so impeccable. He didn't interrupt the music, and he didn't interrupt the bubble of silence afterwards during which the entire audience was still jazzed by what we'd just heard. He waited until the moment was right — until everything that needed respecting was truly over with — and then he weighed in.
Month after month and year after year, I sit in concert halls and opera houses with music "lovers" who consider themselves all that because they can decline "bravo" in its various genders and numbers, but who don't have a clue about when to just sit still and let the echos be. Come the revolution, we're going to send them over to Oakland for a little remedial music appreciation.