I've never been at a performance where no one has applauded till the intermission or end of the recital. (Unless one large work, like the Liszt Sonata comprises the entire half of a program.) Usually it is after a completed sonata, or suite or group of pieces that are meant to be played together. For instance, a recital that features the Chopin Preludes: you wouldn't expect applause after each and every prelude. Jeez, No. 7 is like 20 seconds long.
I believe a quiet and attentive audience shows respect both to the other audience members as well as the performer. I know, I appreciate it both as an audience member and as a performer.
I remember a recital I attended quite a few years ago where a "casual" setting resulted in the most spectacularly jaw-dropping audience behavior I have ever witnessed in my life.
Cape May is a small, quaint seashore town at the southernmost tip of New Jersey. Every year it hosts a music festival that runs from the week before Memorial Day through the third week in June. Audiences have a tendency to consist of half local, year-round residents who are starved for culture (Philadelphia is almost 2 hours away, NYC is 3-1/2 hours away). The other half are tourists who are looking for something to do after dinner. (We don't have a boardwalk, so there isn't a whole lot to do at night.)
Quite a few years ago, Christopher O'Reilly performed as part of the festival in the ballroom of an old historic hotel, a fairly casual setting with folding metal chairs. Some people brought their own pillows to soften their seats. People were in shorts, tank tops, summertime attire, it's usual for this festival.
The second half of his program consisted of the Diabelli Variations. (50 minutes of arguably the greatest set of variations ever written for the piano.) Now this might not have been the best programming choice for this setting, however, I was completely thrilled. I had never heard the variations performed live and I didn't even leave my chair at intermission. I couldn't wait for the second half of the recital to begin.
Now picture the setting: a small ballroom, no stage, folding chairs with the front row less than five feet away from the piano, old creaky wooden floors, large heav, loud doors and very nice old lady volunteers as ushers.
Somewhere around variation number 10, people (mostly the tourists), started realizing it was getting pretty late. The very young children they had brought with them were getting restless and fidgety. And besides, as far as they were concerned, they had enough entertainment for the evening. So they just started getting up and walking out...and not very quietly either. They would just get up say good-bye to their friends and walk right down the main aisle and out the front door, letting it slam behind them. I heard one lady quite clearly asking another as she left, "What time are you going to the beach tomorrow?" Another one leaned out into the aisle and grapped a friends arm and exclaimed, "I had the best dinner tonight. I'll tell you about it tomorrow."
By the time the variations finally came to end, three quarters of the audience had walked out. And it wasn't because there was anything wrong with the performance. Quite the contrary, it was probably one of the best recitals I've ever heard in my life and his performance of the Diabelli was stupendous.
Now some may argue about the programming choice, especially for this type of audience, but you know something, I was a member of that audience and I appreciated the fact that Mr. O'Reilly hadn't "dumbed down" his program with a bunch of old warhouses like the Mephisto. (Not that I have anything against Mephisto!)
But here is a good example where a "casual setting" resulted in way too casual behavior. I can just imagine what Mr. O'Reilly felt like.