ANNA GOLDSWORTHY, an Australian pianist and festival director, wrote recently about her fears for her art-form as she played Chopin's funeral-march in B-flat minor. Though we are all headed towards our own funerals, "it is difficult to escape the fact that my audience is several decades further down the road than I am. And I am less and less confident that a new audience will come marching in to replace them." Her fears are not outlandish: a 2010 study by the Australian Bureau of Statistics found the largest proportion of classical concert-goers are aged between 65 and 74, and the same problem is bemoaned far beyond Australia. So promoters and classical-music venues are keen to do anything that will lure in youngsters. There is some evidence that their initiatives are bearing fruit: in 2015, more than 37,500 people bought their first tickets for the BBC Proms, a concert series held in London’s Victoria & Albert Hall every summer since 1895. Over 8,600 under-18s attended concerts across the entire season, many of them standing in a pit in the classic "promming" experience, reminiscent of a rock concert. Carnegie Hall, a venerable New York venue, has seen a decline in the age of those attending single concerts from 58 in 2006 to 48 in 2014 (though given the breadth of Carnegie Hall's offerings it is hard to be sure whether it is classical or contemporary fare pulling in the punters).

This may not be enough. There is scant evidence that a student attracted by cheap and cheerful Prom tickets morphs into a paid-up attendee of full-fare concerts. Bringing in a new generation will be hard without shaking off classical music’s reputation for being elitist and uncool. Too many people in the classical bubble—a cabal of concert-goers immersed in it from a young age—assume that wayward youth will inevitably find their way to symphonies. This looks complacent. Classical is competing not only with more modern styles, but with its own image of being the preserve of the educated, the white, the middle-aged and the middle-class.

Once a popular art form with its own proverbial rock-stars, the medium now mostly consists of recycling the same canonical works by European men from centuries past. The name "classical" implies a historical past, yet it is much broader than this label, and recognising that is a first step to broadening the audience. Clive Gillinson, Carnegie Hall's executive director, says “we try not to package music…labels put people off, it is better if people don’t know what they are listening to”. Classical includes a range of new artists and sounds: from the minimalism of Steve Reich to the percussion of Inuksuit Ensemble. Contemporary artists like Maya Beiser, who transforms our expectations of the soloist by using technology to layer her own playing of different parts on the cello, and Max Richter, who merges violin, orchestra and synthesiser, should be considered no different to the Stravinskys and Schuberts of eras past. Such artists create a valuable entry point for new listeners, whatever their age. And after entry comes exploration, which comes naturally to those who have grown up with YouTube and Spotify.

Such novel work would, at best, be seen live: even the most high-tech speakers are no match, and one of classical music's advantages over its genre rivals is the joy of watching the astonishing virtuosity of its best musicians. Traditionally, most classical venues have been unwilling to experiment with form, style and content. Rock and jazz offer no such fastidiousness, and so naturally evolve with their audiences.

Many theatres and artists have recognised this: they offer last-minute tickets (appealing to impulsive young folks), shorter concerts, later start times, unusual venues and “taster” experiences, where people can drop in and out at their leisure. Embracing new technology has also been instrumental: online streaming of live concerts offers at least the visual if not the perfect auditory experience, allowing theatres to reach out to far-away audiences. Live transmissions from the Metropolitan Opera House, New York, are now seen in more than 2,000 screens in 70 countries.

Creating a relaxing atmosphere that encourages rather than dissuades is essential for the curious-but-unsure listener. La Philharmonie de Paris, a concert hall in the northeast of Paris, opened last year with the ambition of becoming a new hub, offering family weekends, often structured around a particular theme or genre, as well as unique and adaptable spaces. “Multi-Story”, an orchestra founded in 2011 by Kate Whitley, a composer, and Christopher Stark, a conductor, takes classical music to unexpected places, the most popular being a car park in South London. “Nonclassical”, a record label and London club night, has established a loyal fan-base by showcasing its artists and their blend of electronic classical at a range of underground clubs and bars for over a decade. Now the label hopes to get people through the doors of more traditional venues, too. A club night held at London’s Royal Albert Hall suggested this plan may be working: of those that attended, 41% had never been to the concert hall before.

A recent festival held by the Barbican, a London venue, proved how effective this approach could be. It was the Proms with a twist. Though, like the Proms, there was no dress code and the tickets were dead cheap (£40 ($60) for the weekend, for over 80 composers), its emphasis on a laid-back ethos was greater still. Over the weekend a range of artists and orchestras performed 40-minute sets across four locations. Festival-goers (see picture, above) could grab a pint, wander from stage to stage, and use their phone to take photos—all scandalous, by classical music standards. Artists were encouraged to talk to their audience, provide a brief description of why they decided to play a certain piece and to even make them laugh. It seemed to work: Huw Humphreys, head of Music at the Barbican, noted that many who had bought one-day tickets for the Saturday returned for the second day, too.

Puncturing the punctiliousness that many associate with classical music is a good start. It is often more a product of the audience than the musicians. Gillian Moore, head of music at London's Southbank Centre, recently recalled being tut-tutted by an audience member who objected to her vigorous head movements during a performance. Seasoned concert-goers such as Ms Moore can shake off such rebukes; many first-time attendees might have left it at that.