For the opening night festivities, Mutter and the Mozart-sized BSO treated us to No. 3 and No. 5. Like any violin student, I’ve played No. 3 and count it among my favorites. In my opinion, in only the very rarest of occasions can an artist manage to squeeze something new and profound out of Mozart, so with these concertos, artists in equal measure either seem to maintain the status quo or miss the mark. Mutter was firmly in the former camp, with her articulation and tempo choices complementing the phrasing of her interpretation. She was as bold as her fire-red dress during her first movement cadenzas in both pieces, and it left me wishing they were longer. I was impressed with the tasteful slow movements of both pieces as well, and my impression is that it is on this type of music that she particularly excels.

Previously, I had only listened to recorded Mutter, and I have to admit that they had left no indelible mark on me — if anything, I had emerged with no reason to seek out her work. This was mostly due to interpretive disagreements with relatively straightforward pieces, including the recorded versions of these very violin concertos. This performance has compelled me to revisit those earlier versions to try and understand them better. While there were standard intimations of technical imperfection in the form of missed chords and attack, these did not detract wholly from the performance.

Like the cadenzas, the opening night performance to the public audience was all too short, but I was thankful to be a part of it. Despite a series of missteps, I ended up with the last pair of tickets available through the CollegeCard program and took M to her first ever symphony performance. These Mozart concertos represent a perfect introduction to this wonderful world of western art music, as it is far more palatable than much of the modern repertoire, easily recognizable, and less intense than my beloved Brahms et al. But hopefully they’ll serve as the gateway to the riches of this music, a truly opening night into the world of classical music and particularly the BSO.

Tchaikovsky’s Suite No. 3 is something like — but not quite — a symphony, a peculiar type of piece. Perhaps because I am not familiar with the form, it was difficult for me to get an overarching sense of the music. Individual movements, especially the somewhat ironically malaise waltz, were certainly reminiscent of the Russian composer’s more famous symphonic works. Perhaps the most easily associated music were the often grand variations on the theme in the final movement.

I have to admit that my familiarity with Stravinsky’s music, though growing, is not even characterizable as elementary. Of the work of his I’ve heard, I can say off the top of my head that I enjoyed Petrushka. Today, the BSO performed Stravinsky’s Song of the Nightingale. I enjoyed the immediately recognizable Chinese theme early on but was not particularly compelled by the piece as a whole.

And finally, in my first experience hearing the music of Alexander Scriabin via The Poem of Ecstasy, I waited in eager anticipation for the bellowing of the Symphony Hall organ. Seated in the orchestra section, Row E and almost all the way to the audience left of the stage, I happened to have been perfectly placed to watch the organist — whose name I could not locate in the program — wait patiently throughout the majority of the piece before his bars appeared. Unfortunately, their effect was more of a massive thunder whose melody was lost from my vantage point in the cacophony of the bellowing orchestra: I could not place any sort of unique timbre reminiscent of my experiences with church organs and the like. I should have liked to hear the organ alone, but I believe that this was my first concert at Symphony Hall at which the organ was employed.

The last two concerts in the subscription series have had somewhat odd programming to me. It has been difficult to understand any underlying theme, probably due to my lack of familiarity with the music. One interesting note for this concert series was that in Maazel’s second week with the BSO, in 1960, they performed both the Stravinsky and the Scriabin. I believe that this is the first time since then that he has performed these two pieces again here in the same performance, which marks a special moment in my mind that ties together his history performing with this orchestra. That is a truly long engagement to Nevertheless, as always the exposure to new music is endlessly intriguing, and as always, I’m grateful for the opportunity.

We sat in the first balcony in a packed Wortham Center Theatre, next to a family with a young child. Because this is a very family-oriented production, it was only natural to hear children squealing and being hushed throughout the performance. But the wonderment and delight that was experienced by this young lady next to us was quite amusing: from the Mouse King (ew, is that real?) to the emergence of the Nutcracker Prince (wow, how did they do that?), the magic of the story really came alive again.

Naturally, the performance was beautiful, and I was impressed by both the quality of the set design and the choreography. Granted, I do not have the longstanding tradition of Nutcracker performances by which to measure this one, but I tend to think that most performances will be very high quality. Only the rare, bold and adventurous deviation from the standard Nutcracker or obviously low quality exceptions might exist somewhere, but certainly not on this stage tonight. Our performance was led by Simon Ball as the Nutcracker Prince, Karina González as the Sugarplum Fairy, and the impossibly cute Emily Bowen as Clara. Aside from their excellent solos, I particularly enjoyed the Spanish and Arabian dances and was surprised by a familiarity to even more pieces here than I had realized. I am definitely familiar with all of the pieces in any Nutcracker Suite, but I really do want to get the entire piece on a recording or even better in performance to see it in its entirety again.

For their part, the orchestra performed admirably, though I have to say that I’m spoiled by our excellent Boston-area venues with respect to the sound. Our vantage point was great for seeing depth of dancers on the stage, but I found the sound to have little dramatic presence in the relatively tiny space up in the balcony and around us. Sounds seemed to die a bit more. I enjoyed, however, the percussive addition of pointe shoes on the hardwood stage, which I imagine was purposefully done.

At the symphony, I enjoy most to close my eyes and listen intensely to the music: to me to experience the orchestra is not to see them but to try and listen for their signature nuances. While I had only passing moments in overtures to experience the music here, ballet is obviously demanding of visual attention, but the music is richer for it.

It also occurs to me that I cannot imagine how I would know the names of any of the parts if it weren’t for the program: as far as I can tell, there is no outright mention of the name “Clara”, for instance, anywhere during the actual piece.

We saw this performance the day after Christmas, but since we had all been working tirelessly up until Christmas day, it sort of provided for me the capstone on the best parts of my musical holiday. The sublime dancing, the beautiful music, and the expert commentary really sealed the experience. I’m sad to be missing other Houston Ballet performances, but perhaps I should resolve for the new year to attend more ballet with our excellent group in Boston.

I suppose the one story I’ll tell — aside from spinning basses, jolly Tanglewood, audience caroling, and last year’s excellent ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas reading — is the story of the lonely orchestra member. Bear in mind that this is not a sad story but somewhat of an amusing one, at least to me. I will not give away too much information for fear of indicting this person, but I will say this this is an orchestra member who has performed in the last two seasons of Holiday Pops concerts. I suspect he is an annual fixture. It is my strong suspicion that this person, yes, whose name I know, did not grow up celebrating in the Christian tradition. There are strong reasons to assume such a thing, though I cannot know for sure. However, this person wore plainly on [his, for simplicity] face that he did not want to be there, as his eyes darted around the room while he dutifully sustained his musical part during the Christmas carols. A half-grin adorned his sheepish face, and one could easily see the cartoon of the moment lifting thought bubbles that questioned, “What am I doing here?” I always like to point this person out to others because I find it hilarious, but this year held a surprising difference. This year, our favorite Holiday Pops musician was looking rather sprightly, and he actually appeared to be enjoying the Christmas music that so clearly had irked him just the year before! It was a Christmas miracle and a welcome transformation. But, to that musician (and you know who you are, I’m sure!), I will continue pointing you out to my table companions in the future and tell them your delightful tale.

NPR Music :: Syl Johnson: Soulful Like Marvin, Funky Like James
BBC Music :: Sudan musicians fear return to the ‘Stone Age’
BSO :: Schumann Music Criticism Contest winners
NPR Classical’s Deceptive Cadence :: Best Musical Moment of 2010: Jennifer Higdon’s Unsung Heroes

I also read the excellent magazine Wax Poetics pretty frequently, which I’ve written about before.

I was actually thankful to be in the area already, since I had to go to Symphony Hall and pick up student rush tickets to the Handel and Haydn Society’s (HHS) 3 pm performance of George Friedrich Handel’s Messiah, led by Harry Christophers. I met my symphony friend CB there and we waited with a handful of others for the HHS ticketing to open. We were fortunate enough to get first balcony, fourth row center-right tickets. I think I prefer the sound in the first balcony center to anywhere else in Symphony Hall, so I was very excited about the seating.

The last performance I saw of the Messiah was in December 2008 with the Houston Symphony Orchestra. (I’m not sure why I did not write a post about it at the time.) Because this music has been so commonly performed at christmastime, I rarely hear it during the year, and it was a treat to get another live performance. But it’s really timeless music in the Christian tradition.

The HHS orchestra is on the smaller side. They featured just one bassist, for instance, and I guess the entire brass section was just the two lone trumpets. I’m not clear whether or not this was in Handel’s orchestration and also typical of a period orchestra (often orchestras playing Mozart are smaller) or just the constraints of HHS. I believe that the orchestra could have benefitted from a larger group in Symphony Hall. A piece like this, with literally trumpeting voices, can never have too much power behind it. I think the smaller Jordan Hall might have been a perfect venue for them, in fact.

Nevertheless, the hall was filled with beautiful choral voices that are my favorite to hear live. While not at first sold on alto Catherine Wyn-Rogers, my lasting impression was of her beautiful voice. I really did enjoy soprano Sophie Bevan as well. Her coloratura was well-modulated, though not quite as strong as some I’ve heard, such as that of Cecilia Bartoli. For their parts, tenor Allan Clayton and bass Sumner Thomson were excellent. Though we hear a duet of alto and tenor in the third part, I would have liked for Handel to include more vocal duets outside of the chorus. Another intriguing combination from the Messiah was the solo trumpet along with Mr Thomson, which was quite engaging. One amusing moment was the point at which trumpets appeared on the far right of the first balcony and treated some in the front orchestra sections to a festive surround sound experience. The performance was a wonderful way to continue the musical holiday season for me.

I enjoy several songs in this piece, and they might well be among the more popular excerpts, though I’m really not sure. In Part I, the entire ‘Wonderful Councillor’ exaltation is quite uplifting and always a piece I look forward to. It’s the statement of prophesy that many Christians believe is the prophesy for the coming of Jesus Christ.

In Part II, the alto’s first aria is another powerful passage. Here is presented a timeless idea but also a specific prophesy in Isaiah about the suffering and rejection among men that Christ would endure. But there is a picture of great strength here, as is most clearly evidenced by the final phrase: “he hid not his face from shame and spitting.”

Later in Part II, I find the “sheep” chorus kind of funny. Not because I don’t respect the theology in the shepherd/sheep analogy, but because it’s just funny out of context to hear a chorus singing, “All we like sheep”.

I also am compelled by a bass solo in Part II, “Why do the nations so furiously rage together, and why do the people imagine a vain thing?” It’s a timeless question that is as poignant today.

And of course, the chorus sings Hallelujah, and immediately our audience stood on cue. There was no need for printed instruction for this knowledgeable crowd, which I probably should not have been as surprised about. But for a person who is Christian and finds sacred choral music among the most connecting, beautiful expressions of faith, this was not merely standing in custom for the piece but rather a proud moment of praise.

Finally, in Part III, “Since by man came death” collapsed and rose instantaneously, effectively punctuating the duality of the text’s emotional message. Both “Since by man came death” and “For as in Adam all die” were sung in floating, ghostly whispers, while exalted were “by man came also the resurrection of the dead” and “even so in Christ shall all be made alive”.

I believe that it is uncharacteristic for the featured soloist’s piece to be performed first on the concert program, but the Mozart was first. I heard Mr Znaider perform the Elgar Violin Concerto last season, which I enjoyed very much. I noticed again that Mr Znaider’s towering figure almost equaled Mr Levine’s podium-assisted height. I have played and am particularly familiar with Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 3, written in 1775. Strangely enough, it sounded nothing like my interpretation, and this is greatly to Mr Znaider and the BSO’s credit. I do not listen to recordings of the piece very often, so hearing the solo violin part with the full orchestra is something of a treat. I know the first movement well, and the little touches, trills, turns, and staccato peppered throughout were delightful.

I recall in high school, a friend JB was learning this piece, and there was something particularly wooden about her early attempts. It is such a lively, youthful affair, very bright, and I recall wanting to hear that out of her performance. It’s a particular quality of much of Mozart’s lighter music that I’m particularly critical of, as I was with Richard Goode’s Mozart piano concerto performance last season. Here, however, I felt that it was captured brilliantly.

The cleanness of the piece was also nearly flawless, which is difficult in some of the chord-laden passages and those involving rapid string transitions. I was somewhat underwhelmed by the cadenzas, as they were fairly short and not quite as intricate as I would have liked. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the piece very much and was delighted to hear it for the first time live with the always excellent BSO and Mr Znaider.

The second piece was Mr Harbison’s Symphony No. 2, which was written in 1987. I’m not completely clear on this programming choice to be bookended by the Mozart and the Schumann, but it provided true variety tonight, which I enjoyed. My experience with Harbison is short and easily summarized: I enjoyed his Double Concerto premiere very much but have not enjoyed Symphony Nos. 1 or 3. I admit that I arrived tonight with more than a little bit of skepticism about my reaction to Symphony No. 2, but I was determined to give it a chance. I have some more general reactions to the content of this music, since it was my first listening, but I must admit that I liked the piece, though I think DG did not. Perhaps somewhat disingenuously, I imagined it as a score to a modern film, and that helped me understand transitions between its parts a bit better. I admit that I was unaware of the transitions between the movements in this piece, and I do not believe they were immediately obvious with big breaks or grand exits and entrances.

Generally, I wonder how true it is that the meter in modern classical music is more unusual than what one might find in older music from earlier eras. By this I am referring to the difficulty in the rhythmic structure: everything appears syncopated, which gives immense difficulty for getting the timing right, and it almost sounds disorganized until this is accepted and then appreciated. I feel like out of the modern pieces I’ve heard at the BSO, including this one, this has often been the case rhythmically. I almost feel like, if all these things are true and not just my misperception, then it could be that this technique is almost over-employed. In the same way that silence is a powerful tool to convey emotion when used appropriately, I think that certain rhythmic structures and polyrhythmic structures should be used with a great deal of understanding about the responsibility of doing so. Of course, much more musically inclined persons than I, such as these modern composers, have undoubtedly considered this issue.

The final piece on the program following the intermission tonight was Schumann’s Symphony No. 2, written in 1841, the third separate musical era on the program this evening. I have heard the BSO’s performances of Symphony Nos. 1, 3, and 4 this season, and this was the completion of the Schumann symphonic cycle! Give this man a cookie! (I missed the Beethoven cycle last season, I believe, by one or perhaps two symphonies because of work conflicts. The Schumann cycle is far easier to be in attendance for.) I greatly prefer Nos. 4 and 1 to No. 3, but I would have to rank No. 2 above No. 1 (if that makes any sense at all, you can have my cookie). The 2nd starts off a bit hesitantly but soon builds to a climactic ending … of just the first movement! The Scherzo is feverish in its pace, a torrent of strings, the third movement, sweet. And the symphony just gets better and better as it continues, with the fourth and final movement being my favorite. It caps off a rather larger-than-life symphonic experience and was rendered expertly by the BSO.

Perhaps one of the strangest concerts I’ve attended at the BSO, the audience made it reminiscent of a high school orchestra performance with their clear lack of symphony etiquette on full display. The end of every movement of the Mozart and Schumann were met with hesitant applause from about a quarter of the audience. It almost seemed fitting after Mr Znaider’s performance in the first movement of the violin concerto, but even this prompted a thankfully patient glance from a swiveled Mr Levine directed toward an unsettled audience. Thankfully Mr Levine was able to suppress further applause at the end of the Adagio expressivo of the Schumann symphony, which had started in my mind to kill the mood created by the beautiful music. The applause was completely and utterly out of place when it was tendered prematurely to a dramatic pause in the final movement of the Schumann far from the end of the piece. It’s one thing to applause between movements, which I find would be best reserved for only the right circumstances and only for a particularly moving performance (such as I very much felt like doing during Joshua Bell’s Brahms but nevertheless refrained), but it’s entirely another to clap perhaps just to hear the sound of one’s own clapping, since the person or persons clearly did not know when the end of the piece was. I suspect it is this same individual who clapped nearly with the final note of the piece as well, akin to cheering during the national anthem during “O’er the land of the free” and not after the “home of the brave”. (Actually in the anthem example, this is becoming more and more commonplace.) But here this person should realize that he or she is not the only patron listening to the music, and even persons on stage were noticeably agitated by the perceived rudeness. Naturally the irony here is that clapping is a gesture of appreciation that was proffered inappropriately and lost some of its meaning.

It’s all inconsequential at the end of the day, though this marks the second performance this season with an admittedly bizarre audience participation. Overall I enjoyed the evening with DG and all of the music performed here tonight, spanning three distinct musical time periods as if they were somehow meant to be played together. It’s a truly unique experience to put a concert like this together, and the more I think about it, the more I appreciate it and want to understand (from first principles of the music) if a rationale exists behind it.

It was my first performance of Schumann’s Symphony No. 3, though I admit I was a bit underwhelmed by it. No. 4 remains my favorite so far, and No. 2 on Thursday will complete the Schumann symphonic cycle this season at the BSO, which I am looking forward to.

Harbison’s Symphony No. 1 was written in 1981, and therefore, it is a more modern piece. I admit I’m not the most adventurous modern classical music fan in the world, and while I enjoyed his Double Concerto premiere last season, I did not enjoy Symphony No. 3 as much earlier this year. However, the first symphony definitely had moments I appreciated, especially in the first movement, which i did enjoy. Harbison uses percussion in this piece in interesting ways, and it almost sounds like jazz drums at times behind the symphony orchestra. There’s a lot of audible turbulence in this piece, and one thing that can be frustrating and at least emotional provocative is the movement from one tense phrase to the next. There’s little if any time to fully pause and appreciate the gravity of each little piece of the movement. This is almost more of a general commentary on what I do not enjoy about a lot of modern Western art music: much of it seems to share this mood. Once again, Mr Harbison was in the audience, as we saw him disappear from his far audience right orchestra seat shortly after the conclusion of the piece’s performance, only to have him emerge on the stage for an admittedly languishing audience reception.

Again the gem of the evening came from where I least expected. While my premonition was to favor the Schumann last night, I ended up really enjoying the finale, Wagner’s Prelude and Liebestod from the opera Tristan und Isolde. I do not know the story of Tristan, despite it being well-known, but it must be a solemn affair. The BSO and Symphony Hall both performed exquisitely in this regard, wringing out the emotional intensity of the piece. In the prelude, there is a slow build that culminates in an explosion of strings, and in the silent wake of each phrase is a wrenching longing, in equal parts beautiful and painful. There are hints of a theme forming in the prelude that I hope is revisited at later times in the opera. In the Liebestod, I hear a longing that manages to retain a sense of hope. I’m not sure if this is accurate, but it too is quite a beautiful piece. I had no expectations for this piece and did not even know which Wagner would be performed, but I was delighted and now have a piqued interest in the full opera.

Overall it was a night of near-misses and small triumphs, but the surprise of finding such a great piece with which I wasn’t before familiar always makes it more than worthwhile.

How man? No way. Did he write for a symphony orchestra? Does he write for a jazz orchestra? Come on, man. He’s just a rapper. There’s no comparison. I’m not putting him down or making a judgement or anything, but we come from two different sides of the planet. I spent 28 years learning my first skill. I don’t rap. It’s not the same thing. A producer has to have some sort of skills that enable him to be a producer. It’s totally different to know what to do with 16 woodwinds you know from piccolos down to bass clarinet. It’s a whole different mindset. No comparison. None.

and further elaborated:

I’d appreciate it if people didn’t take my comments about Kanye West ( @KanyeWest ) or anyone else for that matter out of context to contrive a story. I have nothing but respect for my little brother Kanye and what he has achieved in his young career and I look forward to watching his evolution as an artist. There is a reason why we put him on the new We Are The World 25 for Haiti — he’s a great rapper. But having been in the music business for more than 60 years and having been fortunate to accomplish what I have over that time, it’s not unreasonable to put a comparison of Kanye at this time in his career and myself into the proper perspective. This is not dissing Kanye, this is simply trying to express that I’m not a rapper! I don’t need to take anyone else’s props away from them. Let’s all just try and keep the record straight.

Okay, I’ll grant you that Q doesn’t come off quite as gracious as he normally does. Whatever, I also happen to think he’s probably right. It’s slightly amusing to think back to an anecdote from Q’s autobiography in which Michael Jackson’s father is quoted to have said, “Qwancy ain’t no damn producer!” (Maybe this is all fodder for a Kanye autobiography.) Jarenwattananon says, “… it also seems clear that Jones thinks that Kanye is not yet his equal. And I have a hunch that his rationale, while perhaps flawed, illuminates something important about the state of jazz today.”

Now this is the line that piqued my curiosity. Illuminates something important about the state of jazz today? What could this be?

He continues,

“It seems as if in some way, Jones believes that coming up in the jazz community and coming up in the rap world are fundamentally different pursuits … He doesn’t seem to understand the equivalent level of commitment in the hip-hop world — or maybe he doesn’t believe it exists?”

I can’t really figure out where Jarenwattananon goes from here: he seems to meander through a confusing argument comparing the complexity of popular music in two different periods of time. I think that his point here is that pop music and musical knowledge 50 years ago might have been more analytical than it is today. (I’m refraining from answering his claims line-by-line because in good faith I don’t think they were intended for that close scrutiny, despite being written. Having said that, I think there are sweeping generalizations being made that are without support and I suspect would be difficult to support properly.)

And then, the author writes a question that goes to a deeper issue, touching on an issue that’s been on refrain since the golden ages of jazz faded away: is jazz dead? He doesn’t ask this outright but instead asks about the state of jazz today. This is tied back into the logic of the following:

–Here is one of — and arguably the greatest among — the living legends that links practically all eras of jazz together who is claiming that his production accomplishments are not equaled by this modern hip hop producer.
–The author posits that Q might mean this because of the differences in musical knowledge then versus now, and that popular music then was, essentially, more analytically sophisticated than it is now.
–Instead of asking “what about jazz today”, we can just as easily ask “what about music today”.

The author’s conclusion is, “Even after all that, I’m still not convinced Quincy truly does occupy a different planetary orbit … But there’s something to his line of reasoning.” A line of reasoning that seems to rest on a lot of poor explanation, perhaps.

One thing that surprises me is that the author decided not to go after differences in marketability and commercialization. The logic here would be that Q’s laurels were formed on the art of music, and today, one could argue that a lot of music is often guided by what’s commercially successful (a lot of rap sounds the same, man). Therefore production then and production today were very different beasts.

Back in Q’s day, artists were interested in making money from records, sure, but my impression without more than anecdotal evidence is that they were often equally interested in the art of jazz. There are countless stories of the greatest jazz leaders and sidemen who were thrilled to have a shot to be on stage with Miles and Bird, figuring out what they were creating and how to do it themselves. Way before Thriller or Cyndi Lauper, do you think Hamp was thinking, Gosh, how will adding this kid on trumpet affect my bottom line? Lionel Hampton knew that the swingingest band in the biz was going to get him paid. You got a sense that he trusted in that — the art came before the payday. A little later, Q went broke in Europe touring what he felt was the greatest band he’d ever assembled. It turned out to be not commercially viable but damned if it wasn’t the best big band on the planet. The musicians in that group believed in it enough to continue playing even when they knew they were broke.

Now today, there’s definitely an underground cache of hip hop artists and producers who clearly believe in the art of hip hop. J-Live, Talib, Mos, Common, Wordsworth, Eminem, K’naan, and yes, Kanye all came from this tradition. The very roots of hip hop from Afrika Bambataa on up come from this tradition: art first. And while a select few arguably have risen up from the underground to terra firma contracts and big label marketing, there is a sense that there is an altogether different stream of rap out there that seems to have forgotten where it came from. It might have started from Snoop, Warren G, and Big, and it has blazed a trail to a commercial mess of nonsense and glorification of arguably the darkest parts of urban American culture. By the way, not even Tupac Shakur was guilty of this, contrary to popular belief: many of his tracks laid down some seriously uplifting, positive messages. This is not to say that art is all happy endings; but it’s very difficult to believe that a large portion of modern popular rap music isn’t disingenuous.

It is equally disingenuous to say that making an honest living putting out junk music that sells is a poor choice of professions. It is difficult if not impossible to stand aside and judge the choice that one artist makes, artistic legacy be damned.

What’s endlessly fascinating to me, someone whose first musical love was probably the late rhythm and blues and hip hop of the 90s and who grew to love jazz and blues only later in life, is how all of the musical forms are connected. Hip hop owes much to jazz — its socioeconomic roots, its rhythmic character, and its improvisational soul. I cannot imagine that hip hop would have been the same without this important musical precursor. This is not to say that Q is quite right, but the argument could be made that hip hop’s commercial success today can stand on the shoulders of giants: Diz and Trane and Duke and Mingus and Monk and Miles and Bud and Brownie and Herbie and Q.

While I think I would have to be further convinced that music is somehow globally suffering today (Sonya Kitchell, K’naan, Raphael Saadiq, Medeski Martin and Wood, Soulive), I think it’s important to embrace and strive to understand how music is reflective of our culture, now, without forgetting from where it came. Jazz has steadily changed, maybe evolved, and probably grown. Hearing some people play who are considered jazz today, it sounds more like badly written études in western art music. That’s not where jazz went. Soulive is modern jazz. MMW is modern jazz. These cats are doin’ it like what the old lions might recognize (though even it is far from the same). It followed Miles out of the 60s and into rock ‘n’ roll, and it followed Herbie Hancock into electronic funk. You can even trace a straight line right through Herbie with Grandmixer D.ST. on Rockit to bridge jazz and hip hop. The music has moved a long way. Mos Def said it before, “So the next time you ask yourself where Hip Hop is goin’, ask yourself where am I goin’? How am I doin’?” Neal Evans of Soulive once said that all these labels are nuts. (I’m paraphrasing.) It’s Good Music. That’s what really matters — no matter who the artist is. Or the producer.

The gem of the evening was the Piano Concerto in A Minor, Op. 54. I’ve heard nothing but effusive praise for Mr Freire, and with that as a background, was excited to hear him play live. It’s amazing that, dead center but all the way back in orchestra row OO well beneath the first balcony, I could still get a sense of the exquisite touch, in dynamics and especially timing. It’s always a treat to hear piano soloists at Symphony Hall: I think there might be something complex about the acoustics of a building and especially how a piano sounds in it. Looking briefly at the spectral content of a piano, it looks as if the overtones of the primary note decay at different rates, and there might be a relationship with these decay dynamics and building acoustics that makes a piano sound especially good in a particular place. In the case of Symphony Hall and (one of?) its Steinway pianos, I’ve never been drawn into the piano quite like I was during this evening’s performance, despite having heard some wonderful piano concertos here previously.

Finally, the BSO played Symphony No. 4 in D Minor, the only Schumann piece with which I was previously familiar. The third movement Scherzo has something of a feeling of a battle march that resolves in a way that I never quite expect, despite multiple listenings. But the end of the phrase always ends satisfactorily despite my alternative anticipation. It’s a great piece and my first live performance of it.

Due to a schedule miscalculation, I missed last week’s Boston Symphony Orchestra (BSO) performances of Haydn and Mozart. Pianist Christian Zacharias played and conducted, which would have been a treat for the Mozart piano concertos. This following week has a few concerts, but I was unable to get tickets to either Friday or Saturday’s performances due to a busy work schedule. However, I do hope to catch the final Tuesday performance the following week, in which another Schumann symphony will be performed — I’m hoping to complete the cycle this season with the BSO.