There was an embarassment of riches this week at the Mostly Mozart Festival, which kicked off Monday with the return of the Emerson String Quartet, who played Dvorak's "American" Quartet, Barber's Adagio, and Schubert's "Trout" Quintet (with Joyce Yang, piano, and Timothy Cobb, bass) with their peerless power and precision. All throughout, the packed Alice Tully Hall was riveted by their seamless playing, honed over the past 35 years. At the end of this season, cellist David Finckel—who joined in 1979—will be replaced by Paul Watkins; time will only tell if the group can keep its dynamic intact.

I saw the Mostly Mozart Festival Orchestra twice this week, under two different conductors that produced two very different outcomes. On Tuesday, the orchestra sounded fine playing Beethoven's Third Piano Concerto, thanks largely to Rudolf Buchbinder's (making his Mostly Mozart debut) effortless mastery. (Buchbinder warmed up with Beethoven's "Appasionata" Sonata in a pre-concert recital.) But, the MMFO sounded lost in Schubert's "Great" Ninth/Eighth Symphony, with the horns missing all over the place and the winds sounding shaky at best. I'm sure Osmo Vänskä, who is usually an excellent conductor, could have used more time to rehearse, but it was a far cry from when I heard Riccardo Muti conduct it with the Vienna Phil in the Musikverein. Bottom line: If you're not going to do something as majestic and triumphant as this symphony right—and with the right number of forces—don't do it at all. 

Fortunately, the MMFO sounded far better last night with their Music Director, Louis Langrée, on the podium, leading with confidence and flair (and without a score.) Langrée, who is celebrating his tenth season as Mostly Mozart's Music Director, started off with a novelty: Mozart's First Symphony, written when he was eight years old. For a near-toddler, it was pretty mindblowing: I could swear I heard bits of Giovanni and Figaro throughout. That was followed by Schubert's "Tragic" Fourth Symphony, which went right everywhere the "Great" went wrong: the strings carried the dark, brooding texture, the brass crisp and clear. 

But the reason Avery Fisher was packed to the top balconies last night was the star on the second half of the program: namely, Joshua Bell, playing Brahms' Violin Concerto. A big, meaty concerto clocking in at over 40 minutes, the Brahms might be the most challenging of all the major violin concertos: a seamless blend of orchestra and violin, with each playing off of the other. Bell, one of the few irrefutable stars of classical music, dispatched it flawlessly, of course, but also with the mesmerizing flair for which he's become famous. Langrée and the MMFO held up their end of the bargain, matching Bell's speed and energy with power and precision.

Before the performance, I had the temerity to question Bell's star quality to my friend Shannon, herself an amateur violinist. "Have you ever tried to play a note on a violin?" she asked me. (I haven't.) "When most people try it, it comes out sounding like a wretching seagull. To make it sound like he does is just a friggin' miracle. And, no, it doesn't help that he plays a Strad: that would just make it louder." Case closed.

More pics below and on the FoM Tumblr.

Peter Joost, a quiet and gentle board member of NYC Audubon for the past two decades, led a bird walk in Central Park yesterday as part of the Mostly Mozart Festival, which has birds—and music inspired by birds—as a central theme this year. Joost has worked tirelessly to protect local birds and their habitat in NYC for the past 35 years, having served as president of the Brooklyn Bird Club and the Linnean Society, as well as a beloved educator at St. Bernard's School. 

I learned from Joost that there are 30 nesting species in Central Park, including cardinals, blue jays, robins, swifts, and house sparrows—which apparently used to be so numerous, they would create clouds in the sky. According to Joost, the sparrows were finally done in once the internal combustion engine took away their key food supply: horse manure.

I also learned that some 790 other bird species stop off in Central Park during their annual migrations, with the birds always flying at night to avoid predators and various man-made threats.

At one point, we all heard a repetitive, high-pitched chirp. "That's a baby cardinal," Joost said, "shouting 'Feed Me! Feed Me!'" Sadly, I didn't see anyone carrying around staff paper, Messiaen-style, in order to write it down.

More info on upcoming Mostly Mozart bird walks here.

by Jacqueline Alemany

In an ode to Harlem, Langston Hughes once waxed:

“Take Harlem’s heartbeat, make a drumbeat,

Put it on a record, let it whirl,

Put it on a record, let it whirl,

And while we listen to it play,

Dance with you till day.” 

Janka Nabay and the Bubu Gang did just that this past Tuesday at Harlem's Ginny’s Supper Club to celebrate the release of their newest album, En Yay Sah. Just an hour prior to the show, Nabay, a prominent and seasoned star from Sierra Leone, could be found pacing the dimly lit club, anxiously anticipating the introduction of Bubu music to what was once the epicenter of the jazz world.

Twenty years ago, Nabay heard an advertisement on the radio for SuperSounds: a Liberian music company taking refuge in Sierra Leone that was calling on local artists to record. Nabay went in and sang a Bubu song from his childhood, which led to a 1994 album that went on to win Record and Artist of the Year honors. After years spent persuading Africans to focus on their cultural roots rather then mimic Western styles, Nabay was forced to flee to America after war broke out in Sierra Leone.

The Bubu Gang is the result of a seemingly magical genesis that has carried Nabay from working at a fast-food fried chicken joint in the Bronx to finding a new home in Brooklyn and the support of David Byrne’s Luaka Bop label. The restless Nabay sharply contrasted with the placid ease of his band, which consists of Boshra Al-Saadi (a.k.a. Saadi), keyboardist Michael Gallope, guitarist Doug Shaw, and bassist Jason McMahon. A flurry of red, green and yellow, fast-paced melodies, a psychedelic guitar, rhythmic flutes, and a sometimes-hypnotic drum effortlessly pulled the crowd in. Even David Byrne’s head bop, nearly hidden in the dark corner directly to the right of the band, was more fervent than usual as he was sucked into the beat of each song.