Saariaho didn’t use any woodwinds or brass, but instead chose to slap our skulls with nothing but sour, sliding violins in some sort of dark, avant garde mysterium. It was like a schizophrenic wolf running around a forest, killing everything and not knowing why.

Then Piotr Anderszewski - yeah - was the pianist who doth rocketh Beethoven all the way back to the old school. Homeboy, mit supafly jacket that I need to buy, tossed out Piano Concerto No. 1 in mind-dissolving Beethoven cascading thunder, which pretty much everyone dug. Solid.

Finally, the BSO whipped out two Sibelius joints, The Bard (a harp ditty), and Symphony No. 3, which was solidly triumphant. The harp was tight, as you would imagine, and the symphony was sorta like an old school Finnish anthem that celebrated winning a war, instead of losing one, which they usually do. All in all, I got a bit dozy, but I’m sure everyone else did. Our seats were ridiculous, as was the diamond on the woman next to me. Big, big pimpin.

BSO.org info page