Opening night at the Symphony, 2013

What's going on here? Marcher and Margarita. Photo by Stephen Lam (SF Chronicle)

I've lived in the Tenderloin for a little over eight years. Eleven years ago I lived on the top of Nob Hill, in a small one-bedroom apartment with a great eastern view of the Financial District and the Bay Bridge. Then I became engaged to a woman from Little Rock, Arkansas so I gave up that apartment and together we rented another, larger one on the opposite side of the hill which had Golden Gate views out of every window including the bathroom. I was told the apartment was once the home of a famous billionaire's ex-wife.

The girl from Little Rock and I parted instead of married, and since it was my decision to do so it was I who had to leave the rooms with the views. I ended up doing something I swore I would never do, which was to move south of California Street, and I took an incredibly fantastic apartment on Geary Street with an oval bedroom, huge windows facing west and south, a lovely and whimsical backyard, and a neighbor who had a baby grand in his apartment from which he filled the air with impeccably nuanced interpretations of Chopin and Rachmaninoff. It was the greatest apartment I had ever lived in, even though it was on the outer edge of the 'Loin.

Then I met the woman from New Orleans, and rolled even further south into an apartment on O'Farrell half the size of my previous place, but with a stunning, 180-degree view of the south side of the City, the tawdry grit of Ellis Street eleven floors beneath me, and the myriad happy sounds of the Tenderloin drifting up to the windows 24 hours a day. The moral of this story is if you like where you live, don't date Southern women, no matter how charming they are- it only leads to an inevitable downward roll into the Tenderloin, and if you're lucky, rehab.

Living in the 'Loin, I always feel extremely conspicuous when I step outside my building into the street wearing a tux. The only upside is that it makes it very easy for a cab to spot me from two blocks away and soon I was in one heading to Margarita's place- which is only slightly more than a mile away but at times feels like twenty. I arrived at 7:00 and she was almost ready. Fifteen minutes later another cab took us to Davies Symphony Hall and soon we were in the Green Room, nibbling at slices of lox and trying to figure out who was who among the packed, buzzing crowd. Many of the faces I recognized, but an equal amount were new to me. Along one wall sat two young people with large plastic badges stating "PRESS" strung over their necks busily typing into laptops without ever looking up. I wondered what they were writing and for whom, but not enough to ask them. I guess the badges were to let others know not to ask them for more champagne, because I didn't see any of the people I know who are actually "press" wearing badges of any kind, except for a small few who chose to display their status by opting not to dress properly for the occasion.

We exited the Green Room to watch the fashion parade taking place in the main lobby. Margarita has an astute eye, and as we discussed the clothes and their wearers, she filled me in on their designers, fabrics, and prices, and I offered what I knew regarding identities, backstories, and dirt. The crowd was noticeably younger this year, and among this group the women made a valiant effort to match the glamour of their elders, some succeeding with unconventional choices which yielded stunning results, others not so much.

I also noticed 3 of my neighbors among the throng, which means that - gasp! - other people from the TL had somehow managed to crash this party, which also means not everyone who attends the opening night gala for the SF Symphony (or the SF Ballet or SF Opera, for that matter) lives in Sea Cliff or Pacific Heights. How did this happen?

I note this only because I was reading the generally class-consciously resentful/nasty/ignorant comments on SFGate that make it seem like these events are only for the very rich and powerful. While it's certainly true that these evenings are designed for and cater to that audience, that's not a bad thing- an incredible amount of money is raised from these folks which in turn supports these organizations, and in this country, the financial support of the rich is a necessity. Without it, these institutions would cease to exist. So stop carping and next year get yourself a relatively inexpensive ticket (they are available), which would cost you much less than a good seat at a 49er's game, and go enjoy the party. And believe me, it is a great party- the drinks are free, the food is good, people are out to have a good time and the entertainment is top notch- before, during, and after the concert. You will have a good time and you can choose to just ignore the fact that the mayor, the Speaker of the House, and the Yahoo woman are there in the room with you- just like they're ignoring your presence. Everybody wins!

After the obligatory singing of our national anthem, the Symphony launched into George Antheil's Jazz Symphony. I've never heard the thing before, which has heavy doses of Stravinsky and American big band thrown together into a big, messy stew, but it came off as something of a hot mess. Whether or not this was by Antheil's design or the orchestra's execution I can't rightly say, but it did give Principal Trumpet Mark Inouye a glorious opportunity to get seriously down and greasy with a mute, and Robin Sutherland also had some fine solos on the piano. Gershwin's An American in Paris mines similar territory with greater effect and substantially more coherence, and the orchestra was more persuasive with it as the finale, but both choices seemed to be programmed more as vehicles to accompany a celebration than for making a case about the importance of the intersection of classical and jazz.

However, these paled compared to singer Audra McDonald's appearances during both halves. Conveying sex appeal and elegance in equal measure in a fantastic dress, McDonald, launching her own national tour with this performance, has a voice better-suited to Broadway than the opera house, and her first set of songs were all by Leonard Bernstein, including a gorgeous version of "Somewhere" from West Side Story and a completely delightful version of "A Hundred Easy Ways to Lose a Man" from Wonderful Town. As good as she was here, she was even better in the second half with "The Music That Makes Me Dance" from Funny Girl and had the entire house singing along with her on "I Could Have Danced All Night" which somehow she made fun rather than schmaltzy. Her banter with Michael Tilson Thomas was natural and easy- they seemed like two old friends having a good time together, especially when MTT tried to mislead her about the composer of one of the songs.

The after-party is always my favorite part of this event and this year was the best, most fun-filled version of it I've attended so far. In the tent next to the hall The Cheeseballs were tearing it up, with everyone dancing pretty much from get-go (they need to work on those vocals for Daft Punk's "Get Lucky), and a DJ performing in between sets. There were tables of delicious food (coldcuts, crab cocktails, and chocolates) scattered along the walls, short lines for drinks, and plenty of room to dance or just sit and watch women approach Willie Brown and have their photo taken with him. Both he and his date seemed to take it all in with good humor.

The DJ in the tent set up on Grove Street was none other than composer/electronica artist/DJ Mason Bates, who was accompanied by a guy (I didn't get his name) on an electric 5 string double bass. Bates' set was alluring, and drew Margarita's attention, and it was only after listening for awhile and then approaching the table we were surprised to discover it was the composer. We ended up talking with him a bit and he was extremely gracious. His music will be paired with Beethoven's in two separate programs this season. I was leaning toward attending the one featuring Alternative Energy, which he performed here with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra when they came to town during the Centennial Season, but after hearing that Liquid Interface, which hasn't been heard here before, is (I'm paraphrasing here) like a waterfall, I'm inclined to want to hear that perhaps as much if not slightly more than the return of the tremendously successful Alternative Energy.

We left around midnight. The party was still going, but we had jobs to be at in the morning. It was easily the best night out I've had in a long time.