Spellbound at Massey Hall, January 30, 2013

This was the scene at Massey Hall about fifteen minutes before Wynton Marsalis and Jazz at Lincoln Centre began their seduction of divine artistry and expressive passion. As we settled into our seats and surveyed our surroundings, it was clear this wasn't going to be "just another Wednesday evening"!

There was a great buzz in the air - sashaying across the red floors and swirling up the black support beams and skipping along the seat backs - rendering the crowd tipsy with anticipation. This is one lush, historic venue, well-versed in the hosting of serious music lovers as they delight in their genre of choice.

This vantage point provided a different angle of this grand space. While the view from the back of the theatre puts the scalloped ceiling on display, this view from the side showcases the tidy seating levels and stained-glass windows high above. From this angle, one can not only revel in the antics of those on stage but also in the reactions of those gleefully under their spell.

As the artists occupied the stage, the star trumpeter assumed his position at the back of the ensemble, and maintained it right up until the encore. Wynton Marsalis even retained his seat for his solos, revealing much about his modesty and his support of the other performers. The intention for this band is to promote jazz. Mission accomplished.

This concert solidified my existence as a jazz lover! My jaw fell open as I absorbed the first number and it pretty much remained there for the duration of the show (and judging from the honest vocal reactions of other members of the audience, I wasn't the only one captivated). I marvelled at the performers' ability to interpret the music, knowledge of their respective instruments' capabilities (and ability to push those limits wholeheartedly!), and razor-sharp communication between and during sets.

I delighted in the genuine expressions of enjoyment amongst the performers. I think musicians must be at the top of the "work that doesn't feel like work" ladder. The pianist was absolutely giddy as he arched over his keys, his fingers fluttering proficiently along each one, his smile radiating out into the air. The drummer, the only performer not wearing a suit jacket (who rocked his suspenders) was also beaming like a kid at Christmas. The bassist lavished sweet attention onto his bass, passionately devouring its neck at one moment , and softly plucking its strings the next.  

It was great to observe performers who held an obvious level of admiration towards one another's instrument of choice. They would turn around during their break to drink in another's performance, perhaps learning a little something along the way, perhaps reaffirming a sense of gratitude for sharing their craft.

There were a few performances at centre stage, including a sexy and very physical guest trombone soloist, a smooth and charismatic baritone sax feature, and a trio performing an exquisite and impossibly delicate rendition of Mood Indigo.

Everything about the experience sang to me. I even loved that when the ensemble played 42nd and Broadway, I remembered that I once stood at that very intersection! But I guess that's part of the interpretive power of music: its tendency to evoke memories and stimulate emotions that are unique to each and every person drawn into its spell.