Saturday’s concert marked the first time I’ve been able to catch every single festival chamber program — and the last time I’m likely to see our beloved Doc W onstage. It’s not that I didn’t dig chamber music before — but I have Charles and company to thank for making a true chamber geek of me. Nearly 20 years of off-and-on chamber concert attendance — plus 10 years of writing about them — has left me a true warrior amid the ranks of Chucktown’s rabid chamber fans. And those of you who read me year-round know just how hard I can fight for great music.

This final program — which ran through two Sunday performances — was the only predictable one, as we knew from the start that the series would bow out with Franz Schubert’s indescribably deep C Major “Cello Quintet,” per long-standing festival tradition (though the custom was discarded for awhile, in the years following founder Gian Carlo Menotti’s acrimonious split from Charleston’s side of Spoleto).

But we got more than just the Schubert, too. The program kicked off with Richard Strauss’s meaty, one-movement string sextet from his opera Capriccio (written late in the composer’s life) — in which the sextet is performed onstage as part of the opera. But before I get to that, let me drop a few final pearls of Wadsworthian lore — (sniffle, sob!) — the last chance I’ll get to do that for you.

Of course, the crowd greeted him (and his musicians) with a warm standing O as he shambled onstage — to which he quipped. “Was that for my color combination?” He began to introduce the music, stopping to refer to “Geoff, of whom I am the predecessor.” At one point, after Nuttall made a short comment (that I didn’t catch) to him, he puffed up in mock rage, shouting “How DARE you correct me!” He went on to rave about the music, explaining that it was the opera hero’s way of “wooing his lady love.”

With the music introduced, he then — sounding exasperated — proceeded to grumble about how his wife Susan has been bugging him about introducing EACH musician plus his/her instrument. So he proceeded to laboriously name each member of the ST. Lawrence Quartet (violins Nuttall and Scott St. John, violist Lesley Robertson and cellist Chris Costanza), plus extra violist Hsin-Yun Huang and bonus cellist Alisa Weilerstein (“That thing she’s got in front of her is a cello.”). That done, he turned to the crowd, calling out to Susan: “OK, Sweetheart?”

“Well done!” came her reply.

The music lived up to Charles’ effusive billing. It’s an incredibly deep and tender marvel that’s perhaps best described as an intense evocation of youth’s passion and love, viewed from the perspective of old age. The yearning, love-drenched music dripped incredible warmth and nostalgia — with only a few intrusions of bitterness or tension, before melting again into mellow, autumnal serenity. Our players — with their reinforced low end (doubled violas & cellos) — gave it a beautifully dark-toned reading: rich and rosy.

Re-enter Charles, with a breezy, “As much as I often think it’s all due to ME, I must give SOME credit to the many people whose efforts have made this series such a success.” Then he turned serious, as he gave thanks to his producers and stage crew — and, above all, to his fabulous, second-to-none musicians. But he dropped another tidbit when, in the midst of his remarks about the final Schubert piece, he cut loose at his musicians (who were adjusting their music stands and picking pages up off the floor) with, “Here I am, trying to say something profound and moving, and you’re DROPPING stuff!” — followed by his low mutter, “Anything to get attention!”

He went on, describing the music’s unique position at the absolute pinnacle of the chamber repertoire. You ask string players what their favorite chamber work is — and there’s a good chance they’ll name this number. And it sits atop many classical fans’ fave-lists, too (like mine). He described the first two movements as “simply unfathomable,” while the final two movements “are happy and bouncy, to help you get over the first two so you can get on with your day.”

And I’m glad Schubert did that for us, ‘cause the first two movements — as he told us — can really lay you low. It’s the last complete major work he wrote, shortly before his death at the age of 31 — and he knew he didn’t have much longer on this earth. So he packed this music with all of his love, his passion, his yearning for the joys and beauties he’d observed in life, but never quite attained (he was unlucky in love). He tacked on his helpless grief (and outrage) at having to leave all of it so soon, just when he was hitting his stride. This is his final goodbye in music — and nobody’s ever topped it. The challenge of describing music like this makes mere critics want to beat their heads against a wall. All I can do is tell you how it made me FEEL.

I live for moments like this — when a piece of music worms its way into my soul, and (temporarily) lays waste to my psyche. Schubert’s many moments of wrenching grief — and piercing beauty — are almost too much to bear. The performance was absolutely incredible: everybody excelled — but the way Geoff’s keening, quivery violin floated up into its upper reaches in the first movement drilled a big hole in my heart that still hasn’t healed. I lost it, as I usually do when I hear this performed live (bad day to forget my hanky).

The second movement — a soft and sobbing funeral march that soon gets really angry — tore me totally apart. I couldn’t even take notes. All I could do was sit there and suffer wretchedly along with Schubert, my dependable soul-mate — and drip tears. The following scherzo and finale indeed helped me to scrape most of my feelings back up off the floor — but even they contained gritty lapses of sorrow and mourning. No other composer takes you on this kind of manic-depressive roller-coaster ride. I walked out afterwards with an emotional limp.

But let me take you back to just before the Schubert began, when Charles made his own farewells to his crowd. Among other quotes and reminiscences, he recounted a saying from the Presbyterian parson of his youth: “We shall meet again, unless providentially hindered.” And he followed that with “Just you wait, I’m gonna come back and SPY on you!” So mayhaps we haven’t seen the last of him yet. I hope so — old friends are hard to let go of. And he’s made every last one of us feel like an old friend.

The rain held off, the moon came out, and the orchestra was fired up for an outdoor finale that capped off this year's Spoleto Festival USA. Middleton Place didn't seem as full this year, but the spirits were high as picnickers and music-lovers strolled the wonderful grounds before the Festival Orchestra gave the audience a little bit of Bartok. And what better accompaniment for a early 20th-century Hungarian modernist composer than wine, hors d'œuvres, and the sound of a cackling peacock. I saw one sipping water from a puddle and heard another, I think, squawking from one of the many ancient live oaks. Between movements and phrases (they had great timing), the brilliant birds would offer their two cents, sending many in the audience into fits of laughter. And they kept on squawking through Rimsky-Korsakov's beautiful Scheherazade. But like I said, nice touch, especially for something as exotic as Scheherazade. After the concert came the fireworks. It's always good to end with a bang. -JS

Friday’s first outing of program 10 brought the expected assortment of choice chamber plums. Perhaps the sweetest part of King Charles’ bittersweet final year with us is that we’ve been treated to a steady barrage of his personal favorites, from the first program forward. He and his artistic cronies have gone all-out to give us a series to remember.

This one pretty much got right down to business, except for the good doctor’s affectionate reference to Geoff Nuttall — his blindingly blond successor — as “my HAIR apparent.” With that, he turned over the stage to the St. Lawrence Quartet, and Geoff’s usual witty and informative intro to the morning’s first work: Josef Haydn’s Op. 77/No. 2 Quartet.

And his remarks were substantial — but entertaining and informative. He told us that all string quartet players worship regularly at the shrine of “Papa Haydn” — the inventor of the form. He wrote nearly 60 of them, and they’re all works of genius (I agree). He then talked us lovingly through the whole thing, movement by movement — demonstrating a few magic moments as he went. “I really want you to get this,” he effused. He finished with “Just like I tell my son Jack to eat his veggies to make his brain grow … listen to your Haydn.”

And, thanks to his delightful lesson, the music’s genius was indeed revealed more fully — even to a seasoned classical geek like me. The opening movement was full of Haydn’s usual sparkling wit and exuberance, leading into a racy minuet that came across more like a scherzo. The slow movement’s theme and variations grew from a very simple, rather drab theme (Papa H. was not the best of melodists, as Geoff had pointed out) — but the music’s miracle lay in how he made something ordinary blossom into a marvel of sophistication and varied emotion. The finale’s mad dash to the finish line — after the shock of beginning in an entirely different key (quite revolutionary in its day) — left us breathless.

Thence to Antonin Dvorak’s lovely Four Romantic Pieces, for violin (Daniel Phillips) and piano (Steven Prutsman). But not before Wadsworth abjectly begged our pardon for subjecting us to a longer-than-usual program (even though he knew we’d stick around all day if he let us). “It’s just that I’m trying to fit in as many of my favorites as I can.” Bring ‘em on, Charles — you’ll get no complaints from us.

I heard Phillips (with another pianist) play these aching pieces one or two Spoletos ago — and was overjoyed to hear them again. Like Wadsworth told us, “With Danny, it’s all about the music — not him.” The opening piece’s sweet and flowing lyricism led into the second piece’s brusque dance, before lapsing back into the third number’s dulcet serenity. The final larghetto’s poignant lament swelled into dramatic intensity before fading back to a soft sigh at the end.

Robert Schumann — a musical manic-depressive if there ever was one — left us one of his most relentlessly cheerful works in the E-flat Piano Quartet, Op. 47. Charles proudly introduced his “dream team” of musicians for it: Phillips and Prutsman were again on duty, plus Hsin-Yun Huang on viola and Alisa Weilerstein on cello. Doc W took the chance to remind us that these players — along with just about everybody else we’ve heard here this year — are not just hyper-talented newbies destined for greatness … they’re already there (even though some of them still look quite young).

After a slow introduction, our musicians simply exploded into buoyant good spirits. The following scherzo — despite its rather sinister start — dazzled us with its high-speed, often gossamer “tiptoeing” motif. The piece’s tender core was found in the slow movement, beginning with some of the most devastating cello singing I’ve yet heard from Weilerstein. Just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, she passed on her theme in turn to Huang and Phillips — and the overall beauty was almost too much to bear. Then they went all polyphonic on us in the manic finale: pure fun, with a fantastic final fugal flourish!

Charles, you can take us into overtime anytime you like.

Thursday’s third and final Intermezzi series event featured three lead singers from this year’s production of Louise (our only opera this time ‘round) in recital. But significant changes were made from the festival’s program guide: the only singer listed who actually performed was Stefania Dovhan, who handled the opera’s title role beautifully. The listed tenor was Sergey Kunaev, Louise’s male lead — but we heard tenor David Cangelosi (Louise’s Noctambulist/Pope of Fools) instead (and I’m glad we did). Then there was the bonus appearance of Louis Otey , Louise’s operatic daddy. Their collaborator at the piano was all-round keyboard wizard Michael Baitzer.

Together, they brought us a choice assortment of opera arias, art-songs and Neapolitan numbers. Baitzer further served as host, announcing each number and telling us something about it. Our artists pretty much took turns evenly throughout the recital — but here, I’ll cover each singer’s contributions all at once — making for (I hope) a more coherent review.

Ladies first. Dovhan began her all-operatic selections with a pair of linked arias from G. F. Handel’s Giulio Cesare: one of his masterpieces in the genre. She let it be known right away that she was in spectacular voice in “E pur cosi in un giorno,” a desperate lament — following it with “Piangero la sorte mia,” a scathing “rage” aria. Her rendition of “Come scoglio,” from W. A. Mozart’s Cosi fan Tutte, showed off both her vocal agility and her remarkable range (Mozart left his sopranos some cruelly low notes in this one). Her piercing high notes made the rafters ring in her final solo aria: “Stridono Lassu,” from Ruggiero Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci. She also appeared with Otey, excelling in “Tutte le feste al tempio,” a dramatic and touching duet from Verdi’s Rigoletto: the same general kind of father-daughter duet she’s been singing with him in Louise.

On to Mr. Cangelosi, who started off with “Pecche,” a lovelorn Neapolitan song that showcased his rich, emotion-laden tenor. His next offerings were art-songs: “Sonntag,” a giddy number by Brahms — and Faure’s “Lydia,” a tender piece that revealed his more pastel vocal colors. And he floated some ravishing, high head-tones in “Vainement, ma bien aimee,” from Edouard Lalo’s Le Roi d’Ys. His final number was “Nothing more than this,” from Leonard Bernstein’s Candide — and he gave it a passionate and ringing rendition that brought the house down.

Otey owns a rich and rolling bass-baritone voice — married to a deep, but uncontrived sense of expression that made him memorable in Louise. And he used it to mostly good advantage here. He was most impressive in “Nemico della patria,” from Umberto Giordano’s Andrea Chenier. But in his Rigoletto duet with Dovhan, some small signs of vocal distress became apparent. A few of his notes sounded burry or strangled, and sounded like he had to drop down from his final high note. By the time he got to “Core ‘ngrato” — a Neapolitan love song by Salvatore Cardillo — his problems were even more apparent (vocal overstrain? Charleston’s pea-soup humidity?). But he still managed a fair account of his final piece, “Ol’ Man River,” from Showboat, the Jerome Kern musical … to include everybody’s favorite low note.

Baitzer provided his usual emotive and seemingly effortless piano collaboration. He’s earned the chance to shine in such a recital as this: Michael is one of the festival’s busiest musical worker-bees, and he never gets proper credit for it. He’s the main rehearsal pianist for Spoleto’s opera productions (a tough job) — and he pops up in performances wherever a steady and sensitive hand at the keyboard is needed (like at Music in Time, the day before). Whether at the harpsichord or piano — or even the early “fortepiano” (as in his deft recitative support in Mozart’s Cosi Fan Tutte some years back) — Michael’s our main keyboard workhorse. And now we know he’s a great host/announcer, too!

In all, it was a most impressive and enjoyable display of vocal glory.

Geoff Nuttall called yesterday. It was the first time he talked to City Paper since being appointed the new director of Spoleto's chamber music series. He succeeds Charles Wadsworth, who originated the role 30-plus years ago. Nuttall begins in 2010. He's been associate director since 2008.

What did we talk about? Not surprisingly, we talked about the Dock Street Theatre. The city of Charleston and Spoleto are in the middle of a $20 million rehab project. On Thursday, Nigel Redden, Spoleto's general director, gave Nuttall and three other chamber series musicians — violinist Scott St. John (also of the St. Lawrence Quartet), clarinetist Todd Palmer, and flutist Tara Helen O'Connor — a tour of the project. I tagged along, as did Adam Parker, reporter for The Post and Courier.

By the time Nuttall call me on the phone, he was "psyched."

On the Dock Street in general
"I'm really psyched about it. I think it's going to be one of the country's greatest destinations."

On its sophisticated HVAC system
"I was so glad to see such care put into the air system. Before, we had to turn it off, because it was so noisy [the unit was literary backstage, so was inevitably loud]. Then people would complain because it was too hot and we'd have to turn it back on. It was a constant struggle."

On Spoleto's role in the city-led renovation
"You can see Spoleto's influence in the care that went into the air system. The engineers are getting right from the start and it's going to ideal for chamber music."

On his vision for the chamber series
"You know, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. But we can't be Charles, because no one can be Charles. We're not going to lose the intimacy and we'll continue to involve the audience in everything we do."

On refreshing the ranks of an aging audience
"I'd like to connect more with a younger audience. One of the things [the St. Lawrence String Quartet does] is go into the schools and put on a preview of a show we'll do later. Then we'll bus them downtown for the concert. That way we'll get more people exposed to this music."

On additions to the series
"One thing Charles did for a while was a composer-in-residence program. I'd like to see that come back. We want the audience to be a part of the creative and cultural process of a living composer making new chamber work."

On chamber series programming
"The format is going to be the same. You buy a ticket and you don't know what the program is going to be. And they'll still be eclectic. I agree with Charles. I'm also anti-theme. But we have a variety of music and there's something for everybody from baroque to the work of living composers."

Spoleto wraps this weekend. Here's what you still have time to see:

Saturday's Performances:
1:00pm - Chamber XI, Memminger Auditorium
2:00pm - Dogugaeshi, Gaillard Exhibition Hall
2:00pm - Good Cop Bad Cop - Emmett Robinson Theatre
3:30pm - Don John, Memminger
7:00pm - Louise, Gaillard Auditorium
8:00pm - Good Cop Bad Cop - Emmett Robinson Theatre
8:00pm - Dogugaeshi, Gaillard Exhibition Hall
8:30pm - Don John, Memminger
8:30pm - Noche Flamenca, Cistern Yard

Sunday's Performances:
11:00am - Chamber XI, Memminger Auditorium
1:00pm - Chamber XI, Memminger Auditorium
2:00pm - Dogugaeshi, Gaillard Exhibition Hall
2:00pm - Good Cop Bad Cop - Emmett Robinson Theatre
3:30pm - Don John, Memminger
8:30pm - Finale, Middleton Place

Box office: 843.579.3100
In person: Gaillard Auditorium, 77 Calhoun Street
Online: www.spoletousa.org

If the rain holds out, Spoleto might reach its sales target for this year of $2.2 million. That's according to an Associated Press report from earlier today. Sales projections were already scaled back to meet a scaled back budget. This year, it was $6.2 million. In 2008, it was $8.4 million. Last year set a box office record, the lastest in a string of record-breakers stretching back over the past half decade. No one seems to be expecting that in 2009.

The economy isn't the only thing kicking Spoleto in the shins. It's the weather, too. That $2.2 million sales goal depends on whether the festival can sell well the rest of this weekend's events. And many of the rest of this weekend's events are outside. But the weather forecast (according to www.weather.com) is calling for a 60 percent chance of rain (the AP report said it was a 30 percent chance) today and Saturday. That includes thunderstorms, which tend to include unpleasant things like lightning.

(above courtesy of www.weather.com)

A.E. Housman knew a poem was good if he thought of it while shaving and it made his skin bristle. Bottom line: Who can say what's good art and what's not good art? When the stage goes dark, the critics stop writing, and the festival starts planning for next year, what are you going to remember? I suspect shows that sent a tingle down your spine. We can argue about aesthetics, but no one can tell you how you felt. Here are five shows that did for me what good poetry did for Housman (though I wasn't shaving at the time; I was watching the shows, but you knew that already).

• Dogugaeshi
The silver-maned fox with wide-open eyes appearing, disappearing, and reappearing amid gorgeous and ornately decorated slides all accompanied by an exotic three-string Japanese guitar. Just magical.

• Don John
The dead father of one of Don John's conquests dressed in his Army finest and standing beneath a high light with snow gently falling on his head. It's a hallucination, for sure, but a beautiful image, too.

• Good Cop Bad Cop
A women pretending to be a cat who is preparing to pounce on a rolled up piece of tape. On the wall behind her, we see the the same woman in a video interview recounting the experience that we are about to see, as if she were on a reality TV show. She says: "Oh, yeah. I was all about that."

• Story of a Rabbit
Hugh Hughes putting on his tie while at the same time a video is projected on the wall behind him of his dead father putting on his tie. The resemblance is striking — and the metaphor so deeply moving.

• Cedar Lake Contemporary Ballet
Two dancers who seem to be lovers move as if they are one body, then two, and then one again. They break from each other and she steps against a shadow, which turns out to be another dancer — perhaps her secret lover. The trick of light was stunning and marvelous.

• Sheep's Clothing
Paul Whitty, as the overweight and underpaid Luggs, has just witnessed his friends getting an ass-kicking by the traitor in their midst. "Oh, hell," he says, after a long pause. He can't let his friends down, so he steps up to get his ass kicked too. A hilarious display of loyalty and friendship.

It's true that Charles Wadsworth's retirement has been a big story. It's also true that violinist Geoff Nuttall's appointment as Wadsworth's successor as director of Spoleto's chamber music series, has been a big story. But the truly big story of 2009, the one that will have lasting ramifications for the city for years and years to come, has hardly been discussed. Why? Because we can't see it yet. The seeds have only lately been sown.

What I'm talking about is venues.

Last year, Spoleto opened the Memminger after spending $6 million fixing it up. In February 2010, it hopes to reopen the Dock Street Theatre after a two-year, $20 million renovation. In the middle of this year's festival, a wondrous and anonymous gift of $20 million was pledged in order to jump-start further giving toward a $105 million upgrade of the Gaillard.

I should say right here that these are the result of a long-time public-private partnership between the city and the festival. Basically, it's scratching backs. Spoleto needs venues, but market forces have been unkind. The loss of the Garden Theatre is only one example. The city, moreover, needs the festival — its revenue potential and the prestige it brings. For them to work together toward creating more arts venues is a no-brainer, especially when the ancillary benefit is other arts groups can use them the rest of the year.

I know, I know. How can locals afford them? I'm not going to get into that right now. Even so, no one can argue whether the Memminger is a joy to experience. Anyone who's seen Don John (or any of Charleston Stage's productions) knows why it is. And no one, once they see it, will likely complain about the Dock Street. I've toured the building twice since the beginning of Spoleto and I look forward to its opening. It won't please everyone, but reasonable people will see why it's been worth the wait.

And now attentions are turning toward the Gaillard, the armpit of our performing arts community. I don't have any qualms about whether it should be rehabbed. My concern is that it's done well. If I hadn't seen what's been done with the Memminger and the Dock Street (and, for that matter, what the festival did to its headquarters on George Street), I might have serious reservations (well, I might not either; I really don't like the Gaillard). But I don't. If they can raise the money to start work by 2011 — and in a city like ours, where individuals are land-rich but cash-poor, this is an enormous if — the money will likely have been spent well.

If all goes well, by the middle of the next decade, Charleston will have three major arts venues. And that, not retirements and appointments (however wonderful those are) is the real story of 2009.

(above is courtesy of The Post and Courier: an option for the exterior of a renovated Gaillard)

The first number — Danish composer Per Norgard’s I Ching — is an all-percussion piece, from which we heard two movements: “The Gentle, the Permanent” and “Towards Completion: Fire over water.” The work’s title is that of the Chinese “Book of Changes” that addresses ways of bringing order out of worldly chaos. Kennedy described it as an exploration of “rapidly changing events” — like the reconciling of opposing rhythmic patterns as they “phase” or fade in and out of each other.

You should’ve seen the huge battery of assorted percussion instruments onstage. As Kennedy told us, such stagefuls of instruments are becoming obsolete among the composers of today — who are able to generate just about any kind of percussion sound they need on their laptops. At work (and I mean WORK) was fabulous Spoleto Festival Orchestra percussionist Eric Shin — whose playing has floored me in Spoletos past, too.

The piece began with some doodling on some sort of keyed instrument mounted atop a single timpani drum, with what sounded like exotic cowbells and sleigh-bells. Things got really interesting later in this section, as he manipulated the timpani’s pitch-pedal, producing some far-out “wowing” sounds. Here’s where the opposing rhythms Kennedy spoke of were first heard.

Shin then moved on to his big drum-array, where he laid down some of the most spectacular drum-work I’ve heard lately: his drumsticks were a blur. And, boy, was it LOUD. He then shifted to another set of instruments: a vibraphone (I think), plus what looked and sounded like mini-sets of tinkly wind-chimes and a tuned bamboo-stick contraption (didn’t catch the name). From there it was back to the big drums, whence we heard all kinds of patterns and textures. The piece ended with a single, big gong-note.

Then came the concert’s main fare: three absorbing (and often very funny) pieces by Utah resident Phillip Bimstein. His shtick is to collect digital samples of everyday sounds, inside and out, and manipulate them into canned soundtracks consisting of “choruses” of layered sound and/or rhythmic patterns. But have you ever a chorus of cats? Or cows? Or chugging rhythmic patterns from such creatures? It was a real TRIP! Playing over these soundtracks were real, live SFO musicians.

First up was Cats in the Kitchen, which Kennedy described as a sort of “Sinfonia Domestica” for cats and kitchen sounds — plus oboe (Alison Chung) and flute (Clint Foreman). The three movements were “Eggs and Toast,” “O Sole Meow” and “Where’s your Mouse, McGee?” I won’t attempt to break them down for you — but we got artful pastiches of any kitchen sound you’ve ever heard (eggs breaking and frying, toaster popping, coffee pouring, etc. — as well as the full feline sonic repertoire (meows, hisses, screeches, purrs, etc.) and even a human voice in the final section. And nobody can deny that it’s real, accessible music. It was not only catchy, but hilarious: at times, the musicians — while contributing tunefully — could hardly keep straight faces (laughter can be a problem when you’re blowing on an instrument). A gaggle of small children sitting near me really dug it. Gotta find a recording of that one to play for my cat person friends (and my cats).

Then we got Half Moon at Checkerboard Mesa — which I heard as a sort of mini-concerto for solo violin and orchestra — only the “orchestra” was an assortment of crickets, frogs and coyotes, as recorded on Checkerboard Mesa in Utah. But — thanks to Bimstein’s digital wizardry and musical instincts — these seemed to be virtuoso critters: able to howl, bark, croak and chirp in chorus, rough tune and perfect rhythm. But In fact, the only virtuoso present was SFO violinist Byron Hitchcock, who played splendidly. Despite a few tongue-in-cheek moments, this one wasn’t as funny — it was more of a natural night-scene in music.

The final number was Garland Hirschi’s Cows — the piece that got Bimstein rolling in this particular direction; it quickly gained cult-fave status after it first appeared in 1992. The piece employs both human and bovine speech samples (plus the sounds of milking machines and other cattle-farm devices), spread across three movements: “A little bit about my cows,” “Pastureale,” and “MOOvement.” The human voice is that of cattleman Hirschi, heard in repetitive patterns over a fairly sophisticated cow chorus.

This one also called for an ensemble of live players: violinist Fang Rong Wang, cellist Aleisha Verner and clarinetist Michael Byerly (who did his own mooing on a BASS clarinet, too) — plus festival piano workhorse Michael Baitzer on keyboard and percussionist Eric Renick on xylophone. A couple of them doubled on whistles and tambourine. The piece ended up sporting a huge range of sounds and effects — and it was very MOOving.

What more can I say, except that you should’ve been there.

Just when we thought it might be time for Spoleto to announce a rain location for tonight's performance of Noche Flamenca, the festival does just that. If it rains tonight, and there's a 60 percent chance that the skies will open up just like they did last night, the new location will be the Charleston Music Hall at 37 John St. Festival officials are closely watching the weather and will make a decision the closer we get to 8:30 p.m. For updates, call the box office at 843.579.3100 or check out Spoleto's website. If you had a ticket for last night and would like a refund or an exchange for a ticket tonight, you should call the box office, too. -JS

To read more about options for this weekend's finales, including Fringe and Piccolo, and where to score your picnic, read this write-up.