Happy new year, friends! I hope you spent your holidays surrounded by family, whether chosen or biological. I’m still eating my way through the nine quarts of beef stew I made for Christmukkah — the eight musicians who gathered in my living room didn’t stand a chance.
The hour is upon us (or perhaps, a touch belated) for best-of-2024 roundups, and I’ve been pondering my own favorites and un-favorites as I sift through trusted lists from Gramophone, The Guardian, and NPR. Like last year, I failed to keep a running list of my concert adventures. Too bad, that would have been a fun statistic to wave around — my final count easily settles north of 100.
Gun to my head, I could probably produce a bulleted top-NYC-concerts list for you — I definitely heard bests and worsts and plenty in between — but that feels disingenuous to my year in music, inexorably connected to my trying year in life. This year, I relied on music to guide me through emotional territory I hope to revisit rarely (if ever), and thus, my musical memories exist less as evaluative, comparative thoughts than as snapshots of feelings in time.
So, friends, let’s talk about my 2024 in music: how it’s made me feel, what I’ve learned about myself, and how I’ll proceed from here. I’ll give the usual content warnings — death, depression, general Big Sad — and thank you, once again, for bearing with my wallowing. The only productive way to digest these emotions is straight through the storm’s eye, and imagining my Substack void full of caring ears has helped tremendously. (Usual listings below, of course, so feel free to skip. Some good stuff this month!)
A year ago last night, on New Year’s Eve 2023, my dear college friend Sarah and I were primping ourselves for an epic dinner-and-show night out with a gaggle of friends. First stop, beef chow fun and razor clams in black bean sauce at Wu’s Wonton King, where a banquet for twelve can come out below $30/head. Then, my friend Doug Balliett’s opera Gawain and the Green Knight, a lively December 31 tradition at the Chinatown church where Doug serves as composer-in-residence. Bacchanalia followed; I remember stumbling onto Grand Street around 12:30am, friends in tow, in search of Sanmiwago’s midnight dumplings.
That was the second-to-last time I saw Sarah — she sang madrigals at my birthday party just a couple weeks later — and unsurprisingly, she’s been on my mind this month, as she has been since her death last April. In my books, 2024 will go down as the year Sarah died, full stop. It really feels like nothing else happened.
This year, I let music dig my emotional wounds deeper, what felt like a necessary step in the gauntlet of remembering, processing, and adjusting. I can’t count the number of times I sobbed to Shawn Kirchner’s arrangement of the Americana hymn Angel Band, the song our friends came together to sing at Sarah’s New Haven funeral. Walking down Fifth Avenue, or across Central Park, or up my own block in Upper Manhattan. At work, in rehearsal, in any available single-stall bathroom. In trains, planes, and automobiles. Angel Band ended up as my runner-up Spotify Wrapped song, second to Herbert Howells’ Take him, earth, for cherishing. (I start crying at the same chord every. single. time. 6:39 in the video below.)
And yet, the act of singing has always been palliative. After the wake? We sang. After the funeral? We sang. After I broke down on my way to one of my Messiah performances at Fifth Avenue Presbyterian, just a few weeks ago? I canceled my post-concert plans — but barreling through those joyous choruses was the only thing that felt right.
I’m grateful for the music that made me feel more deeply, however painful. Cupid’s entrance scene in a ’90s Le Concert Spirituel recording of Rameau’s Pigmalion — in our undergrad production, it took Sarah half an hour of rehearsal to ace that weirdly-notated bit of recitative, and I still remember her proud squeals of success. The opening intermezzo of Brahms’ Op. 119 piano set, once in Igor Levit’s inward-looking new recording, again in Paul Lewis’s gently flowing take from a couple years prior. The opening recitatives of Monteverdi’s Orfeo with Julian Prégardien in the title role — that scene-setting muse was another of Sarah’s roles, and I was bawling by the final verse. (To boot, I was listening on what would have been her 24th birthday. Brutal.) [EDITED: Sarah was La Musica, not Euridice. “That fabulous, but hellish pink dress was wasted on just two scenes.” —the friend who corrected me]
I forced myself back to the concert hall a little too quickly after Sarah’s death. Two weekends after the news broke, I headed back to our alma mater for a double-header weekend: Friday with Purcell’s Dido, featuring my brother as Aeneas, followed by a Saturday of Bach’s B minor mass with a Yale Schola Cantorum still reeling from shock. I remember very little of those concerts — I used to be strict with myself about dissociating and daydreaming, but that’s just what needed to happen.
Still, live music eventually started providing comfort once again. Barely 24 hours after publishing my eulogy, I found myself at Trinity Wall Street’s performance of Monteverdi’s behemoth 1610 Vespers service, sitting next to the voice teacher Sarah and I once shared. I could barely string together a sentence, but I found nourishment in that Italian polychoral energy, the sub-choirs cresting over each other like dolphins bobbing in waves. The next week, Orchestra of St. Luke’s gave me full-body shivers as they started the second movement of Brahms’s German Requiem, perhaps the most beautifully inevitable death-dirge in the classical canon.
And in due course, I healed to the point where music could once again distract me. This is my de facto best-of list — it took a lot to remove me from the depths of my own brain this season, but many shows still succeeded:
Jestke Mijnssen’s new production of Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande at the Bayerische Staatsoper in Munich brought together the best cast I’ve ever seen live — Sabine Devieilhe’s crystalline shimmer, Ben Bliss’s effortless peaks, Christian Gerhaher’s dramatic snarl.
Flaherty & Ahrens’ Ragtime at New York City Center introduced a new hyperfixation into my life. What a perfect musical, what a tremendous cast. Plus, bestie Epongue’s first Broadway chair!!
Just a couple weeks ago, Strauss’s Die Frau ohne Schatten at the MET Opera lifted a particularly depressive Thursday night. My companion (bestie Sam) and I agreed it was the best we’d heard the MET Orchestra since their previous Strauss run — it feels like that’s the orchestra’s métier, and conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin’s as well. A welcome (and needed) reminder that the MET can still knock my socks off.
Skylark’s rendition of Joby Talbot’s hour-long choral epic Path of Miracles, which chronicles a trip up the Camino de Santiago, checked one piece off my audience bucket list. The Hispanic Society’s main rotunda was a sumptuous room for the ensemble’s rumbly basses — for anyone keeping score, Eric Alatorre (the one with the mustache in the video) croaked an A1. (Read: really low.)
Jazz vibraphonist Patricia Brennan’s September album Breaking Stretch builds on the groove-heavy style she established in 2022’s More Touch, augmenting her percussive band with a trio of horns. I’m one of many to proclaim it among the most exciting releases of 2024 — in any genre.
Even when she rotated off first violin, Corinna Belcea was still the star of a Carnegie Hall Mendelssohn-and-Enescu octet show with two of Europe’s best string quartets, Belcea Quartet and Quatuor Ébène. Perhaps the greatest treat: ex-Ébène cellist Raphaël Merlin’s new arrangement of the Fauré Requiem’s “In paradisum,” a peaceful encore full of gossamer glimmers.
I saw several kiddie operas that gave me faith in this field’s future. From Little Opera Theatre of New York, a high-quality, fifty-minute Haydn adaptation with cartoonish, larger-than-life troll puppets and period instruments. From my close friends Caleb Yanez Glickman and Emily Gallagher (pictured above in their royal carriage), an interactive recital featuring astute new translations — diamonds in a rough of half-assed English adaptations. I still have my goody bag, kazoo, egg shaker, and all.
Anthony Roth Costanzo’s one-voice version of Marriage of Figaro at Little Island wasn’t quite the for-the-people intro to opera that many hoped, but I didn’t stop laughing for two hours. It was so silly, but so impressive, and as usual, director Dustin Wills made me swoon with his scene changes.
A special hat-tip to the musical moments from outside the concert hall: The holiday party that turned into a trad-fiddle session. The goodbye party that included improvised odes and Syrian songs of friendship. The New Year’s Eve party that ended in an hour of musical theater sing-along. The sightreading sessions that brought me joy, relaxation, and new audition videos.
Plus, a few nods from before things shifted in April: To Once Upon a Mattress at City Center for strengthening my inner (and outer) awkward teenager. To Dan Schlosberg’s The Extinctionist (Heartbeat Opera’s first commission) for dramatic tension which made my heart pound faster than it had at any other opera. To Mary Halvorson’s Amaryllis sextet, whose third album should be announced any day — they test-ran some of that material at their insane 92NY show in February. David Ying’s (of the Ying Quartet) speech at last January’s Chamber Music America conference, an entertaining bit of public storytelling in a year full of fumbled note-cards.
And, finally, a few in-memoriams — the premature deaths of several artists I admire took huge tolls on my circles.
Belgian soprano Jodie Devos, who passed from cancer in June, aged just 35. Next time you’re craving music that’s frivolous, but perfectly executed, try her joyous Offenbach album — she was a leading interpreter of the can-can composer.
Los Angeles-based composer and pianist Sarah Gibson, who died of the same cause at age 38 in July. She was a close mentor to many friends at the LA Phil’s high school Composer Fellowship Program.
New York born-and-bred composer Harold Meltzer, who passed away in August after a long illness in August, aged 58. I met Harold while sightreading Mozart piano quartets at a summer festival — we soon discovered that my mother had been his first date. I still tell a couple of his wry stories regularly.
And finally, legendary Broadway actor Gavin Creel died this September, aged 48, after a short, but acute battle with a rare form of cancer. Gavin was a friend of MetLiveArts’, and by my coworkers’ accounts, he radiated warmth, generosity, and pure, unadulterated love. I remember him as a persuasive Claude Hooper Bukowski in Hair; as a suave Steven Kodaly in She Loves Me; as a hopeful (and Tony-winning) Cornelius Hackl in Hello, Dolly!; and most of all, as himself, in the staged song cycle he incubated in the Met Museum’s storied halls (above). God, fuck cancer.
I read a wonderful Tumblr thread earlier today about fun New Year’s resolutions: quests to eat as many pasta shapes or soup types as possible, or to read every country’s Wikipedia page, or to collect 30 selfies with cats. Inspired, I made some low-stakes ones for myself. Wear more florals — if you know where to find cute floral tees for people who are really particular about how their clothes feel, please tell me. Read — no Moby Dick, just fun, light books to replace some screen time. Do more laughing (and music-making) with my friends, and less stressing over articles — that’s the one 2024 goal on which I’ve actually made good, and it’s improved my life tremendously.
As I’ve discussed before, one of the biggest things I’m still working on for 2025 is giving myself grace. Just as I returned to the concert hall too early, I forced myself to write before I was ready, then beat myself up when the product was subpar — and now I’m beating myself up for having beaten myself up. It’s exhausting. Being kind to yourself is so much harder than it should be.
I love my little life, but it challenges me in ways I’m very used to, and I feel a little stuck inside my comfort zone. There are some axes on which I don’t feel a need to stretch myself — you won’t find me clubbing in Bushwick anytime soon. But in 2025, I’d like to be a little bit brave. Hear a band that plays in a big venue where people stand instead of sitting. Risk becoming a viral bit of crowd-work at a comedy show. Pay to see a movie I might not like. (The only movie I’ve seen this year is the new Mean Girls.)
And yeah, dating. It's time. Like, actually time — I’ve been saying that for a full year. I'm not excited about the apps, but at least they’re somewhere to start. I’m workshopping my Hinge profile in my head: “We’re the same kind of weird if…you sing French Baroque music in the shower.” (If you know a mid-late-20s bachelor, bachelorette, or bachelorex[?] who would swipe on that prompt, you know where to find me! Clearly, I come with baggage, but perhaps we can lift each others’ suitcases.)
As for this space…well, I’m going to keep puttering along. I wish I could write more often. One day, I’ll get to all the interviews and lists and geek-outs swirling around in my head — but perhaps not today. And that’s okay.
So, friends, here’s to a 2025 of grace, space, and new experiences. Thanks again for being here — I’m grateful for every one of you.
Adieu, 2024. Good riddance.
What’s On
Aida
Sat Jan 4, Tue Jan 7,
Fri Jan 10, Tue Jan 14,
Sat Jan 18, Tue Jan 21,
Sat Jan 25 (matinee) | Metropolitan Opera House
note: additional dates in March, April, and May
Music Mondays: JACK Quartet and Shai Wosner, piano (FREE)
Mon Jan 6 | Advent Lutheran Church
The Stone Residencies: Mary Halvorson
Wed Jan 8-Sat Jan 11 | The Stone at The New School
Ben Wendel’s BaRcoDe
Thu Jan 9-Fri Jan 10 (two sets each) | The Jazz Gallery
Prototype Festival: Eat The Document
Thu Jan 9-Fri Jan 17 (weekend matinee, no show 1/14) | HERE Mainstage
Linda May Han Oh “The Glass Hours” + Michael Mayo “Fly” Double Bill
Sat Jan 11 (two sets) | The Jazz Gallery
Igor Levit, piano
Sun Jan 12 (matinee) | Carnegie Hall (Stern/Perelman)
Music Before 1800: Sequentia
Sun Jan 12 (matinee) | Corpus Christi Church
Prototype Festival: In A Grove
Thu Jan 16-Sun Jan 19 (two perfs Sat, marinee Sun) | La MaMa Experimental Theatre Club
The Stone Residencies: Ingrid Laubrock
Wed Jan 15-Sat Jan 18 | The Stone at The New School
Patrick Higgins & Yarn/Wire
Thu Jan 16 | Roulette Intermedium (Brooklyn)
Jack Quartet & Ikue Mori play John Zorn
Fri Jan 17 | Roulette Intermedium (Brooklyn)
Juilliard415: Arias and Suites by Handel and Rameau
Sat Jan 18 | Peter Jay Sharp Theater, Juilliard
The Stone Residencies: Ches Smith
Wed Jan 22-Sat Jan 25 | The Stone at The New School
Orchestra of St. Luke’s: Mein Traum
Thu Jan 23 | Carnegie Hall (Stern/Perelman)
Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment & Julia Bullock, soprano
Thu Jan 23 | 92nd Street Y
NY Phil: Yuja Wang leads Rhapsody in Blue and more (SOLD OUT, but interesting to see Yuja Wang leading from the keyboard!)
Thu-Sat Jan 23-25 | David Geffen Hall
Talea Ensemble — Dialogues & Notations: Boulez @ 100
Fri Jan 24 | Church of St. Luke and St. Matthew (Brooklyn)
Ekmeles: DADA NONO & REJOICE
Sat Jan 25 | Saint Peter’s Church (Chelsea)
Les Arts Florissants
Tue Jan 28 | Carnegie Hall (Zankel)
Curtis at 92NY: Dover Quartet & Michelle Cann, piano
Wed Jan 29 | 92nd Street Y
International Contemporary Ensemble: Boulez Rebooted
Thu Jan 30 | Carnegie Hall (Zankel)
Conrad Tao, piano and lumatone
Thu Jan 31 | Carnegie Hall (Zankel)
So heartfelt, vulnerable, and insightful. Thank you so much for sharing this with us.
Beautiful as always