We saw Iván Fischer at the Budapest Palace of the Arts yesterday. Fischer, a world-famous Hungarian conductor, is known for his innovation and creative zeal. The Budapest Festival Orchestra concert in the Bartók National Concert Hall was one of Fischer's "secret concerts," which meant the programme wasn't published prior to the show.

Fischer's introductions to each performance piece were not translated to English, but his stage presence was unpretentious and playful. Many of his speeches provoked giggles and smiles from the audience. The concert began with "Cantus arcticus, Op. 61 (Concerto for Birds and Orchestra)," by Finnish composer Einojuhani Rautavaara. Fischer's assistants rolled a giant bird cage onto the stage. While Fischer stroked the air with his baton, the birds chirped to the music, which itself mimicked the sounds of a nature preserve. I closed my eyes and the music carried me to pristine wilderness, a teeming marsh where the drama of survival waged without human interruption.

The next piece was Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 17 in G major. I had a CD in college with the same concerto, so it brought me back to long nights of studying in the dorm and the heavy-headedness of intellectual immersion. I watched the orchestra, the blurred, rhythmic movement of arms and instruments, and of bodies overcome by the music. I paid special attention to the violinists. I played the violin in elementary school, and remember my kid fingers stretching to hit the notes, straining to press the strings. I ended up switching to flute, but watching those graceful professionals made me want to try playing the violin again.

After the intermission, the orchestra performed Sándor Veress' "Threnos — In memoriam Béla Bartók." This piece was darker and dramatic, and made my skin tingle head to toe. I thought about my childhood, my home in New York, and my dogs Orion and Cassie (rest in peace). Next was Beethoven's "Symphony No. 8 in F Major, Op. 93." Fischer's assistants appeared again, this time with a giant metronome. Fischer climbed into it and with one arm raised, he swung a life-size pendulum rod back and forth. The audience laughed out loud as Fischer's pendulum went from even rocking to spastic jabbing during intense parts of the symphony.

The encore sounded like "The Cuckoo in the Depths of the Woods," part of The Carnival of the Animals by Camille Saint-Saëns, but I'm not really sure. Another assistant came out and played the "cuckoo" sound through what looked like an ocarina flute filled with water. Fischer also had one and toward the end of the piece, they tried to "out-cuckoo" each other, spraying water everywhere.