A review of the Evan Parker solo soprano saxophone concert held in the lovely MOMA auditorium deserves a long detailed analysis; one of the most virtuosic musicians of the past 40 years playing a solo concert on an instrument to which he has been an integral part of the development cannot be undervalued. But since someone's cell phone went off this middle of one of the pieces, disrupting my experience at least, I will now review the cell phone's musical contribution to the evening instead.

The cell phone waited until we had been properly mesmerized by Parker's technique. His solo works translate quite differently when seen live. The music's visual element elucidates his sound. It was when he had begun his third piece, and was starting to launch into the exhausting circular breathing that is his trademark, that the cell phone went off.

Now, the cell phone had been listening quite carefully for the proper time to enter. Parker had shown to great effect his ability to work repeated phrases and figures into the music, constantly adding slight alterations; visually, it can be compared to a shimmering tapestry with the differences in hue and highlight contributing to the whole aesthetic rather than individually appreciated.

The cell phone of course cannot compare to a saxophone's aural capabilities; rather it did what it was good at, repeating the same digitized few first notes of some symphony or another, easily vying for the attention of the 150 or so listeners.

Parker's concert seemed ideally suited for the hall chosen by the MOMA. His consummate musicianship needed only the rich acoustics of the room to soar. Without a microphone, Parker would stand theatrically and ponder a moment between pieces (much like Braxton during his recent solo alto saxophone performance at the New York Society for Ethical Culture). The time spent gave birth to elementary musical ideas that were quickly and confidently developed. The effect was like time-lapse photography, where the passing of time and the growing of the flower are inseparable.

The cell phone's little speaker took full advantage of the hall's sonic potential but rather than propelling time faster than the listener could follow, each note seemed to slow the proceedings, making only a few seconds seem to continue endlessly and push the mind in several contradictory directions at once.

The one feature that Parker and Mr. Nokia Motorola shared was an impeccable sense of when to stop. A book about free jazz once stated that watching non-stop brilliance becomes tedious quite quickly. Parker played for just under an hour, giving a tantalizing primer on his many years of careful devotion to the instrument, one that was short enough to leave the audience with a sense of ethereality. Without too much time to consider what was being played, the music was absorbed and digested, leaving a full sensation with only a lingering taste. The cell phone, perhaps realizing that few appreciate its particular song, also made a hasty retreat shortly after its recital. An encore would likely have been poorly received.