I missed the ponies. SF Symphony brought in actual pettable miniature ponies for the pre-concert festivities; two of them, wearing flower crowns and red sparkle halters, standing in a pile of hay like they'd always lived there. Instead I spent most that hour downstairs in the VIP reception outside the Wattis Room eating caviar, learning about whiskey, and smelling the fresh floral arrangements. I have no regrets.
The ponies came for Lunar New Year on February 28 because it's the Year of the Fire Horse, a combination that only comes around once every 60 years, and which has a historical reputation for speed, disruption, and things catching fire before anyone is ready. The last Fire Horse year was 1966. You know how that went.
SF Symphony runs the day on two tracks. There's the 5 p.m. concert in Davies that's open to all ticket holders, with lobby festivities that include fan dancers, craft tables, fortune readers, a dragon, and the aforementioned ponies. Then there's the gala: a VIP reception and a post-concert banquet dinner in a separate venue, a separate universe, and an entirely different conversation about what to wear.
The lobby, when I passed through briefly, was already electric. Yellow paper lanterns floated in Davies's glass atrium. A towering arrangement of red and orange gladiolas commanded the brass fixture at the top of the stairs. The LionDanceME troupe was working the crowd with an LED-lit dragon, magenta and neon, its red head glowing like a traffic light, weaving between people who were too delighted to get out of its way.
The VIP reception downstairs was its own atmosphere. Tufted velvet chairs. Orchid centerpieces rising several feet off round tables draped in purple. The room lit in deep rose, somewhere between lush and surreal. The caviar was from The Caviar Co. of San Francisco, presented on blini on silver trays. A lot. In the best way.
The concert came too quickly for me even though I had an hour. Conductor Mei-Ann Chen opened the set with Huan-Zhi Li's Spring Festival Overture, the Lunar New Year equivalent of a curtain raiser, immediately warm and recognizable. Along with the music, the projection screen cycled through animated horses, cloud sequences, and multilingual New Year greetings in Korean, Vietnamese, and Chinese.
Chen, a Taiwanese American conductor who has led this program before and visibly loves it, wore a black jacket with deep red cuffs and conducted with the kind of physical energy that makes you feel like she's having more fun than anyone else in the room. She is in fact my favorite guest conductor, always warm and engaging the audience, but also a little out of breath.
The symphony's Second Clarinet Yuhsin Galaxy Su made her solo debut performing a Teresa Teng classic: Alone Ascending the West Chamber. In an olive sleeveless dress, Su played with delicacy and care, and Chen leaned into her at the podium in a moment that felt less like conductor-soloist formality and more like two people sharing something they'd both loved for a long time.
Then George Gao walked out with his erhu, and the evening changed register. The erhu is a two-stringed bowed instrument, sometimes called the Chinese violin, though that undersells it considerably. What Gao performed was a world premiere: his original Capriccio No. 6, "Shaoyin," on an instrument he'd engineered himself. It began conventionally, precise and lyrical. It didn't stay there.
By the end he was playing like a guitarist at a rock concert, pulling riffs that included an unmistakable James Bond theme and a passage from Queen. The erhu's natural voice is delicate, and the gap between that fragility and the sheer audacity of what Gao was doing with it sat at the center of everything.
The dragon made its second appearance during the concert, weaving through the aisles while the orchestra played. From above it looks like a neon river threading through a packed house.
Fashion note: This year's color was red, as was last year's, and the year before that. Red and gold. I heard through the grapevine these will be next year's colors, too.
Sharon Seto
Sharon arrived in a floor-length red embroidered satin gown with a gold sequined train, custom made in Shanghai by an atelier near the Bund. I lived in Shanghai for a stretch years ago, near Jing'an Temple, and the gown had exactly that quality the best ateliers there produce: meticulous embroidery, peony motifs, a red-into-gold gradient that manages to be festive without crossing into costume. She wore it like she'd had it for years.
Margaret Liu Collins
Margaret is a past honoree of the gala going back to 2002; she posed beside a gold horse in an orange butterfly-appliqué cape gown with a jeweled necklace. She has always been a snazzy dresser. Last year when she was honored at the banquet dinner, she bucked the color trend and went for a wild, vibrant pink. Fabulous.
I won't name her, but I made a new friend last year at the de Young late night gala who gave some fresh wisdom about sneaking into the fanciest rooms while pretending you belong there. This year was the first I did not sit for dinner at Lunar New Year, but I glided on into the dining room just to get a sense of the ambiance. Nobody said anything, and listen — no one tends to stop me in ballgowns like these:
The room looked like an indoor garden party with an unlimited flower budget. Smoke-grey glassware and centerpieces of orange roses that climbed high enough to require active negotiation with the person sitting across from you. The uplighting turned everything a deep, warm rose, the kind of light that makes everyone look like they were born in a palace.
As the music died down and I stuffed 80 yards of tulle and brocade into a Waymo, I had a thought: we had just attended a very elegant welcome party for a year that has no intention of being gentle.
The Fire Horse only comes around once every sixty years. If this was how it was starting, I wasn't sure whether to be thrilled or afraid. Probably both. Probably that's the point.
Saul Sugarman is editor-in-chief and owner of The Bold Italic.
The Bold Italic is a not-for-profit media organization, and we publish first-person perspectives based in San Francisco and the Bay Area. We operate under a fiscal sponsorship of a 501(c)(3). You can become a paid subscriber. Or donate. Or Learn more about us.
All photos in this story by Drew Altizer Photography.
