Thirty years ago this evening, I went with some friends to see Philip Glass conduct some of his music in Nashville. At least I think that’s what he did. I have an image in my head of him standing in front of musicians, waving his hands, and them playing. But maybe he sat down at a keyboard. It’s a been a long time.

I can’t remember why I went, but I’m sure it was worth $2. At some point, I owned Glassworks on CD, which is considered his most popular recording, but I don’t remember when I got it. Since I didn’t own a CD player until ca. 1988, I didn’t have it when I saw the concert. One of my housemates during my senior year in college might have had it on vinyl, or possibly even reel-to-reel. A lot of odd things were floating around that house.

Also, I saw Koyaanisqatsi sometime in the mid-80s. That might have been before this concert. Or after. Things get jumbled over the decades.

Oddly enough, I heard a little of a Philip Glass interview last week on the radio. He must be making the rounds to talk up his memoirs, which have just come out. The NYT reviewer of the book asserts that “enough time has passed for him to sell his own distinct musical language, developed through a blending of Western and Indian traditions, in which repeated musical cells form patterns to hypnotic effect. To many listeners it remains perplexing and even infuriating, but the influence of Mr. Glass’s music, called Minimalist despite his protests, is pervasive in all genres of music.”

Sure. If you say so. I like the idea of his music better than the music itself, though I haven’t spent much time with the likes of “Satyagraha” or “Einstein on the Beach” in the last 30 years. Philip Glass composes the kind of music that you start playing, listen to for a few minutes, and then realize 30 minutes later that it’s been in the background for nearly 30 minutes.

I didn’t fall asleep during the concert — like I dozed off at a Pat Metheny concert once — but I vaguely remember being tired. After the concert, it being a Friday night, we repaired to a nearby Italian restaurant. Who then showed up for dinner, a few tables away? Philip Glass and a small entourage. We noticed his presence, but didn’t approach him. Just as well not to pester publicly known people in public — can’t say he was exactly famous in this case, but still.