Chamber music finds its modern home

Hosting musicians in your home is an enduring tradition for good reason. For the price of a good seat at the symphony comes perhaps the best experience in classical music: sitting as close as possible to some of the city's best players in an opulent room with a view. The concerts finish with food and wine, no cleanup required.

Generally, the location is kept under wraps, revealed once you buy a ticket. One Sunday last month, e-mailed instructions from Salon Concerts led to a long private driveway in Westlake. A palatial Roman villa appeared, with a panoramic terrace overlooking the downtown skyline, the trees and homes of West Austin floating below.

Stepping in through glass doors revealed a decadent salon, framed by concrete columns and two floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto the porch. Near the windows stood a Steinway grand, borrowed for the weekend.

Forty chairs ringed round the piano, and the organizers coordinated last-minute hiccups and greeted people as they walked through the front doors.

Tuba player Joanna Ross Hersey, from North Carolina, arrived eight months pregnant. "I made a long weekend out of it," she said. With a grinning smile and boisterous personality, Hersey was a delight as she took over the room. She introduced herself, and chatted throughout the show, explaining, for example, why we were about to hear three tuba solos.

Despite the setting, there's nothing formal about these occasions. Patrons wear relaxed clothes: khakis or dress pants with shirts, Sunday dresses. The musicians do the same, dressing up, but without great fuss.

And right from the start, the informality was charming. One of the players called for assistance after struggling to close the vintage patio doors. When Salon's treasurer arrived to shut them, they closed with a bang, which got a great laugh from the crowd.

Solo tuba made for an eccentric concert — the instrument vibrated like a subwoofer, resonating through the floor underneath your chair — but Hersey's playing was quite wonderful, often recalling a trumpet. Her selections, by the wives of (more) famous composers, such as Clara Schumann and Alma Mahler, was clever programming, but also beautiful music. It was like a compelling exhibition of an unusual and endangered bird.

More astounding was Rebecca Henderson's oboe. With Colette Valentine on piano, their Saint-Saëns Sonata was charming, if for no other reason than the novelty of an oboe commanding a room. But with such "round" and lyrical playing, Henderson's oboe enveloped a space like this.

The space felt closer to Versailles than Austin, with black-and-white tile, elaborate rugs and domed skylights. The rooms had golden picture frames, chandeliers and fresh gladiolas on ornate plant stands. Even the kitchen's TV was framed.

It was an entirely different experience up close. The musicians' breathing was more intense, their bow was fierce and every little gesture was visible. "There's not any space," Henderson said with a grin, "so I make sure I clean between my toes."

There was no stage, no glaring lights, nothing at all to filter the crowd and players. But, level with the crowd, with elements that constantly wore away the fourth wall, the performers seemed wonderfully at ease in the room. Who can argue with such a setting? The gorgeous playing of Charles Martin Loeffler's "Two Rhapsodies for Oboe, Viola and Piano," a beautiful and moving work inspired by a poem, was nicely set up by a little explanation before the trio began, as it swirled around the room.

By intermission, the valet guys were tossing a football around as people moved about to take phone calls, smoke cigarettes, find some water or walk about on the patio. A field of crape myrtle and palms lay below, a pool hidden in the trees.

Late in the second half, the sounds and smells of food wafted from the kitchen. And when the concert finished, the room next door was filled with fried crab cakes that were delicious and a little greasy, with a chipotle mustard. For dessert there were lemon, strawberry and chocolate tartlets, among other treats. Patrons mingled around, drinking wine, making conversation and obviously relishing the opportunity to thank the performers in person, ask them a question or two or describe a highlight of the show.