My father-in-law was in the hospital with pneumonia when I heard Brad Mehldau at the Village Vanguard in late September, so I left my cell phone on. That nobody called was a double blessing—no troubling updates from Florida and no petulant scolding from the bandstand. Don't get me wrong: that theatrical sigh of exasperation you hear when someone's cell twitters during a concert is very likely to be mine. But the second time it happened during a Mehldau set in an Oakland nightclub a few years ago, his reaction was so out of proportion—and so prissy—that I couldn't help laughing in agreement with another writer at my table who leaned close and whispered,... More >>>