This happened to me.

Summer of 1998. Somewhere on Highway 1 just north of Big Sur. Beatles on the stereo. The top is down. She�s driving.

We see this perfect beach and decide to stop. We climb down what some would call a path and reach the white sand. Another couple�s there too, but they leave soon, and we have the place to ourselves to just wander around without talking. I watch the waves and listen to the sea. Take off my shoes and get my toes wet. The hot afternoon sun beats down. I look around. She�s down the beach a ways in her white hat, barefoot and thinking. I�m nineteen, and I�m in love with a girl from Berkeley, and we�re on our way to Big Sur for some camping.

Seven years later, she�s married and doing a Ph.D. in Santa Cruz. I�m in New York reviewing concerts. The New York premiere of John Adams�s "The Dharma at Big Sur" at Avery Fisher. Tracy Silverman on electric violin, and Esa-Pekka Salonen with the L.A. Philharmonic. Naturally. It�s a two-movement concerto and starts out chilling around like a raga. Feeling out the scale, checking out the gamakas. Portamento. The orchestra drones like a veena behind. Like a cloud. Like a long, slow sunrise. The first movement: "A New Day." Adams gets those low notes only an electric kool-aid violin can reach. Silverman walks around the stage, breaking the box classical cats stand in. Finally he reaches up way high, and we get a big moment. Adams coaxes out gamelan sounds from the percussion, gives the piano those glittery triads he�s so good at. Like in the "Chairman Dances."

We�re in the second movement saying Hi to Terry Riley. "Sri Moonshine." The heartbeat moves a little quicker. A clear pulse seems to bubble just out of sight. Adams discovers he can blend the electric violin nicely with the brass. Silverman turns a circle. The pulse that�s been lurking behind the entire piece emerges in all its cool splendor. The music gets louder and louder. The violin rushes to the stratosphere. We get arpeggios and flying fingers. We�ve taken off. Adams turns on the electricity and lets Silverman blow above the orchestra playing full blast. With a rush and a flourish it�s over. The audience loves it.

So do I. It�s his best piece in years.

Adams wanted "The Dharma at Big Sur" to reflect the experiences of those whose arrival in California "had both a spiritual and physical impact." Seven years ago I found out what he�s talking about. The wild surf. The boundless spirit of the coast and its cliffs and its highway. The horizon beyond which Asia sits. "Dharma" may not be the perfect wave, but I can�t wait to ride it again. Thanks for the sunshine.