For some time, I knew that on Sunday, June 24 both Bobby McFerrin and Depeche Mode would be playing in Pittsburgh. A fan of both artists, I was caught in a tremendous dilemma. Since I was a major lover of a cappella, I eventually decided that I would go to the McFerrin concert.

So, during the few weeks prior to the performance, I attempted to find a friend to accompany me to the show. Unfortunately, my efforts were futile since most of my friends had already purchased tickets to Depeche Mode.

Determined to find a companion to bring to the McFerrin concert, I jumped on the telephone warpath around two o'clock on the day of the concert. Four hours and sixteen calls later, I found someone who was A) home, B) not going to Depeche Mode, C) a fellow vocalist, and D) willing to trek down to Heinz Hall. Elated that I was actually going to see McFerrin in concert, I slapped on my favorite bow tie, picked up my friend, and drove downtown.

At 8:02 P.M., a nervous Vice President from Mellon Bank walked onto the stage and welcomed us to the finale of the institution's 1990 Jazz Festival. He then introduced "Mr. Bobby McFerrin and Mr. Chuck Coreara"-his mispronunciation of the acclaimed pianist's name drawing a snicker from the audience. The two musicians then made their stage entrance by driving out in a full-sized car.

For the next two hours, the two artists yodeled and jammed extemporaneously on all imaginable parts of a prepared grand piano. While their experimentation was indeed interesting, it was not what I wanted to see for my $27.50. Although the second set (involving audience participation) was funnier and less obscure, I was slightly remorseful that I had not spent the evening sitting on the wet field of the Star Lake Amphitheater with all my friends listening to "People are People" and "Personal Jesus." However, on my way to the parking lot, my whole attitude changed.

When I stepped out of the theater, I noticed a herd of people jaywalking across the street. Not that jaywalking is any oddity in Pittsburgh, but the event of nearly fifty pedestrians simultaneously crossing at ten-thirty on a Sunday night looked somewhat suspicious. Stricken with curiosity, I followed their example and joined the mass on the other side of the boulevard, only to find that the crowd was following Bobby McFerrin! I decided to take advantage of the situation by promptly introducing myself. He then asked me what there was to do in Pittsburgh. I quickly replied, "Well...how about some ice cream?" Bobby thought that was a great idea and yelled across the street to the doors of Heinz Hall, "Come on Chick, we're going to an ice cream parlor!" My favorite vocalist then told me to lead the way. Assuming that I, in my bow tie, was Bobby's manager, some fan's began to ask me if they might have his autograph as we strolled towards the make-your-own sundae bar.

To my dismay, Bobby, myself, and sixty exuberant fans arrived at the big oak doors of Max and Erma's only to find that they were padlocked for the night. Sensing my fear of the crowd turning on me, Bobby gave me a hug, and said, "Man, you're all right. I didn't have time for ice cream anyway. Tell you what. Let's make the walk back fun. Let's sing!" Wow, what a proposition!

We started by harassing a man who was using a nearby pay phone. The lot of us bellowed "When the Saints Come Marchin' In" towards the mouth piece and chuckled as he frustratingly tried to explain to his friend on the other end of the line that the ruckus in the background was Bobby McFerrin and the Pips. Leaving this poor bystander with his mouth agape, we trooped on, singing "Land of a Thousand Dances" and the "Mickey Mouse March."

The experience was amazing. Though I've imagined unwritten chords during choir rehearsals, hacked around countless times with the songs broadcasted on my car stereo, spontaneously bee-bopped with peers in the hallways of school, and even vocalized barbershop quartet pieces with my friends while waiting to be seated at restaurants, I had never had this much fun. For on this night, I was not just singing with amateurs or even a digital recording, but with a musical genius: a man who knew how to improvise and who loved to do it. I was not only singing with Bobby McFerrin, I was harmonizing with the master!

We soon arrived at the stage entrance and the two of us, minus the Pips, began to perform "Good Lovin'." It was special, because despite his stardom, we were just two guys infatuated with the art of noise. He then gave me his autograph and went to the privacy of the closed door, thus terminating the evening's escapades. Although I had not brought my camera, I was not too disappointed since all of my Depeche Mode friends were dissed. For while they sat in the rain, I and the Pied Piper pranced through the streets of the 'Burgh and experienced music, for the love of music.