I wanted to ask Katina Kleijn, one of the featured cellists (with Ken Olsen and Brant Taylor), what she thought about the name CelloBello, as opposed to, say, CelloBella or CellaBella, but I restrained myself. After all, I live for rhymes, and Cella translates to cell.

All the music was terrific, but, for me, the highlight of the first half of the program was, of course, the rendition of The Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy, featuring three cellos (celli?) and some wicked piano-playing by Craig Terry, whom I told afterward I hated because he was so good at what I yearned to master (I’m currently attempting Death Ray Boogie, which is just as scary as it sounds).

There also was a bit with an unlit cigarette dangling from Taylor’s mouth during part of his solo that you had to be there to appreciate.

Unlike many of these events, there was nothing that I would derogatorily classify as speechifying. The oratory was interesting and kept to a minimum, and there was cheese available at the back of the room all the while, just in case. Moreover, all the appetizers were excellent and the deserts did not escape my attention.

The second half was a rousing rendition of Mendelssohn’s Octet in E-flat major, Op. 20 performed by the Balourdet and Pacifica Quartets.

These eight musicians got more exercise during the piece than I ever did in a Pilates class. Some of the violinists were swaying, bobbing and weaving like a bunch of fans doing an energetic version of the wave at a football game. They were clearly having a great time, as was the audience. One of the viola players occasionally seemed to be imagining that he was using a ThighMaster.

The exercise regimen continued, especially for the cellists, as the group, at the end of the concert, all the while carrying their instruments, kept coming back for more deserved applause.

They may still be doing that, but I bolted (at least my version on two bad knees), grabbing brownies on the way out and being the first person to arrive at the coat check, a perfect ending to a wonderful evening.