A Night of Stars, Songs, and Small Town Magic: The Bozeman Symphony’s Holiday Spectacular
The Bozeman Symphony’s Holiday Spectacular was a reminder—of who we’ve been, who we are, and what’s worth holding onto as our little town changes. It was also a colorful example of why the symphony isn’t for well-heeled, stuffy circles—not in Bozeman. It’s for everyone.
The night shimmered with small, unforgettable details: a sparkling chandelier descending for the velvet-jacketed tenor’s bonus Nessun Dorma; Christmas trees standing like bookends on either side of the stage; poinsettias circling the conductor’s perch; snowflakes and soft clouds of color drifting across the walls. And, of course, Norman Huynh’s red high-top shoes and bowtie.
In the audience, velvet and sequins sat beside hand-knit hats, blue jeans, and cowboy boots. A man in the front row, bobbed his Santa Hat covered head to “I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In.” A few rows back, someone snored softly. Kids giggled when the percussionist pulled out his giant, red-lit slapstick for Sleigh Ride. Husbands slipped arms around wives’ shoulders. Grandmas shared candy canes with their grandchildren. It felt like a Norman Rockwell painting.
Surrounded by neighbors at the Willson Auditorium, something stirred within our chests as the full orchestra led us into the singalong: hundreds of Bozemanites singing together, voices rising in harmony—some full and rolling, some tentative, all sincere. It’s a sound that doesn’t just fill a room—it seeps in, warm and holy all at once.
Midway through the evening, Maestro Norman Huynh asked the audience the Bobcat football score. A brave soul called it out—then another. He teased us for checking our phones, then surprised everyone with a rousing Bobcat Song performance. The hall erupted in laughter, rhythmic clapping, cheers, and the chant: “Go, Cats, go!” A little mischievous, completely Bozeman.
Then came O Holy Night. The guest tenor, visiting from New York City, began to sing, his voice matched again by the full orchestra and gorgeous symphonic choir, accompanied by a star-studded blue backdrop glimmering behind the stage. The effect was electrifying, sending shivers through the room. When he reached the final notes, it felt more like a shared moment of the sublime—a reminder of why this song endures, and why live music matters. It blew our socks off, prompting a thunderous standing ovation.
The holidays can feel exhausting. But at Christmastime, music in Bozeman reminds us how connected we are through the arts. Whether at the symphony, The Ellen Theatre, or The Nutcracker, these traditions inspire us when days grow short and darkness arrives too early.
Bozeman has changed—there’s no denying that. In my broke years as a single parent, the only way I could attend the symphony was as an usher (which, admittedly, was fun). Today, a dinner downtown can cost more than a month’s groceries once did, and some old hometown stories feel like they’re fading. But nights like this remind me that the heart of Bozeman still beats in a rhythm that brings people home.
Norman reminded us between songs that ticket sales cover only a portion of what it takes to make the symphony possible. Behind it all are donors, volunteers, and believers whose quiet generosity adds immeasurable beauty to our lives.
Driving home beneath twinkling lights, I noticed Christmas trees glowing in windows across town. Passing one of our neighbors’ houses lit in blue lights and Bobcat banners, my husband and I remembered to check the score again—only to find that the Bobcats are headed to the semifinals. It felt like the town itself was singing along, carrying the same excitement, joy, and togetherness we’d just experienced inside the auditorium. We may still be dreaming of a white Christmas, but that night, there was a touch more magic in the air.
And sometimes, that magic sounds like a room full of neighbors singing together under a sky of cobalt-blue, snowflakes, and stars.
By Victoria van Garderen