The audience rose instantly when the 78-year-old man walked onstage. He shuffled over cords and past amps, as if the deafening cheers hindered his step. His eyes, barely visible in the dim purple light, darted between the stool in front of him and a sheet of music he held in his left hand. In his right hand, a soprano saxophone gleamed in the spotlight that rolled onto him. Now that he and his instrument were illuminated, the fans applauded even louder. They had loved his compositions and records for years. They continued to clap, if not for his arrival, then for his contributions to a musical idiom that they-as fans, students, educators-are now responsible for keeping alive. It was as if they were thanking the man with their applause, thanking him for "Footprints"; for "Speak No Evil"; for his fiery hard-bop improvisations as part of Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers; for composing countless standards; and for taking jazz into the modern realm with Miles Davis' second great quintet and with his own jazz fusion group, Weather Report. Wayne Shorter's presence, in a night dedicated to Wayne Shorter, could only have been met with this type of explosive enthusiasm.

The members of the rhythm section behind him, all successful musicians, laid down their instruments to clap for the pear-shaped gentleman, who wore a navy-blue button-down, pleated black dress pants and black loafers. They, along with students, had already played an hour and a half's worth of Shorter's compositions before this moment. Now, they were to share the stage with the man as a final tribute to the living jazz legend.

The audience members finally sat down, upright with eager postures. They waited for him quietly as he adjusted the music and microphone stands. He shuffled his feet some more. He decided to put the sheet music on the stool-OK. Finally, drummer Terri Lyne Carrington broke the silence with a funk groove for "Footprints," a tune composed by Shorter in 1966 that most jazz musicians know by heart. The drummer closed her eyes as she played, as if to focus on transferring rhythmic energy from the core of her body to her arms and legs, then jolting it into the ride cymbal and snare. Each emphasized hit was deliberate but on subtle, unexpected beats. Bassist John Patitucci-always phenomenal performing live-had the squinted eyes and scowl that said, "Ow! That's hot!" David Gilmore smiled at Shorter as he strummed his electric guitar. Pianist Danilo Perez, who had introduced the night's guest of honor, alternated between bending his head down in concentration at his instrument and lifting it in reverence toward Shorter. Saxophonists George Garzone and Joe Lovano stood with their instruments to their sides as they waited for Shorter's entrance.

The moments before Shorter played his first note were uncertain and tense. It was not clear when his melody would begin. The audience did not know what he would sound like. Would his tone be filled with youthful bounce, like in his earlier recordings? Or would it be raspy, indicating an aging embouchure? The people in the hall loved him too much to see Shorter be anything less than spectacular. They had, unavoidably, placed the highest of expectations upon him.

The first note pierced the hall with its bright clarity. A hint of hoarseness rode underneath the high, glossy tone until it emerged to the surface-the raspy sound of air and reed. Surprised by how loud his sound was, the audience leaned back in unison. Shorter's tone was raw, bright and, most notably, young. The 1,200-plus fans in the hall dropped their shoulders in relief. The way he moved from note to note was methodical yet sporadic, causing his back to arch as he sped through the registers of his instrument.

The concert was the Berklee College of Music's "The Footprints of a Mysterious Traveler: Berklee Global Jazz Institute First Anniversary Concert Celebrates Wayne Shorter," held at the Berklee Performance Center in downtown Boston on Monday, April 25. The National Endowment for the Arts' Jazz Masters Live-a fund that will be discontinued after 2012-helped fund Shorter's stay at Berklee. Instead of awarding a modest sum to the living legends that have shaped jazz, often called the only American art form, the federal grant will now award a modest sum to one group or performer in the categories of Performing Arts and Visual Arts, which contains too broad a spectrum for the award to retain significant meaning. Shorter was officially appointed NEA Jazz Master-the highest honor the United States bestows upon jazz musicians-in 1998. His performance represented one of the last opportunities students have to hear from a leading jazz musician in this type of academic program.

There were a few empty seats during the first act of the concert. However, at intermission, the owners of these seats arrived in swarms for Shorter's performance. Yet, when the faculty combo began playing at the start of the second act, the man of the hour still had not arrived. He would not come onstage until the concert was almost over. His presence was a rare treat for the patient audience, and his departure felt like it came too soon. He had offered the hungry crowd sparse notes in his solos, leaving the John-Coltrane-sheets-of-sound style of the '50s and '60s behind. He did not show off. He did not command the crowd-he had won them over years ago, as a young tenor saxophonist in Art Blakey's quintet and later in Miles Davis' second great quintet. Shorter hardly made eye contact with his listeners throughout the night. When the audience members rose again at the end, yelling out their collective love for him, he did not bow or nod. Shorter instead smiled appreciatively at the conductor and pointed to the orchestra, as if to deflect the applause to the musicians behind him. He then walked off the stage, slowly, treading through the same molasses of modesty as he did when he entered.

The facial expressions of the performers said much about the concert. BGJI artistic director Perez struggled to find satisfactory words to introduce Shorter, but he maintained his buoyant smile as he spoke. He held the confident face of a well-recognized performer. Yet when the billowy-blue jazz legend emerged from stage right, Perez's smirk disappeared. A wide, reverent smile took its place. Perez's eyes, which were intense and calm before, seemed to widen then dissolve in front of the man. No, the jazz combo didn't bow its head to him, but it might as well have. Gilmore helped Shorter with his sheet music and beamed when the man patted him on the back. These accomplished musicians joined the audience in its humble appreciation of his presence.

Wayne Shorter always had a sound that no contemporary could imitate, and he stands out as a ceaselessly innovating performer and composer. When Shorter first joined Davis' second great quintet in 1964, the renowned trumpet player instantly recognized the man's gift.

"He understood that freedom in music was the ability to know the rules in order to bend them to your own satisfaction and taste," Davis wrote in his autobiography about Shorter. "Wayne was out there on his own plane, orbiting around his own planet." He summed, "Getting Wayne made me feel good, because with him I just knew some great music was going to happen. And it did; it happened real soon.