"When I was studying 25 years ago in Aspen, I had a conducting teacher, Murry Sidlin, who said, 'When there's a labor dispute in an orchestra, get on the first plane and go as far away as you can until it is solved,' " says Lockhart. "I never really understood the wisdom of that."

On the Symphony Hall podium, Lockhart is as smooth as a late-night talk show host. He's playing one of the many Pops concerts hosted for a local college. The University of Massachusetts is celebrating the installation of president Jack M. Wilson.

The Pops play a set with Rockapella, a group of pitch-perfect crooners who could pass as an aging, yuppified version of 'NSync. For the traditional finale of "The Stars and Stripes Forever," Lockhart calls Wilson and Sen. Ted Kennedy, the other guest of honor, onto the stage. They will guest conduct together.

Hamming it up, Lockhart positions the men on the podium.

"I'm not quite sure how to divide duties," Lockhart says. "I don't know if either of you share power well."

Laughter fills the hall.

"My question would be which of you is on the left," he says, and after neither makes a move to the podium: "This is not a time for a filibuster."

More chuckles.

A few hours later, Lockhart sits at Brasserie Jo. He's slicing into a medium-rare steak. He has traded his tux for jeans. He is tired. Over the past two weeks, Lockhart has conducted Mahler in Utah, done several recording sessions, led a number of Pops concerts, and worked with a group of high school musicians in Symphony Hall. He's also hung out with Aaron, taking him to the New England Aquarium.

Brasserie Jo is one of the few places serving near Symphony Hall after a show, so the place is packed. Lockhart comes here at least twice a week. As he chews, strangers approach. A leader of the university band stops by to praise the performance. Another man, red-faced and loud, tells Lockhart how much he loved Rockapella, the night's headliner. Only he calls the group "Acapulco."

Even this late, Lockhart can't shoo them away. He is the leader of the country's most famous orchestra, his still boyish face one of the most recognizable in the city. He keeps up the smile. It is only when the final fan walks away that Lockhart lets a hint of weariness cut into his perpetual state of public cheer.

"Sometimes," he says, "my face gets tired."

---

E-mail: gedgersglobe.com