It was my great good fortune to work for the New York Philharmonic in the 1980s, and one of the irreplaceable benefits of that experience was being able to hang around Leonard Bernstein, then conductor emeritus, during rehearsals or before a concert. My fondest memory of Bernstein is of him standing backstage in tails at Avery Fisher Hall before a concert, lecturing a janitor about Irving Berlin. The man who wrote “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” had just died, and Bernstein needed to talk to someone about what a great songwriter he had been.

“Just think of all those great waltz tunes he wrote,” Bernstein said to a tall, young black man with a confused look on his face. Then the short, old white man sang, “Remember tonight?/The night we wed?/Well, I forgot to remember.” And then the stage manager shouted “Five minutes!” and Bernstein was suddenly in his other world, preparing to wow sophisticated New York audiences with his latest take on Mahler’s Symphony No. 7. The janitor went back to his business, probably not quite sure who this Berlin guy was, but mesmerized all the same by a man whose passion for music knew no limitations.

Some people made fun of Bernstein for his endless proselytizing, such as that for Irving Berlin to a perplexed guy with a broom. But it came from a real place: The burning desire to share a love for music so vast, a lifetime couldn’t contain it. It was as important, as urgent, as pressing a need, for Bernstein to talk about Irving Berlin to someone most musicians (and most other people) probably wouldn’t have noticed, as it was for him to interpret a masterpiece for a houseful of cognoscenti. And music for him meant all kinds of music. Bach, the Beatles, Broadway, the blues ... behind all the names for all the genres stood Music Herself, the object of Bernstein’s root humility.

Once, near the end of his life, this man who had been appointed the youngest‑ever music director of the New York Philharmonic; who composed the score for a musical that defined a generation of theatergoers (“West Side Story”); whose days and nights were spent in service to his art, said that he was still trying to figure out what it meant to be a musician. From the very little I knew of him, it was clear that such a statement was honest sentiment, not a clever sound bite.

The Phoenix Symphony announced earlier this month that Bernstein would be one of three spotlighted composers for its 2007‑2008 season. The others are Johannes Brahms and Argentina’s Osvaldo Golijov. Even though he left us 17 years ago, it’s strange to think of Leonard Bernstein as having joined the list of great dead composers. He never enjoyed, while alive, the sort of reputation he so deeply desired as a composer. It was as a conductor that people thought of him primarily, and when “West Side Story” was mentioned, it was almost as if it had been a fluke. “What else did he write?” was a common question I used to get when championing Bernstein‑the‑composer.

He wrote a lot else, though precious little found its way into the concert hall during his lifetime. The Phoenix Symphony will perform three Bernstein scores: the ballet “Fancy Free”; the Symphony No. 2, “Age of Anxiety”; and the serenade for violin and orchestra, “After Plato’s ‘Symposium.’” There will also be a “pops” night featuring Bernstein’s Broadway music, narrated by his daughter, Jamie. Songs from “On the Town,” “Candide” and, of course, “West Side Story,” will be featured.

All of Bernstein’s music was in some sense theater music. Note that the three concert works all have subtitles. Even the Symphony No. 2 isn’t a pure symphony in the manner of Beethoven or Brahms, but a kind of imaginary soundtrack to a famous poem by W.H. Auden. While his actual theater music is relegated to a “pops” concert, it is as powerful and as “serious” as anything on the classical series.

Theater music in concert is wonderful, but theater music in the theater is even better. If you wish to experience Leonard Bernstein almost as intimately as the janitor who was the sole audience for his only known lecture on the music of Irving Berlin, go see “Candide,” Bernstein’s comic opera‑cum‑musical, as produced by Arizona State University’s Lyric Opera Theatre. It’s a jewel of a score that exists in several versions, from full‑blown opera to small‑scale musical. ASU has chosen the small‑scale musical version, a punchy telling of the story, adapted from Voltaire, of optimism gone haywire.

The music is rollicking, witty, sparkling, and as heady as a Palo Verde in full, golden bloom. No one on this earth knew better how to combine irresistible rhythmic vitality with crushing melodic beauty than the man who liked to be called “Lenny” by everyone around him. Performances of “Candide” run from April 20 to April 29 at the Evelyn Smith Music Theatre on the ASU Tempe campus. For more information, call (480) 965‑6447 or log on to herbergercollege.asu.edu. mainstage.