Don Byron is a clarinetist and arranger by trade and an eclectic by disposition. His annual appearances at Symphony Space are occasions for him to perform – and transform – a grab-bag of works by his favorite composers.

To this end, the first set of Saturday’s show with his backing band the Symphony Space Adventurers included a furiously quick piece by Stravinsky, some deconstructed and distorted bits by Henry Mancini, an abstracted Sly Stone tune, and several selections from Earth, Wind, and Fire that strayed into free jazz. But the highlight of the night was the second set celebrating Sugar Hill Records and the band that made it famous, the Sugar Hill Gang.

The current issue of the Village Voice includes a cranky post mortem on hiphop’s 30th anniversary celebration that reserves special vitriol for the Sugar Hill Gang and their legacy, calling the moment in 1979 when their novelty song “Rapper’s Delight” went platinum the moment “hip-hop the folk culture became hip-hop the American entertainment industry sideshow.” “Rapper’s Delight” was the fledgling style’s first radio hit and a resounding affirmation of its commercial appeal.

The Sugar Hill Gang’s songs were strictly good-time party jams, but the Sugar Hill label also issued some of the first socially conscious raps, most notably Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five’s classic “The Message.” For Saturday’s show, however, Byron dug deeper into the catalog, playing a cheesy pro-family-values tune called “Here Comes the Bride” and a song called “Check It Out” – originally performed by a ventriloquist, he told us – that utilized call-and-response lines about Medicaid, food stamps, and welfare. While there was some novelty to hearing music originally built up from record samples performed live, there was little else to recommend these songs.

The songs of the Sugar Hill Gang were another matter entirely. The group’s original members – Big Bank Hank, Wonder Mike, and Master Gee – were on hand to perform “Rapper’s Delight” and two lesser hits, “Apache” and “8th Wonder,” all of which are recognizable from samples, quotes, and covers even for those who’ve never heard the originals.

But while the songs have maintained their place in the changing world of hip-hop, the group has not. Wonder Mike, who today looks like an agreeable youth soccer coach, boasted that the group had opened a few years back for N*Sync, and introduced “Rapper’s Delight” by saying, “This you might have heard of in the movie the ‘Wedding Singer’ where the grandma sings ‘hip-hop hibby-hibby-dibby hip-hip-hop a you don’t stop.'”

It was depressing to witness, but only until the music started. By the time Wonder Mike finished his opening scat, women – young and old, black and white – were dancing in the aisles and making their way to the stage. The show ended, appropriately, like hip-hop began: as a lively block party.