The Phantom of the Opera

Lon Chaney- the man of 1000 faces

Last night Isabella and I went to Davies Symphony Hall to hear Cameron Carpenter in a live accompaniment to Rupert Julian's classic 1925 horror film masterpiece The Phantom of the Opera. Performing his own score on the largest organ in the Americas, there is no doubt Carpenter is a virtuoso performer-  his opening recital of a Bach piece proved that much, even if it was ironically offset by his sprightly, Billy Idolesque appearance. However, his accompaniment for the film (performed, like the Bach, without a score) left much to be desired in many regards. Not that the music was uninteresting or poorly played- it just didn't serve the film more often than not. Many of the big moments of the film (the removal of the mask, the crashing of the chandelier, the ball scene and the crowd pursuit at the end) lacked a certain dramatic oomph which should have been mandatory. I suspect Cameron wanted to steer clear of cliched musical phrases and tropes, but in a film as iconic as this one, cliches are meant to be updated and improved upon, and yes, at times embraced- not shied away from (Exhibit A from the and now for something totally different field is the look on Jack White's face as he's playing "Whole Lotta Love" while seated directly in front of Jimmy Page in the great documentary It Might Get Loud).

Now, I know a lot more about horror movies than I do organ playing, so let's move on to the movie, shall we?

Starring the incomparable Lon Chaney in his most iconic role (though I would argue not his best- that would have to be The Unknown, though certainly there are at least half a dozen contenders from among his 161 films), it always impresses me how well Chaney's films hold up. I hadn't seen this film in at least two decades and after the slow opening I was quickly absorbed in not only the story, but the craftsmanship of Julian's ambitious film making. The sets are absolutely stunning (it was filmed at Universal Studios, not the Paris Opera House), the crowd scenes are huge affairs which must have been a nightmare to choreograph. The camera angles are always dead-on, adding to the drama and the mystery- no small feat because as Cameron noted when he introduced the film, cinema, compared to other art mediums, is still in its infancy- and in 1925 it was barely out of the womb. That we can look back and enjoy so many films from the 1920's says more about the film makers than it does about ourselves- I'm not sure which has changed more in the last 90 years- the culture or the medium, and yet cinema perhaps more than any art form apart from music, is inextricable from the culture in which it's created.

Chaney, who did his own make-up, manages to convey so much through body language, movement, and the small gesture. The object of his desire, Christine (Mary Philbin), is never really more than a representation of desire for its own sake (not that I don't understand that- believe me I do), as we never are given a reason why Erik (the Phantom) desires her or what he sees in her beyond a talent obviously not heard in a silent film. Philbin, like the rest of the cast, is acting in style of the day- that is to say melodramatic without shame and the bigger the gesture the better, though she does manage to convince if for no other reason that she's beautifully captured by the camera. I wouldn't want her, but I can see why Erik would. His particular desire for this woman, with its tragic consequences, is timeless.

The photography is stunning, even if the print the Symphony had was less than optimal. One thing both Isabella and I were unaware of until checking it out later was the color in the film is original- we both though it a Turner-esque, and unnecessary choice, but it was indeed part of the original plan of it all.

To put it plainly, while I could think of more frightening films to watch tonight, this one is well worth revisiting and if you've never seen it consider it a must. The 1929 re-issue had a soundtrack and is probably the more readily available version, but either way I don't think you can go wrong.

The audience (skewing much younger than usual on this night) plainly enjoyed it, and many were in costume for the evening. We were especially intrigued by the last DoDo Hunter and his wife- Little Bo Beep with her sacrificial lamb- guts splayed of course, with their two children in tow. The San Francisco Symphony has presented at least one classic film program each season recently and they've been hugely entertaining and rewarding evenings- I hope they keep it up.

Nightmare

Happy Halloween.



From us to you- (I Marcher, am the Jigsaw).



Setting the standard

Although no one has designated it as such, the performing arts season of 2011-12 may well end up being remembered as "the year of the pianists." An extraordinarily talented and legendary number of jazz and classical musicians have passed through the area lately and more are on the way. On the jazz front we've already seen McCoy Tyner, Brad Mehldau and Herbie Hancock. Ahmad Jamal will be performing in December. On the classical side Yefim Bronfman, Thomas Ades have already given stellar performances and in the weeks and months ahead Lang Lang, Marc Andre Hamelin, Alexander Melnikov, Christian Zacharias, Leif Ove Andsnes, Murray Perahia, Andras Schiff, Richard Goode and many others will perform locally. It's an abundance of riches, to be sure.

The Keith Jarrett Trio: L to R- Jarrett, Jack DeJohnette, Gary Peacock. Photo by Rose Anne Jarrett

The bar was seriously raised last night when Cal Performances presented the Keith Jarrett Trio at Zellerbach Hall. Comprised of Gary Peacock on bass and Jack DeJohnette on drums, these men have been performing together for more than 25 years and it shows at every turn. The notoriously picky pianist seemed in good spirits as he led them through a 2/12 hour performance of standards which held the full house rapt. With the piano situated onstage so his back was toward most of the audience, his head often bowed so far down toward the keys it couldn't be seen, Jarrett's improvisations were stunningly intricate, with developments you couldn't see coming but always went in the most natural direction, ending in denouements which only seemed inevitable once they arrived.

Peacock was always right there in the middle of it, extremely present yet never drawing attention his playing. His was one of the most subtle and complex performances on the instrument I've witnessed, filling in the empty spaces between the piano and drums with notes which made one pay close attention. At the age of 76 he shows no signs of slowing down.  DeJohnette's drum playing was magnificent, especially when he picked up the brushes during the second half. A fully-integrated component of the trio, not just the timekeeper, his timing and taste are impeccable. As the performance progressed, the trio just got tighter and tighter, each number sounding better than the last. This was jazz at its best.

The concert was comprised of standards, including a wonderful version of "Fever" in the first set and concluded with two encores, the last of which was a gorgeous, intricate take on "When I Fall in Love," which Jarrett dedicated to someone with whom he has recently done just that.

In a season of heavy-hitters, this performance set a standard which will be hard to top. The trio has a new album out called Rio and their tour concludes Tuesday night in Seattle.

Set list:
You Go To My Head
Yesterdays
Bob-Be 
Fever
Once Upon A Time
One For Majid
Life's A Bowl of Cherries
Balled (?)
Sandu (?)
Things Ain't What They Used to Be (Duke Ellington)

Encores:
I Didn't Know What Love Was
When I Fall In Love

Goran Bregovic and his Wedding and Funeral Orchestra

"Erin Brockovich? With a polka band?" Isabella asked.

"No, not Erin Brockovich. Goran Bregovich... and his Wedding and Funeral Orchestra," I replied.

"Since when does Erin Brockovich have a polka band? This should be fun- my father loved polka bands," she said.

"I don't know."

"Are jeans okay?"

"As long as you're not a Slav, yes."

"Why?"

"Because they'll be dressed a little differently. But you can wear whatever you want."

"What will they be wearing?"

"They'll look like Erin Brockovich- only hotter."

Later in the night, as we exited BART and made our way toward the Paramount, I asked "Do you realize at least half of our dates have been at this theater?"

"No they haven't," she said with certainty.

"Yes, they have."

"You've never taken me taken me to see a polka band before."

"And I'm not tonight."

While we were waiting in line for drinks at the downstairs bar  she admitted, "Okay, I recognize these bartenders. I guess we have been here a few times."

The line at the bar was a bit long, and Erins cut in front of me while Isabella was in the restroom, so by the time we were ready to go in the show had started and the overzealous door staff were keeping people from entering during the first two songs.

Two of the musicians came up to the door wearing folk costumes.

"Polka band," Isabella whispered in my ear.

Just then another Erin cut in front of me. Four inches separated us. I blew on her neck. Isabella laughed. The woman didn't budge. I blew on her neck again. She quivered slightly and stepped to her left.

"This is an aggressive crowd," Isabella noted.

"You haven't seen anything yet," I replied.

A Ringmaster unlike any other

The gatekeepers opened the doors and we walked down the aisle to experience Goran Bregovic and his Wedding and Funeral Orchestra. I say experience because there isn't really isn't a better way to describe what was about to take place- the word "concert" or "show" doesn't capture it fully. The line-up was the same as it was the last time they were in town- nineteen people on stage- Bregovic on guitar, a lone drummer, two horn players, two brass, one clarinet (for the klezmer effect), a string quartet, two female singers in traditional Bulgarian garb, and six male singers clad in tuxedos.

The format was similar too, but perhaps owing to this show being the last of their North American tour, the orchestra was simply on fire during this performance, playing with a passion I'm not sure I've witnessed since I saw the Clash at the Hollywood Palladium in 1982. It's chaotic by design, but this was something more. Bregovic read the audience perfectly and had them (myself included) in the palm of his hand. They stopped clapping asked, shushed other audience members during the quieter songs, and danced with complete abandon during the incredibly fast dance numbers. Yet this show seemed more focused in many ways, the orchestra more disciplined. There was a powerful moment when the male singers turned and stood to face the Bulgarian women as they sang a gorgeous folk tune. The sextet themselves were simply phenomenal, sounding like an entire church choir at times, at others using their voices as true instruments to complete the complex, multi-layered sound drawn from across the Balkan landscape and history. The string quartet played with exceptional precision and their turn in the spotlight was just one of many standout moments. The set featured many of their standard rave-ups like "Kalishnikov," "Gus," and the delirious "Alkohol"- which prompted a woman in the front to place an entire bottle of something at the foot of the stage, which Bregovic opened during the encore and took a couple of deep swigs from.

It was almost three hours of pure, ferocious music- and with the exception of the second night of Prince's concerts last February, easily the best thing I've seen all year. Isabella confessed she's never seen a polka band quite like it. You should have been there.

The concert was presented by SFJazz.

On the Air: Teatro ZinZanni going out with a bang

Cast of On The Air : Bottom row, left to right: Mat Plendl, Duffy Bishop, Kristin Clayton, Geoff Hoyle.
Middle row, left to right: Christopher Phi, Bernard Hazens, Manuela Horn, Wayne Doba, Andrea Conway-Doba Top: Elena Gatilova Photo Credit: Mark Kitaoka

 It's Teatro ZinZanni's last stand at Pier 29 and they're going out with a sexy, delightful romp called "On the Air," which features some of the best performers I've seen inside the tent. The original press materials mentioned a plot about a radio station getting the boot and the crew putting on a defiant final show before the powers-that-be turned everyone out in the street (reflecting, um, reality), but somewhere along the way that story line was jettisoned in favor of three hours of non-stop entertainment, ZinZanni-style. It works on every level.

Duffy Bishop 
Photo Credit: Mark Kitaoka 

The evening begins with very funny man Geoff Hoyle as "Red Bottoms," dropping one-liners they way they used to, complete with violin in hand. Hoyle, a veteran of Broadway and well-known among Bay Area audiences, has flawless comedic timing and delights as a few different characters (as does everyone in the show). Blues belter Duffy Bishop is also in the cast. A ZinZanni veteran who has recorded eight albums and performed with John Lee Hooker and Bo Diddley, she brings some serious musical chops to the show, as does the remarkable soprano Kristin Clayton, who performs a memorable version "Quando men Vo" from La Boheme toward the end of the evening.

Geoff Hoyle 
Photo Credit: Tracy Martin 

Then there's Manuela Horn, who just may be the sexiest woman alive. The 6' 2" Austrian Amazon is not only funny, but when you see her wickedly wielding a riding crop in her black patent leather dress, matching boots with 8" heels, red leather bra bursting with Alpine cleavage, and Bettie Page 'do, well, let's just say it's time to submit- and the entire audience did, none more willingly than I.

Manuela Horn
Photo Credit: Mark Kitaoka 

But ZinZanni is about the circus acts as much as the music, and "On the Air" goes all out on this one. Christopher Phi's hand balancing act seemingly defies what the human body is capable of, and the same can be said of Elena Gatilova's jaw-dropping Circeaux Act, which is performed in an extremely sexy, provocative costume. You can't take your eyes off either of them. Bernard Hazen's Rola Bola routine incorporates juggling and acrobatics and is another delight, as is Mat Plendle's stunning display of what one can do with Hula Hoops.

Christopher Phi, Elena Gatilova, Bernard Hazens Photo Credit: Mark Kitaoka

Andrea Conway and her husband Wayne Doba are also on hand. Conway's a seriously talented artist who has enlivened every ZinZanni show I've seen her in with her goofy charm and impressive physical talents. The duo perform a superb and funny tap dancing act.

Andrea Conway-Doba and Wayne Doba   Photo Credit: Mark Kitaoka 

I won't mention the songs performed during the show because they come up unexpectedly and part of the fun is really having no idea what's coming next, but "On the Air" goes from Shirley Temple to Jimi Hendrix, with a hysterical visit to the Carpenters along the way.

Did I mention how sexy Manuela Horn is?

The five course dinner was delicious and delivered with perfect timing throughout the show.

This is the last chance to see ZinZanni for what may be awhile. After 11 years, 40 different productions, and entertaining over 800,000 people, they're being forced to strike the beautiful Spiegeltent to make way for the America's Cup takeover of the Embarcadero. The non-profit circus is working with the City to find another location (there's a rumor floating around about the corner of Broadway and the Embarcadero), but nothing's confirmed, so check out "On the Air" while you can- the tent comes down after New Year's Eve. 

The Dude returns (SFS @ 100 post #5)

Dude!

The LA Philharmonic rolled into town today, the first of six visiting American Orchestras as part of the San Francisco Symphony's centennial season. They brought a staggering amount of musicians with them, and not one, but two composers were in the audience, which was a complete sell-out. Talk about star power.

The American Orchestras programming  features two performances on consecutive evenings. The first is to include a commission by the orchestra, and the second is designed to show the orchestra's core strengths. Tonight the LA Phil performed Enrico Chapela's Magnetar, which the orchestra only premiered for the first time three nights ago. Written for cellist Johannes Moser, it's a three movement concerto for electric cello and orchestra, and the composer has marked the timings Fast, Slow and Brutal. I can tell you one thing that was brutal was trying to make sense out of Chapela's program notes on the piece, in which he discusses flares, FXS and cosmic noise, but to me it just read like so much cosmic slop. Thankfully the piece he delivered is hugely engaging and entertaining. It's not deep, but there's a lot in the standard rep of orchestras that's equivalent to easily digested pop songs and no one seems to be complaining too much about that.

It starts out with a percussive introduction (including the rubbing and clapping of hands, stomping of feet and slapping of strings against the necks of instruments), before veering off into metallic territory reminding me of the theme music for Mission: Impossible. In fact this music is just begging to be used in a Darren Aronofsky film. The slow movement starts off in a loping Gershwin-drenched jazz rhythm and ends up somewhere to the left of Mancini done crunk. The brutal third movement starts off in metallic mode and doesn't let up, concluding with a theme introduced in the first. In the midst of all this there's a heavily effects-laden cadenza that goes in myriad directions. It's great fun, Moser was a kick to watch perform (he must have grown up watching Jimmy Page's solo in "Dazed and Confused" from The Song Remains the Same and now relishes being able to perform something in the same vein), and I'd love to hear it again.

The second half featured Prokofiev's Fifth Symphony, played fast, loud, and in total control. If there was nothing Russian-sounding about it (indeed, it struck me as an odd choice), there were plenty of moments for Dudamel to show off the orchestra's skills. Underlying currents in the strings that are easily subsumed by the largess of the work came through cleanly articulated. The wind and brass were noticeably on, and the fire the percussion section showed in Magnetar proved to be no fluke. The first movement end with a thunderous oomph that most conductors would have held back on so not to eclipse the finale of the fourth. Not Dudamel- he let the orchestra tear through the entire work and when it concluded, it was with as loud a flourish as I can remember an orchestra making.

The concert began with a stirring version of John Adams' Short Ride in a Fast Machine (Fanfare for Great Woods), which has never reminded me of anything having to do with nature, and didn't tonight, but it was an enjoyable ride nonetheless. Still, I would have liked a longer work from a composer who is so heavily involved in with both the LAP and SFS. Tomorrow night features more Adams (again a short piece- Tromba Iontana), another new work, Esteban Benzecry's Rituales Amerindos (Amerindian Rituals- dedicated to Dudamel) and Berlioz's Fantastic Symphony. It's sold-out too, but there may be turn-backs and it would be worth calling the box office if you're interested.

There was an encore, the opening of the third movement of Prokofiev's Classical symphony,which elicited some giggles from the audience (I thought it was  from Peter and the Wolf). Dudamel, as expected, received a tremendous ovation, as did Moser, the orchestra, and Adams and Chapela, both of whom were in the audience.  Moser will be performing the first Shostakovich Cello Concerto with the Berkeley Symphony on their opening night, October 27th.

A brief stay in purgatory

Had I done some homework, I probably would have skipped it altogether, but I'm not so different than you, or the many in the full house at Zellerbach Hall on Friday who were lured by the intriguing title, unusual concept and the presence of a star known for taking risks. But I didn't. In fact, it wasn't until I was there did I learn of a DVD and a long trail of online material which could have prevented me from seeing The Infernal Comedy: Confessions of a Serial Killer. Perhaps I'm just feeling a bit misanthropic this week, but I don't think so. On paper, the idea sounded great.

John Malkovich portrays the Austrian serial killer Jack Unterweger, who spent fifteen years in prison for murdering a woman with her underwear and was then released to a public who believed him to be rehabilitated. However, after his release Unterweger went on to kill quite a few more women in the same method as his original victim before he was caught in Florida and decided to hang himself in his cell rather than face another long imprisonment in America.

Also present are two sopranos, Louise Fribo and Martene Grimson, both of whom have extensive experience in Europe, and the Musica Angelica Baroque Orchestra- a southern California ensemble led by Martin Haselbock. A desk and chair are present center stage, upon which are small stacks of Unterweger's book, a lamp and some papers. The orchestra is onstage behind the desk, everything is dimly lit, and that's all there is for a "set."

The concept is the audience is an audience at a posthumous book/signing by Unterweger where he shills his book and offers anecdotes about his dirty deeds. The sopranos interrupt his monologue/performance to sing arias, mostly from the 18th century, meant to represent the feelings and thoughts of Unterweger's victims, countering the claims of his unreliable narration. Untergweger's intent is to charm and mislead, to present an illusion of honest revelation while holding back the final truth about himself. Imagine Tony Robbins as Jack the Ripper and you have an idea.

Malkovich is brilliant in the role, at times engaging with the audience to biting effect and is captivating to watch as he prowls from one side of the stage to another in a white suit and black shirt with white polka dots, looking completely like a self-satisfied sleaze. Fribo and Grimson were adequate accomplices, and the orchestra played well under conductor Adrian Kelly, but the whole doesn't come together despite the promising concept and even an actor with Mallovich's gifts can't salvage it.

Many of the arias are far too long and don't work as dramatic set pieces in their own right (at least not in the hands of Fribo and Grimson), so they soon become a drag on the shows pacing, making it feel much longer than an hour and forty-five minutes. As the pace drags, it began to seem self-indulgent to me, as if Unterweger, knowing he's not going anywhere (since he's already dead), just wants to have the audience to keep him company for as long as possible. At an hour, it may have been intriguing, but it soon began to feel like an extended stay in purgatory. There were a small number of walk-outs, and I considered it myself, but stayed to the end, where many in the house seemed to enjoy it all by responding with a hearty ovation.

The show was presented by Cal Performances and is currently touring.

What's wrong Dolora? Everyone else is happy... (SFS @ 100 post #4)

Five years ago James Conlon led the San Francisco Symphony and Chorus in an absolutely stunning performance of Verdi’s Requiem that remains high on my list of all-time favorites, so I wasn’t at all disappointed when it was announced he would be replacing Fabio Luisi on the podium. For those performances, the soloists were Christina Brewer, Stephanie Blythe, Frank Lopardo and Vitalij Kowaljow- a formidable line-up, all of whom were splendid, but it was the pairing of Brewer and Blythe that made it extraordinary.

This year’s model had an equally impressive list of soloists which for me made this one of the most highly anticipated concerts on the schedule: Sondra Radvanovsky, Dolora Zajick, Lopardo, and Ain Anger. However, the pairing of Radvanovsky and Zajick, which looked so good on paper, ended up being so oddly distracting to me that it left me feeling underwhelmed by what otherwise was a very strong performance from everyone else onstage. The San Francisco Symphony Chorus has probably never sounded better- they were truly the stars of the evening, delivering their lines with amazing clarity, force and conviction, especially during the Dies irae, where the brass also particularly shined, making many of the moments terrifying but gorgeous. This section also contains a lot of music Verdi stole from himself- the opening of Otello, the melody of “Caro Nome” from Rigoletto, snippets highly reminiscent of Don Carlo and Simon Boccanegra. At least he stole from his best stuff.

The strings were also wonderful throughout, creating an especially fleeting sound during the Sanctus. Conlon delivered as expected, which is to say, he was great- in total command of everything (and conducting without a score), he once again demonstrated his impressive mastery of this piece. In typical Conlon fashion he held his hand aloft for an extended time at the conclusion of Libera me, so the impact could be felt by all in the house and not ruined by immediate applause. When he lowered his hand the applause came, and in the form of an extended and enthusiastic standing ovation from the full house.

Having heard all of these singers before, I thought if there was to be a soft spot it would be found in Lopardo, but he was excellent this evening, especially in the Offertorio, where his tone was particularly well-matched with the orchestra. Anger, who truly looks like a movie star, developed some roughness in his voice during the performance, but it cleared by the Lux aeterna and overall he was solid- his voice has an impressive depth and I look forward to hearing more of him. I’d also love to see Tarantino cast him in something.

There’s probably no soprano I’d rather hear sing Verdi than Radvanovsky. Her voice is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever heard and watching her stride onstage in a stunning blue gown was simply exciting. She sounded fantastic, though it was apparent she was struggling with something, judging by her expressions and the amount of water she drank (turns out she felt quite ill the next day). Watching her, you could tell she was engaged in everything- a fully alive presence onstage.

But what was up between Radvanovsky and Zajick? When she wasn’t singing, Zajick sat there staring at the poor souls in the front of the orchestra like she was waiting for a doctor to give her a terrible diagnosis. The sour look on her face only left when she rose to sing solo; otherwise she looked annoyed all evening, and most noticeably, never once looked at Radvanovsky, even when they sang together. Not once- it was as if Zajick, looking a bit frumpy in her glittery black pantsuit, resented having to sit next to the glamorous Radvanovsky, much less perform alongside her. It was just weird, and it went on through the entire show, to the point where it became as distracting as Alisa Weilerstein’s “sexy face.” Radvanovsky would look at her for cues, or just because, and Zajick just stared straight ahead all night.

Now I know there are people reading this and saying to themselves, “Why don’t you just close your eyes? What difference does it make what the performer looks like- what matters is what they sound like.” Sorry, but I don’t agree with that sentiment. Watching what takes place onstage is part of the reason I attend performances in the first place. It’s not that I expect a soloist to somehow sit there and look charming all evening or even acknowledge the audience, but this looked like one person being extremely annoyed by the other. Isabella noticed it as well, commenting afterward that Zajick seemed to display four or five different personalities during the concert, and only one that was animated. It was so distracting I have to admit it detracted from my appreciation of the whole more than once, because I kept thinking “what the hell is wrong with her?” I found myself having to look up into the chorus to divert my attention, and I noticed someone I know is now singing in it- which was a pleasant surprise. How did Zajick sound? Fine, but the pairing of these two great Verdians didn't create the sparks I expected.

Hopefully the ladies worked it out and Radvanovsky’s recovered from whatever was ailing her last night because there are still two more performances of this masterpiece and my bet is they’re going to get successively better.

In praise of Fima

Yefim Bronfman has quietly become my favorite pianist to hear in performance. Unassuming, devoid of any pretense, affectation or mannerisms, he obviously he lacks the sex appeal of Yuja Wang and the mysterious allure of Martha Argerich, but in the past few years I've seen him give a number of staggeringly good, straightforward performances and last week at Berkeley's Zellerbach Hall he did it again. He's all guts and no bullshit.

He strode out onto the ridiculously dim stage, quickly nodded to the crowd (which would have been better accommodated in the smaller, acoustically friendlier Hertz Hall), sat down on the bench and immediately put his fingers to the keys, not wasting a moment, tearing into the third Brahms sonata in F minor, a five-movement work with bridges between the Romantic and Classical styles. Brahms had nothing more to say in the form after this, and Bronfman gave a thunderous account as if to explain why. The quieter moments of the Intermezzo could come across more delicately in the hands of another, but I wouldn't want to sacrifice the force and heart of what Bronfman gave to the whole, which he performed with an almost angry urgency, though without ever sounding rushed.

Liszt seems to be on the mind of many pianists this year due to the approaching bicentennial of his birth, as he keeps popping up on tremendously divergent programs. In years past I'd grown tired of Liszt's flash and almost never listen to him anymore, but lately based on what I've heard performed in the past few months I owe the composer a reconsideration. Bronfman performed three selections from the almost unplayable (it was later revised to accommodate those without Liszt's singular talents) Twelve Transcendental Etudes: Mazeppa, Harmonies du Soir: Andantino, and Chasse-Neige:Adante con moto. Perhaps Liszt is best experienced live, and suffers under the bombast present in recordings, but these three pieces were incredible. Bronfman's hands looked like two huge white tarantulas on crack flying over the keyboard, giving these ridiculously difficult works a complete throttling. He simply wrestled them to the ground. Yes, he broke a sweat doing it, pausing between each one to wipe his brow, but in truth he almost made it look easy. Of course they weren't.

I thought he deserved a standing ovation for these alone, though the audience was content to give him hearty applause and cheers while remaining seated. It was such a knock-out I couldn't imagine how he was going to top it and felt a disappointment was imminent after the intermission.

None came. Prokofiev's Piano Sonata No.8 in B-flat minor was mesmerizing. Again tearing into it as soon as he sat down, Bronfman once again displayed his unique ability, an almost chameleon-like quality, to take disparate works and make them his own as if they just bow to his will. Each melody of the first movement spun out with beautiful grace, and the slow intricacies of the second found quiet passages which eluded Bronfman during the Brahms, only to be brought up against agitating quirks. He brought it home in the final movement, which hearkens back to themes from the first, giving the entire work a carefully articulated structure.

For this he received the well-deserved, overdue standing ovation, which was rewarded by an encore of two Chopin etudes. Bronfman is currently in the midst of a worldwide tour combining recitals and performances with the world's leading orchestras. Check his website for cities and dates.  Update 10/21: Scrap that. I just found out last night that Fima broke his finger at the conclusion of the Prokofiev. And he still performed the Chopin etudes for an encore!

Wishing you a complete and speedy recovery Fima!


The concert was presented by Cal Performances.

Random notes on horror

Ten years ago I wrote a screenplay- a horror movie called The Resurrectionist. I wanted to write a movie I would actually want to go see. At the time, horror movies had fallen into the dismal state of self-parody brought about by the Scream franchise, and no one was really making the kinds of films that made me a fan of the genre to begin with: films like The Exorcist, The Omen, Rosemary's Baby, Black Christmas, Dawn of the Dead, etc. So I set to writing an old-school horror flick- which to me meant interesting characters with a heavy dose of dread and gore. There wasn't a single joke in it, though there were a few nods and winks.

This was before Saw, Hostel and House of 1000 Corpses. When I sent it out to be read, the most common response I received was "It's too dark." After hearing that a few times (and being completely broke) I got a job and later worked on a different project for a bit, called Drop, which proved to be a bit much to take on with everything else clamoring for my attention and I set that aside, too. Then came Saw, followed by the slew of 70's horror remakes, and I realized I was just a bit ahead of the curve on this one and I should make another attempt to get The Resurrectionist off the ground. It didn't happen for myriad reasons, many of which you can discern in this blog. Now that dark tide seems to have subsided a bit and horror is taking another turn, even bleaker, with movies like Martyrs, Inside and of course A Serbian Film. The bonds have been broken and the genre, at its most extreme edge has entered nihilistic territory far beyond what Wes Craven started with the original Last House on the Left (a remake of Bergmans's Virgin Spring) and Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange. If you believe, as I do, that horror films only reflect the anxieties and fears of the era in which they're made (hence the many fun but empty, vapid films of the 90's), then these recent films make a lot of sense, disturbing as they are.

Lately, I've been spending a lot of time with Isabella, who's made some films of her own, and I finally gave her the script wondering what she would think of it. Her initial feedback was encouraging and got us into a discussion of the genre, where she revealed a fondness for the funny stuff, which dismayed me a bit. Don't get me wrong, there are some great classic horror movies which are extremely funny, but with the exception of Evil Dead Part II  and Re-Animator, these are only good films in my opinion, not classics.

I was half-jokingly trying to persuade her to see Human Centipede II, which she thought was a porn film, and we were having an animated discussion about it when I told her we could see the first one on Netflix via streaming and we should watch it. She declined, though she agreed to watch Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, which I haven't seen since its initial release more than 20 years ago.

Revisiting Henry, what surprised me is how well it holds up. But the key elements for any great horror film are right there: interesting characters, a pervading sense of dread, and the two male leads are strong actors. I had forgotten how transgressive it was, and remains, and watching it again made me think about how the taboos so willingly smashed in A Serbian Film aren't necessarily new, they're being just pushed further out in a film that's much better executed on every other level as well (and yes, yes, I know, please don't bring up Salo as exhibit A in the "been there, done that" argument- Salo lacks interesting characters and dread- it's just a feast for fetishists).

Anyway, the gist of this is I think the time has come to start working on scripts again, beginning with a re-write of The Resurrectionist- if you have a friend at Lionsgate, can you introduce me?

On a side note, it appears Netflix has decided not to carry A Serbian Film, which has been slightly cut for its upcoming U.S. DVD release- I noticed it's recently been removed from my queue. The DVD hits store on October 25th, though you may want to think twice before viewing it. If you decide to watch it I strongly recommend not reading any reviews containing spoilers beforehand- the less you know about what you're going to see, the better- if you're willing to watch it in the first place. My review of the original version is here.

Mercury doesn't rise

The ex-pat Brazilian community was out in force on Friday night, filling in a good portion of Oakland's Paramount Theatre to see Daniela Mercury. The warm weather only added to the sense that a party was about to take place, and there were plenty of exceptionally attractive people on hand to drive the point home. Inside the theater a large scrim featuring Carybé's "Mulata" replaced the curtain, only adding more to the somewhat hedonistic atmosphere.

Carybé's "Mulata": step inside!

The show in large part didn't deliver on the promise, though there were certainly some fine moments.There was some grumbling in the crowd about the lack of dancing space inside the venue and as the show progressed the grumbling grew a little louder, indeed in some spots it was down bitchy, as the security folks at the theater kept clearing the aisles of people who just wanted to get down. The Paramount's a beautiful theater to be sure, but it may not have been the best venue for this particular gig. In two weeks the "no dancing in aisles" policy is going to meet a serious challenge when the "Slavic spectacle" rolls into Oaktown.

Mercury and her band started off slowly, taking about an hour to build into a full burn, though the audience was with her from the start. Perhaps accustomed to much longer shows in Brazil, she didn't pace the first half very well, and her five dancers initially distracted from, rather than complimented the show- at least while they were dressed in white- when they returned to the stage during the second hour dressed in red, they began to tear it up. A weird part came early on when Mercury stopped everything introduce Carmen Miranda. Isabella and exchanged curious looks of anticipation, both of us thinking wait a minute- Carmen Miranda is still alive? Of course she's not- she died in 1955 and would be 103 if she were alive today, but we had a couple of Manhattans before the show. What followed was a creepy rendition of "O Que E Que a Baina Tem" (What Is It that the Bahaian Woman Has?) from her latest album Canibália (Cannibalism). I'd like to propose a permanent moratorium on duets with dead people. It's never a good idea. In the middle of the set there was a misguided attempt at bossa nova, which surely isn't Mercury's thing, and the with the dancers offstage, the show started to sag a bit just when Mercury could have been expected to start heating things up.

A terrific version of "Estrelas" got things back on track, with Mercury's son Gabriel Povoas taking on Tony Garrido's vocal part of the duet (her daughter Giovana is one of the dancers). Once they finally got there, a long, tedious version of "Sol du Sol" almost derailed it again. In the end, she kicked it into high Afro-Brazilian gear, largely turning the stage over to her dancers to provide the excitement, especially the amazing Leticia Cardoso Dos Santos, who simply shook everyone else to shame. The two-hour set was just getting started, and then it was over. Oddly, Mercury kept addressing the crowd as "San Francisco," all night, never once acknowledging that we were actually in Oakland- and to paraphrase Gert, you can't there if you don't even know where there is, and that's kind of the best way I can describe this strangely lukewarm concert.

The show was presented by SFJazz, and if you if you want to catch the next big party on their schedule, one that promises to deliver, you don't want to miss Goran Bregovic and his Wedding and Funeral Orchestra on October 28th. This one's also going to be at the Paramount, but having been to one their gigs before, I have a hard time imagining how they're going to keep people out of the aisles for this one.

Mercury is in the midst of a North American tour. Check her website for more appearances.

Blithely yours, Stephanie

As hard as it is for me to admit this, I've recently become one of those people who listen to music on my phone via a set of headphones as I walk down the street. It's usually rock, heavy on the Stones, 70's era Bowie and Lou Reed, sometimes some James Brown. Yesterday I started the queue before leaving my apartment, with "Sweet Jane" off of  "Rock and Roll Animal" pumped pretty loud. The almost ridiculous arena-rock opening is one of my favorite rock and roll moments, and when Reed lets the opening chords of the song finally fall into place after three minutes of blissful jamming, he plays the riff twice before the audience bursts into applause. Unintentionally, I happened to time it perfectly and as I walked out the door and stepped into the empty, long hallway, the sound of thousands people applauding me rang through my ears. The rest of the day went pretty well in spite of myself. How could it not with a beginning like that? I wanted to take a bow.

As I was walking up O'Farrell tonight on my way to the Herbst Theater to hear mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe open SF Performances' season I was tempted to put the buds in my ears, but I had nothing on the phone that seemed appropriate for the brief walk to hear a recital by an opera singer. Lately I have this desire to tune out the world around me and this is a pretty effective method. Everything falls into the background when your head is absorbed in "Can't You Hear Me Knockin'," "Midnight Rambler," or "Cracked Actor." When there's nothing else, for the past few months the Stones have been my default musical choice. They've replaced Beethoven. I can't explain why. In fact I have 42 songs by them on my phone- three hours plus, and I had to choose judiciously. I deleted the Fidelio with Kaufmann and Stemme to make room for it all. It's just where I am at the moment.

So I hit "Dance, Part 1" off of Emotional Rescue and was enjoying the Latin-tinged disco strolling down Polk and as I came to the corner of Van Ness and McCallister I was marveling at the impressive speed of the guitar work that closes out "Respectable." Grooving along to all this, I was a little dismayed to see hardly a soul outside the theater. It was incredibly warm tonight, one of those rare San Francisco nights where everyone should be out carousing without thought of what the morning will bring. Jobs? Relationships? Screw all that, what about this heat? It comes too rarely not to enjoy it, but I've heard Blythe deliver a couple of amazing performances in the past few years and this was her first local recital, so in I went.

 The sparse crowd outside and in the lobby didn't reflect what I found once I was in the theater. There was a decent sized audience, though nowhere near capacity, which is too bad, because Blythe delivered a pretty strong performance

Accompanied by the very talented and affable Warren Jones on piano, the program featured a first half of twelve poems by Emily Dickinson set to music by James Legg, who died in 2000 at the age of 38 (his partner personally delivered the music to Blythe after his death, and she's continuously performed the work since debuting it last summer in New York), and Three Songs, Opus 10, by Samuel Barber, set to three poems from James Joyce's Chamber Music.

I know this makes me sound like a bumpkin, but I've never been an admirer of Dickinson's poetry and it boggles my mind she has this aura of tremendous genius surrounding her in the popular mind while someone like Amy Lowell remains an obscure, rarely acknowledged talent. Needless to say, while the poems were performed well, I found the whole less than inspiring. There was just nowhere for her to turn it loose. And that's why one goes to hear her in the first place. However, I did enjoy Blythe and Jones reading the poems aloud to the audience beforehand.

Why did they do this? Blythe explained from the stage at the beginning of the show that when she sings in English, she doesn't want to see heads in the audience bowed down to follow the text- she's worked hard so we don't have to, and all in all it was an accurate boast and the pre-reading was unnecessary, even if it was more entertaining than the actual music.

They did the same thing with Joyce's poems, though there were only three, but this time it was more appropriate. Perhaps that's because I do admire Joyce. Or perhaps I just like Barber's music more than Legg's. Regardless, by the time Blythe got to the final part of this triptych, she hit her stride and let loose that enormously powerful voice, even though it was obvious she was holding back due to the relatively small size of the theater. I don't necessarily think she has a beautiful voice, but I can't think of a contemporary singer who has a more impressive voice, and if she had given it all out the audience probably would have looked like that guy in the Marantz ads of the seventies (or was it Pioneer- who cares, we now listen to music loaded onto phones).

The real sparks flew in the second half of the program, which began with Jones playing Scott Joplin's "Peacherine Rag" and then Blythe delivered eight impeccably phrased and sung Tin Pan Alley-era songs, of which the highlights were the sweet sentimentality of Hylton and Brown's "If I Had a Talking Picture of You" and the saucy innuendo of Irving Berlin's  "You'd Be Surprised." Blythe obviously loves this material, and at times I could picture her screaming to herself that she didn't get the Mama Morton role in Rob Marshall's Chicago, which after tonight I think she'd be great in. If you've never heard of Blythe, think of Ethel Merman. Not the Ethel Merman whom people parody, but the Ethel Merman who was actually a gargantuan talent. That's Blythe.

During the second half Jones also performed Joplin's "Magnetic Rag" which is infused with classical touches throughout, and his playing was an impressive blending of the two genres which only someone with a deep musical knowledge could pull off so effortlessly. The performance closed with another Joplin rag, followed by a spiritual, and because I'm a heathen I have no idea what it was, but I wouldn't be surprised if the title is "Beautiful Dreamer."

Walking home, I kept the buds out of my ears. The Tenderloin is no place to walk through after 10 PM and not be able to hear what's going on around you, though I see people do it all the time. Outside of Mitchell Brothers, a woman staggered in street, blocking traffic, while a police cruiser sat waiting for the light to change. Her associate, a man on a bicycle, called out to her "You stupid fucking bitch- get off the street- the police are right there!"

She replied, "I can't see 'em, and fuck 'em. Where they at? I can't help it. Can't help myself."

The light turned green and the cops went on their way- as was to be expected. I continued on, and right now I'm listening to the Stones, once again. "Hot Stuff, can't get enough...."

Kronos Plays Reich

Sunday was a difficult day. Amid the glory of the weather and the Blue Angels thundering overhead across the City, I was just trying to sort out the pieces of something smashed and move forward, knowing I wasn't going to be able to put it back together. I was glad when the day began to dim and the time came to make my way to the BART station to meet Chad Newsome in Berkeley to see the Kronos Quartet perform an all Steve Reich Program. The streets were clogged with people who had come into the City for the airshow. Cars filled the streets and the sidewalks were full of people who have no idea what to do with themselves outside of their cars, exposed in the big city where everything is dirty and noisy. They looked warily at all the other people. I just wanted them to get out of the way

Down in the station, the platform was packed, as were the cars, but everyone seemed relaxed about it all and I thought it ironic I was going to hear "Different Trains" in a couple of hours.

Chad and I met at the Berkeley station and walked through campus, up to the the Bear's Lair, and had Lagunitas IPAs before the show. I think in the back of both our minds lurked thoughts of how different our lives seemed when we were students there, and what now seems, to me at least, like another life altogether.

Kronos Quartet: Photo by Michael Wislon

A full house showed up to the unusually dark (and pleasingly so) Hertz Hall. The performance began with 1999's "Triple Quartet," dedicated to Kronos. The title refers to the whole being comprised of three distinct quartets, the second and third playing "interlocking chords" in a "kind of variation form" off one another, while the first "plays melodies in canon between the first violin and viola against the second violin and cello" according to Reich's own program notes. The second and third quartets were pre-recorded by Kronos, so in essence they were playing with themselves, though not in the way usually commonly assumed. The work's movements alternate fast-slow-fast and unless one had a deep familiarity with it, or was distinctly trying to parse out the differences between each quartet, I think it would have been hard to follow which quartet was playing what by listening to a recording, so being able to watch the musicians was immensely helpful. It was an impressive performance.

Excerpts from "The Cave" came next, which left me feeling like I was back in the Middle-East, wandering through Wadi Rum, as Reich's music fully evoked the hard realities of the region. As Kronos played the slow, agonized score, the taped component featured people answering basic questions on their thoughts of biblical characters. The words don't come through necessarily, but become a wall against which the musicians constantly push against through the work's three movements. It was the least impressive score of the night, perhaps because it was the quietest, but it was still quite effective,

"WTC 9/11" begins with the disturbing, highly amplified sound of a phone off the hook. It's the sound of something dreadful, and it sets the tone for what's to come for the next fifteen minutes. I find something incredibly powerful about this piece, though at times I've wished it was longer and at others shorter. Live, it's even more powerful, as Kronos played bathed in deep blue and red lights, a projection on the wall behind them of two massive forms colliding. Again, with two recordings accompanying their own amplified instruments. The three sections move from panic of the first with its voices of air traffic controllers and fire department archives, with the musicians performing jagged, piercing lines, reminding me of a cross between the soundtracks for Psycho and Requiem for a Dream (which Kronos recorded and was heavily influenced by Reich). In the the second the tempo slows as the voices of Reich's friends and neighbors recollect the day, haltingly and repeatedly, as if no one can really even believe their own words, while the sound of the phone off the hook pulses in quietly in the background, performed by the viola.  Certain phrases are punctuated with sharp jabs from the violin, the words elongated into notes performed by the instruments. The third part is evocative of loss and remembrance, slower still, featuring more recollections and closes with a cantor singing prayers before the musicians bring a sense of halting confusion before the amplified phone returns to bring it back to its terrible beginning. It's an incredibly effective work.

The second half of the performance was the brilliant "Different Trains," a meditation on destiny developed in a sound prism of trains carrying people to their destinations- in this case out west to Los Angeles and to the gas chambers of the concentration camps. Kronos performed it with an urgency which brought a thrilling pulse to it all, even during the slower passages, creating a hypnotic effect.

There was an encore of a work by Perotin, an 11th Century composer Reich admires, entitled "Viderunt omnes." It sounded amazingly fresh for something composed 900 years ago.

Afterward we walked back through campus with Patrick, who was unusually seated in the rear of the house. We discussed the idea of using tapes and if that negated the authenticity of what constitutes a live performance. Patrick and Chad felt this was the case. I disagreed and though I didn't quite realize this part  at the time, have come to find it largely beside the point, because what we had just experienced wasn't something I could recreate at home. And that's why I wanted to get out of the house to begin with.

A final on thought on the Kronos Quartet: in the last year and a half I've seen three performances by them and each one has been radically different than the others, including one of the best shows I've seen all year (which, damn, I never posted about)- their concert with Wu Man for her hyper-creative "A Chinese Home." Always adventurous and into doing something new, stretching way beyond the traditional confines of chamber music, these are brilliant, exciting musicians. If you've yet to see them, make it a point to attend one of the upcoming concerts. Cal Performances will bring them back in February and they'll be in Santa Rosa on December 2nd with another interesting program featuring "WTC 9/11" and other works by Jewish and Muslim composers. They are also in a residency with YBCA, so there are plenty of opportunities in the months ahead.

All of the Reich compositions mentioned in this post can be heard on MOG.

Strange Magic

Last night got strange. Strange in that way where suddenly things are outside the known boundaries and no one really knows what's going to happen next but everyone's having fun at the moment and is willing to ride the train to wherever the next station is. It was as if all of a sudden we decided to become alternate versions of ourselves. Or looked at another way, maybe we were all just being ourselves, all at once and altogether.

It didn't start off unusually. I met GG at Urban Tavern for dinner. She was late, as I expected she would be since she usually is, but why complain? There's something immensely pleasing about watching a six-foot tall redhead (I suspect she's actually taller than that but won't cop to it) in a tight black dress slit all the way up the side in pearls and heels saunter up to your table. She towers over me and something about that has always excited me (she was seated the first time we met- I had no idea). I know it does nothing for her.

I'd ordered drinks for us while waiting and soon we were discussing the latest machinations of the Femme Fatale and what had happened with Penelope. After dinner we took a cab over to Davies, in which I noticed she was wearing thigh-high stockings. These always have a certain, well-defined effect on me. We picked up our tickets with minutes to spare and settled in to hear Vasily Petreneko take the reigns from MTT, leading Joshua Bell and the orchestra in the first guest conductor-led performance of the season. The last time Petrenko was here he impressed me so much I declared he should be MTT's successor when the day finally arrives. After last night I'm not so sure. Nothing went wrong, but the magic wasn't there in the same way. Some of that may be my response to the incredible performances I've seen led by MTT in the past month.

It began with an absolutely delightful version of Shostakovitch's Festival Overture taken at a breakneck pace. Flutist Tim Day again rocked it, as he has so often in the past month. If only the rest of the evening had the oomph behind it displayed in the opener it would have been an enchanting evening. Joshua Bell came out after it was over in an ensemble that was a sartorial mistake, though no one seemed to mind. Bell, a favorite of the audience for obvious reasons, did justice to Tchaikovsky's Meditation, from Souvenir d'un lieu cher, arranged by Glazunov, and though it was smooth as silk, the performance lacked passion and fire.

Though GG (and much of the audience) disagreed with me, passion and fire was also absent from Glazunov's Violin Concerto, which followed. Yes, Bell performed superbly, but there was something missing from it all. A bite, a hunger to take this unjustly rarely performed piece and make its performance something special wasn't there, despite Bell's command and amazingly fleet fretwork.

The absence of fire continued after the intermission, when it was just Petrenko and the orchestra performing Elgar's First Symphony. Like the Glazunov, there was nothing wrong with it, and sections bloomed beautifully, but it seemed a bit perfunctory, the orchestra never becoming seriously engaged with it all despite Petrenko's efforts. I know I'm in the minority with this response but there you have it. After the serious glory of what took place on this stage in the past month, last night was a bit of let-down. It had to happen sometime, I just wouldn't have expected it to come under a performance led by Petrenko.

Afterward, GG and I made our way over to Sugar to meet Isabella and the Swede (formerly the Elder Swede but since the younger one is pretty much MIA these days I'm officially discarding the epithet).  Isabella and the Swede had been out on a "date" of sorts, though only in the platonic sense. Isabella had wanted to meet GG for awhile, based no doubt on my appreciation of her, always expressed in no uncertain terms.

Unbeknownst to me, bets were placed about my own response to what would happen with this particular grouping, the terms of which I remain still in the dark about, only knowing that one was a winner and the other not. I have photographic evidence of what occurred, but I don't understand it and await an explanation for exactly what the hell that was all about. Just because I have photos doesn't make any of it clearer. All I'm willing to divulge at the moment is this morning I overslept, and I received an email from Isabella saying "you seem to generate a special kind of energy" and a follow up text calling me "an evil man" after I had sent her the pictures.


GG and I unexpectedly ended up having lunch together today, but it was the last thing she wanted to talk about. Her response upon seeing the photos was "haha, oh, mah god :-)." Read into it what you will. I'm keeping the photos to myself, because afterall, I love those two women.

Ladyland

I'm pleased to note this is the 500th post here on A Beast in a Jungle. I've been pondering for awhile what it should be about and wanted to acknowledge that I consider this blog to be about performances which take place on stages and off. Even the writing of it is a performance of a certain kind. In that spirit I considered revealing the  true nature of my involvement with Penelope, the Femme Fatale, Isabella and the other women threaded through here. Three drafts sit in the queue.


However, I couldn't quite wrestle that beast under control- the subject remains a convoluted tangle of threads in reality, never knottier than its current state. In the end I thought it best to leave the subject behind the curtain. Instead, I've decided to engage in an unconscionable act of self-indulgent flattery and publish two "fan letters" to mark the occasion. 


From Edith W.:

o 

So I stumbled into the vortex that is your blog just now and had to extricate myself immediately 1) because it's brilliant and reminded me of what makes you "you," and 2) because where I stumbled was the post about running into your ex fiancé. it made me paranoid (because yes, I am self-centered) and wondered if all of your ex-es are like characters in your head. then again, maybe that's the Marcher reference.

I think I told you this in an email some time ago, but last year I taught a course on Henry James for retirees at the senior center....we read The Ambassadors and Wings of the Dove. This September I agreed to return and work through Ulysses. I realized pretty quickly that this little side-gig could easily be called "books that remind me of Mark." I remember like it was yesterday...being in your attic apartment in Berkeley and your copy of Ulysses on the night stand. Did you know they haven't made a newer edition since that horrible art-deco looking cover?

Anyway.... about the blog. Your brilliance never ceases to inspire (and excite)....as it ever was.

From R. S.:

I should have written long ago to say how much I liked your post on whispering in public places (great title). Everything since then has been great, too. I'm starting to think you're piecing together a novel here, bit by bit. I've been thinking about a few novels I've read that combine serious engagement with music and interesting plots. I was slightly acquainted with this NYC novelist and opera fanatic named Richard Brickner who wrote a novel in the 70s or early 80s called Tickets, all about attending the Met and the social relationships that surrounded that. What I like best about your posts is the restraint and the mystery--there's intense stuff and it comes across powerfully, but you always leave the reader wondering and wanting to know more. I find that withholding quite addictive, and it does indeed resemble my very favorite thing about reading HJ. Last month I finally read The Beast in the Jungle and it certainly works that way.

... I really like this notion of acting like a character in a novel.  Personally I've always thought of myself as Isabel Archer, which I certainly should have grown out of by now, but haven't.

And there we are!

Adès in San Francisco & Berkeley

Thomas Adès: photo by Maurice Foxall

Both the San Francisco Symphony and Cal Performances presented concerts this weekend featuring the music of Thomas Adès, as composer and performer, and the results were splendid on both counts. After leaving Hardly Strictly Bluegrass early Friday evening (missing the last half of Robert Plant's pleasing, surprising set) I rode over to Davies to meet Axel Feldheim, whom I found sitting patiently in the Grove Street lobby reading the program notes. Scheduled along with the premiere of Adès' Polaris was Mozart's Haffner Symphony in D major (No. 35, K.385) and Stravinsky's Petrushka. A lack of connecting threads between the pieces didn't prevent the concert from being a memorable one.


If you've read this blog awhile you may remember that I'm not a huge fan of Mozart's music. That's not to say I dislike it in anyway (that would be ridiculous- akin to saying one dislikes a blue sky) but his symphonies and operas mostly leave me indifferent. Aside from Cosi, the Jupiter, and the piano concertos, I wouldn't make much of an effort to hear it. For me Mozart is mostly background music- something to listen to when I want to hear pleasant music which doesn't distract, require much attention or any direct engagement, like when I'm cooking breakfast on a Sunday morning. That's heresy to most people but it's where I stand. However, this didn't prevent me from enjoying an exceptionally lush treatment of the Haffner under MTT's fluttering hands, which I truly enjoyed but realized while it was unfolding the reason I'm indifferent to Mozart is because his music just doesn't pull me in emotionally. Mystery solved.


Composed in 2010 on commission from the New World Symphony (and other orchestras) to be the premiere work at their new Frank Gehry-designed hall, Polaris features music by Adès accompanied by Tal Rosner's video. Rosner's imagery reminded me too much of Bill Viola's work for The Tristan Project and I found myself distracted by the extremely large feet of one of the two women who roam about a deserted English seashore, apparently waiting for their men to return, or perhaps they're beckoning sirens. Shown on a three-panel screen as a triptych, it probably had a greater impact in the Gehry hall for which it was conceived. After a few minutes I stopped watching it, my attention absorbed by the music, though I did notice the conclusion was well choreographed with the music- both stopped suddenly in a final moment.


Adès' music for Polaris was truly something special and I'm pleased there were many microphones set about the stage to capture it all. The brass were staggered in the terrace seats above the stage, grouped by instruments, four trumpets on the far left, tuba far right, three trombones flanked by low and high horns in the center, while the stage held an enormous group of musicians. The title refers to the North Star, and the music bears a relation to how the sea is moved by its relationship to the stars. Beginning quietly, the work's three sections build to a tremendous climax only to subside again into murmuring bubbles before becoming another swell of sound in which everything seems to drown in extraordinarily complex precision. The program notes mention the instruments always play in canon and I tried to follow this but soon lost my was as MTT created thrilling crescendos in which the brass just exploded within the melodic score, rendering my attempt to follow the intricacies a pointless exercise on an initial hearing. It's only a fourteen minute work and when it was over I wanted more of it. Or at least a repeat of what we had just heard.


The concert concluded with a terrific performance of Stravinsky's Petrushka, with MTT and the orchestra giving an almost delirious account of its many delights. Having not heard it in years, I'd forgotten how much I like the music of this ballet score. Flutist Tim Day and first trumpet Mark Inouye had especially fine moments, but what struck me was how the orchestra appears to be playing at an entirely new level during this Centennial Season. For the third time in as many weeks, I can say I've never heard them sound this good. 

On Sunday over at Hertz Hall on the UC Berkeley campus, Adès performed with the Calder Quartet. We arrived late and missed the opening piece, Stravinsky's Three pieces for String Quartet, but took seats in the gallery as Adès performed his own Mazurkas for Piano. Mazurkas always remind me of Chopin of course, but I couldn't detect any strains of it in Adès' piece, though I was quickly absorbed by the work's complexity- Adès played with a score, which I found interestingly strange. Still, with our late arrival it took a few minutes to mentally shift gears and pay close attention to what he was playing. It was only then I noticed how delicately Adès performs.

The Calder Quartet returned to the stage to perform Adès' seven-part Arcadiana. The sections alternate between evocations of water and land, creating a sense of Arcadia lost. Complex and challenging, the Calders performed it with an impressive precision. 

Adès returned after the intermission for what turned out to be the afternoon's highlight, Liszt's Petrarch Sonnet No. 123. His pedal work brought out odd, dark tones in the piece (performed without a score) and the delicacy he exhibited in the Mazurkas took on an even greater depth here with its much softer passages. The final note was the softest thing I think I've ever heard. It was a completely unassuming performance, yet masterful.

The next piece brought the Calder Quartet back for Adès' The Four Quarters. The first two movements in end a similar, perhaps identical, exciting swoosh of a climax- a composing trick that might have come across as gimmicky is less-sure hands, played with perfection by the quartet. There are some more unusual touches- the second movement is almost entirely played in furious pizzicato and the last movement is in 25/16 time, which is rather difficult to follow- you just have to roll with it.

The concluding work was Adès' Quintet for Piano and String Quartet, Op. 20- a fascinating 20 minutes that reaches back to late Beethoven for inspiration. Adès starts breaking down the walls of what the listener expects to hear as he pushes out the boundaries of the format. There was a long exposition section for the piano that traveled pretty far afield before returning to a point that seemed inevitable if never obvious. Adès literally pounded the keys of the piano with the force of a hard rock drummer in opposition to the strings during this section and the effect was startling and thrilling. All five musicians seemed incredibly in-sync with one another throughout the complex work, playing competing themes which only merged together toward the conclusion, but not in any tidy way. It was an appropriate conclusion to an afternoon of wickedly cerebral yet accessible music, played with heart.

On Friday night Axel and I talked with Lisa Hirsch during the intermission and when I told her I had heard little of his work (somehow forgetting this performance completely) she listed a couple of works she really liked and kept on going before finally recommending that one should just "get everything." I'm starting to think that's some pretty decent advice.