Humor Abuse

Lorenzo Pisoni's one-man show Humor Abuse attempts to juggle some pretty complex subjects under the guise of light-hearted clowning, but in the end the show feels more like a self-indulgent exorcism of Pisoni's conflicted feelings about his father. How else should the audience interpret this true story about a son who assumes his father's act after the father abandons him, and as an adult turns the experience into a staged memoir built on the resulting identity-conflict issues (albeit one with some very well-executed gags and stunts)? That's going a bit fast- the first part of the story (all true, by the way) concerns Pisoni's growing up inside the one-ring Pickle Family Circus, a legendary Bay Area commedia dell'arte troupe started by his parents Larry Pisoni and Peggy Snider.

The adult Lorenzo's  anecdotes of his childhood are amusing, endearing and make for a fascinating subject. Already mimicking his father's act at the age of two, with extremely poignant photographs the two of them (alone and together) projected on the same backdrop used by the Pickles to illustrate the events described, it's the real-life version of a fantasy most of us had as a child performed by a guy who actually lived it out.

But as both Pisonis grow older, and the son adopts the stage identity of the father who's left his family and the circus they founded behind, the play becomes a kind of chalk circle with the character of the clown performed by both men in the center. If younger the Pisoni and director/co-creator Erica Schmidt weren't so intent on making this tale of conflicted identity stemming from a broken father-son relationship so funny, it might be painful to watch. Instead, it's a thinly-veiled reproach disguised as homage, which is just uncomfortable to watch, especially coming from such an obviously talented performer as Pisoni.

The bitterness and sense of accusation could be alleviated if we knew more about Pisoni the father, instead of just Pisoni the Pickle, but the audience is only told what he did, not why. We also never learn much about the mother and sister. Omitting the rest of the family's story from the play constricts it to the point where at the end it's just the son juggling his own paternal issues- emulating the man without celebrating him. Too bad, because there's probably a damn good play lurking somewhere under the reciprocal abuse.

James Brown Olympia shows online

Recently there have been some lengthy clips posted on YouTube featuring James Brown's legendary performance at the Olympia in 1971. The quality is still pretty terrible, but this link is the first I've seen which seems to have the entire show. You don't want to miss "Give it Up or Turnit A Loose" at 43:43 and the closing medley of "Sex Machine/ Super Bad/ Get Up, Get Into It and Get Involved/ Soul Power" - the apex of Brown's melding of soul and funk. Bobby Byrd, Fred Wesley, Bootsy and Catfish Collins are all on the stage as the core of the JBs- one of the greatest bands ever assembled.

Though I don't think they're actually from the same show, the clips Olympia 1967 (part 1) and Olympia 1967 (part 2) feature some fantastic material with the Famous Flames, especially the 2nd link, which has decent sound and ends with a great version of "Please, Please, Please" and a riff of "Cold Sweat."

The entire show of the historic concert from the Boston Garden in 1968 (the night after the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.) is also online, but the quality is pretty poor.

Still, as nice as it is find this footage online, so far nothing beats the quality of the performance found on the T.A.M.I. Show dvd, so if you've never seen it, there it is.

Philharmonia Baroque: Masters of English

Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra. Photo by Randi Beach

Conductor and harpsichordist Richard Egarr, Music Director of England's Academy of Ancient Music, is making his debut with the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra in their first concert series of the year with a program called "English Masters of the Baroque." Egarr, introduced each piece with a humor-tinged anecdote, and though I sometimes didn't hear what he said we would, I nevertheless found him to be a warm, engaging presence and a thoughtful conductor.

The first half of the program began with a brisk, lively performance of Handel's Symphony from Saul, with especially fine playing from concertmaster Lisa Weiss and principal oboist Marc Shachman during the fourth movement. This set the tone for the remainder of the concert, which seemed to fly by despite having seven pieces on the program. Matthew Locke's Music From the Tempest began with a storm and ended in a round and was followed by Purcell's suite from The Fairy Queen. Both pieces were played with the same vigor as the Handel and I was particularly entranced by David Tayler's theobro- an instrument I've never seen before which is kind of like a lute version of Jimmy Page's double-neck guitar.

The second half of the program began with Thomas Arne's Concerto for Harpsichord No. 5 in G minor featuring Egarr as soloist and conductor. There was a roughness in the rhythm of Egarr's playing, but having never heard the work before, I can't say if that was the design of the composer or the result of some very tricky passages requiring cross-hand playing. William Lawes' brief Consort Sett in Six Parts No. VII in C major followed, featuring paired violins, violas and cellos in two movements- a Fantasy and an Aire. It was the only work on the program I really couldn't find a way into, perhaps due to its brevity and my own inexperience with the form.

Two marvelously played pieces by Handel closed the program. The first was the Concerto Gross in D minor, which featured brilliant turns by each section of the orchestra, with many of its members visibly enjoying themselves. The concert concluded with the "Arrival of the Queen of Sheba" from Solomon.


There are two more performances this weekend at First Congregational Church in Berkeley. Philharmonia Baroque's next series of concerts will be in March and feature Steven Isserlis in works by Mendelssohn, Schumann and Brahms.

San Francisco Opera: the 2012-13 season

Interior of the War Memorial Opera House. Photo by David Wakely

San Francisco Opera's General Director David Gockley has done the improbable and created an upcoming season I'm actually excited about for the first time during his tenure. Eight operas are scheduled for 2012-13 (I'm not including the world premiere co-production with Cal Performances of The Secret Garden since that's being staged at Zellerbach), and though the season largely follows Gockley's established pattern of presenting a stable of recently staged warhorses, he's also included two premieres of contemporary, English-language operas, with another on the way the following year (based on Stephen King's Dolores Claibourne). That's a bold move in the current climate and the riskiest thing he's done in San Francisco so far. After the two premieres, the appeal of 2012-13 is in the well-cast standard rep not seen locally for a long time. It's the best schedule SFO has announced since Rosenberg's era and hopefully it works as well onstage as it looks on paper.

Rigoletto brings back Michael Yeargan's well-worn production ('06, '01, and '97) for 12 performances. The title role is shared by Zeljko Lucic and Marco Vratogna. His daughter Gilda will be performed by Aleksandra Kurzak and Albina Shagimuratova.  Lucic was good the last time the company staged Verdi's La Forza, but the presence of David Lomeli in the role of the Duke of Mantua makes my choice the cast led by Vratogna. On the other hand, Kurzak recently won great accolades in LA Opera's Cosi, so one probably can't go wrong with either cast. It's a dark and claustrophobic production which I've enjoyed the previous times I've seen it. My one question for director Harry Silverstein is will there be breasts this time- or  is the San Francisco audience too provincial? Luisotti conducts one of Verdi's very best.

Bellini's I Capuleti e i Montecchi (The Capulets and the Montagues) has only been seen on the War Memorial stage once before in 1991. Conductor Riccardo Frizza (last year's Lucrezia) returns  to lead an excellent cast featuring Joyce DiDinato, Eric Owens, Saimir Pirgu (another singer well-reviewed in LA's Cosi) and Nicole Cabell, who seems poised for the next level. The presence of DiDonato and Owens are reason enough to attend, even if a Bel Canto version of Romeo and Juliet isn't necessarily your thing.

Jake Heggie's Moby-Dick makes its local debut after receiving a tremendous reception at its world premiere in Dallas. Ben Heppner and Jay Hunter Morris (Siegfried) share the role of the obsessed Captain Ahab. While Heppner's the more more established singer, the quickly-rising Morris is the one to see. Depending on the state of Heppner's voice, Morris may well end up performing more than the two performances for which he's scheduled. Patrick Summers conducts.

Puccini's Tosca was last staged here in 2009 and its the same Thierry Bosquet set and costumes seen previously for what seems like the last 100 years, but is in fact only the fifth time since 1997. Should still seem fresh, right? Twelve performances with two casts and a battle of the divas between Patricia Racette and Angela Gheorghiu in the title role. Racette's the local favorite, but Gheorghiu's appearances are rarer and she strikes me as the more interesting of the two in the role, which neither have sung in San Francisco before. So personally I'd go with Angela, assuming she actually shows up, but if you've never seen Tosca go with Racette- the supporting cast of Brian Jadge and Mark Delevan certainly trumps Massimo Giordano and Roberto Frontali. Luisotti conducts all performances.

Wagner's Lohengrin hasn't seen the War Memorial stage since 1996 and it returns with what may end up being the strongest cast of the season. The marvelous tenor Brandon Jovanovich sings the title role for the first time. The presence of Kristinn Sigmundsson, Petra Lang, and Brian Mulligan in the tale of the lustful knight all bode well, and though Camilla Nylund is an unknown in these parts, she'd have to muck it up pretty badly to keep this from being first-rate all the way around. The production is new to San Francisco and the only iffy thing about it is whether or not Luisotti can conduct Wagner. He did very well with Strauss two years back, so that's a good omen of what will come from the pit.

The allure that Offenbach's Les Contes d'Hoffmann (The Tales of Hoffmann) holds for many has thus far eluded me, but I've never seen it performed before. This should be an excellent introduction- Natalie Dessay plays the four loves of Matthew Polenzani's title character, with Alice Coote and Christian Van Horn along for the telling. Conductor Patrick Fournillier ably led Cyrano recently and Laurent Pelly's productions are usually a delight (La Fille du Regiment).

Cosi Fan Tutte is the one opera of Mozart's I absolutely love, so who cares if this is the same production from way back in 2005. It was great then and with a young, vibrant cast featuring Ellie Dehn, Heidi Stober, Susannah Biller and Phillipe Sly, it should be quite fun. Luisotti hasn't convinced me yet that he has any facility with Mozart, but if there's one opera where he can prove himself, it's Cosi.

The world premiere of composer Mark Adamo's The Gospel of Mary Magdalene is bound to be somewhat controversial- or at least it should be if it's done well. Mary has a strong cast featuring Sasha Cooke finally appearing on the other side of Grove Street in the title role, barihunk Nathan Gunn as Jesus, and William Burden, whose singing was the only thing I found worthwhile in last year's Heart of a Soldier, as Peter. Everything else is new, including conductor Michael Christie, making his SFO debut. Everything except the story, that is.

Ranking them in order of personal anticipation, top to bottom:
Lohengrin
Moby-Dick
The Gospel According to Mary Magdalene
I Capuleti e i Montecchi
Les Contes d'Hoffmann
Cosi fan tutte
Rigoletto
Tosca

The debut of Eco Ensemble

Eco Ensemble rehearsing Edmund Campion's Flow. Debris. Falls. Photo by Peg Skorpinski (Bay Citizen, New York Times)

The music department of UC Berkeley unveiled a new house band last night in Hertz Hall called Eco Ensemble, whose mission is to perform works by contemporary composers, including professors and grad students of the university. The group is led by David Milnes, music director of the UC Berkeley Symphony Orchestra and conductor of the Berkeley Contemporary Chamber Players. But it's not all about the local angle- the group will be performing pieces by eleven composers including Nico Muhly, Magnus Lindberg and  Kaija Saariaho during three concerts, the first of which took place last night before a well-attended house.

The program began with Gérard Grisey's Talea (ou la machine et les herbes folles), a piece for five players- piano, violin, cello, clarinet and flute. Written in 1986 while he was teaching composition at Cal, the piece has two sections which examine speed and contrast of sound. Talea begins with a jolting buzz followed by sounds played so quietly they could be easily be missed. For the next seventeen minutes they expand and contract like a slinky designed by Ligeti.

Tristan Murail's L'Esprit des dunes, written in 1994 and dedicated to Giacinto Scelsi and Salvador Dali, is influenced by the sounds and sights of the Mongolian desert, a recurring inspiration of the composer's. Of the four works performed, Murail's was the one I found decidedly difficult to follow as its constantly shifting, electronically enhanced soundscape took me one place and left me there until I was suddenly jolted from it by a harsh note from a triangle or the introduction of another sound suddenly bursting forth from the musicians, often the percussionist. Here is a sample of it.

Edmund Campion, a current faculty member of the music department and instrumental in getting Eco off the ground, was introduced by Cal Performances director Matías Tarnopolsky. Campion describes his piano concerto/not a piano concerto, entitled Flow. Debris. Falls (2010) as "the musical equivalent of a B-movie developed under the radar of the censor-prone larger Hollywood studios. In these B-movie scenarios, stories that on the surface appear to be genre conforming, become subversive vehicles, sites for the creator's imagination to run without censure. It would please me if David Lynch like the title, as it is meant to evoke a location in America where normality exists mostly as an ornamental feature masking a more sinister underbelly."

That's actually not a bad description of the three movement work for ensemble and two pianos. The subversive element is twofold. First, the pianist's performance is analyzed by a software program hooked up to the instrument and fed to a player piano, which then performs an improvisation based on what's being played. Avatar, ghost in the machine, what have you, it's an interesting concept which worked really well, though I found the computer-generated parts often to be more forceful and interesting than what Joanna Chao was playing. Perhaps that's the intent, but it ultimately left me wanting to know if that was by Campion's design or if the software was capable of creating music more dynamic than that of the composer who created it. Truly, it's a musical Frankenstein and quite a fun little monster in both implication and reality. The second subversive element is the use of amplification at varying levels which also featured additional electronic elements. The ideas forming the basis of Campion's work would likely offend a lot of musical purists, but I find this transgression of tradition to be liberating and I'd like to see more works incorporating technology find their way into "mainstream" concert halls.

The last piece was Marc-André Dalbavie's In advance of the broken time (1994), a composition which wonderfully examines the shape and structure of sound and its movement as seven musicians take a single note on an extended journey which concludes where it began. It was a fitting end to the performance.

The program notes for the performance made it impossible to identify the musicians performing each piece- something I hope is remedied for Eco Ensembles upcoming performances on February 11 and March 24, as many of them merited individual praise.

Here's the program for those concerts:
Feb. 11: Saariaho: Ballade, Prelude/ Lindberg: Corrente/ Bedrossian: Swing/ Saariaho: Trios Riviers
March 24: Matalon: Tunneling/ Muhly: Clear Music/ Lim: Songs Found in Dream/ Einbond: What the Blind See

Nameless forest

Photo by Julieta Cervantes

Dean Moss' Nameless forest is better experienced than described- a success on multiple levels defying a single interpretation, touching the audience in so many places, it's a work that keeps expanding within the mind long after it's over.

Moss is the former curator of dance and performance at The Kitchen in New York, a guest lecturer at Harvard and Yale, and a guest professor at Hunter College and the Tokyo National University of Fine Arts and Music. The inspiration for his most recent work comes from the sculptural self-portraits of Sungmyung Chun, a Korean artist whose work deals with alienation, identity, and violence. Working together, the two men have transformed Chun's solid and heavy works into a piece of living theater, which incorporates 12 members of the audience into its core of six dancers, ensuring no two performances are ever quite the same.

Taking place under and around an exploded figure based on Chun's work, with its pink neon guts dangling in mid-air at the center of it all, Nameless forest has three parts.

The first begins with a dark stage floor, the dancers and participants seated on opposite ends of the square space. Stephen Vitello's compelling score begins a snarling lion moving through a jungle (or forest), creating a sense of unease and impending violence. The lights come up revealing a man lying face-down at the edge of the floor. He begins to flop across the floor like a limbless creature emerging from the water to make land for the first time. It also looks like a birth, and as soon the initial struggle to emerge is over, others pile upon him like the dead weight and ghosts of ancestors and expectations, smothering and eclipsing him from view. The newly emerged being soon finds himself within recognizable societal situations- uncomfortable, awkward, confusing, ritualistic and soon no longer the center of the audience's attention.

Photo by Paula Court

The second part is an arresting visual and aural cacophony- the being is emerged in a world of alienation, violence and sex, enhanced by Michael Kamber's recordings and images reflecting his experience as a war correspondent.

The last part takes the audience inside the exploded being- the neon guts (by Gandalf  Gavàn) are illuminated, and the participants are revealed in new ways. Reflecting the audience back on itself, Kacie Chang leads them through one of our culture's most banal forms of self-expression (and self absorption) and turns it into something unexpectedly poignant (and in this performance quite funny). Now blurring the line between performance and reality, the fourth wall knocked down (or is it?), coupled with the knowledge that as a member of the audience it could have been you on that floor, Nameless forest concludes on a heady and engaging note.

Photo by Paula Court

The excellent performers at the core of the work are Kacie Chang, Eric Conroe, Aaron Hodges, Pedro Jiménez, DJ McDonald and Sari Nordman, all of whom possess unique identities and express a wide range of physical and dramatic abilities. Moss requires them to give a lot during the show and together they form a fearless and bold troupe.

During a Q & A with Moss and the performers which followed, one commented that after working on the piece for two years, there is now more left out of it than what is currently presented onstage. That leanness and refinement shows- there's nothing in the work that feels redundant or unnecessary, and its remarkable how the core ensemble integrates members from the audience so seamlessly into the performance. Provocative, intelligent and completely engaging, it's definitely worth seeing.

The final performance is tonight at YBCA, which once again has succeeded in presenting something quite extraordinary for Bay Area audiences. Check out their website for upcoming events featuring a broad spectrum of work from contemporary artists across the globe.

Recital redux: Christopher Maltman

Christopher Maltman: Photo from San Francisco Performances

As we were leaving Christopher Maltman's recital at Herbst last night, The Swede remarked how much he enjoyed the last song. I replied that I liked it too, and that I had recently just heard it somewhere else, though at the moment I couldn't remember where- perhaps it was it used in a film I'd recently seen? Only later did it come to me it was the same song Susan Graham used last Saturday night to end her recital in Berkeley- "À Chloris."

Also the same was the accompanist for the two performances- Malcolm Martineau, who again was a tremendous asset to the singer.

I also had a similar feeling to the one I had after Graham's recital- that while Maltman was certainly an impressive singer, his performance didn't connect with me much beyond a display of his obvious abilities. There were more similarities, truth be told, but I don't want to belabor the point nor do I think it fruitful to compare two artists with very different careers.

Maltman is better known in Europe than in the States, and although San Francisco Performances has presented him twice before, his only turn on the War Memorial's stage was in the 2007 run of Die Zauberflote, in which he sang Papageno. I remember that run, because there was "The Magic Flute for Families" presented during it, which delighted the two little girls I escorted, and I recall thinking at the time it was a shame the main cast wasn't having all of this fun with these kids. Runnicles certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. Knowing now he's the father of three sons, I'm sure Maltman would have as well. Sorry, I'm way off topic here.

I bring up the European vs. Stateside exposure only because the first half of the program was put together at the request of Venetians, for whom it was originally performed, and it consisted of songs about- yes, that's right-  songs about Venice. Composed by Europeans. Who weren't Venetians. Maltman said later in the night it was difficult to find a lot of material to fill the request, but managed to find about 40 minutes of it composed by Fauré, Schumann, Schubert, Mendelssohn and Hahn. The songs by Fauré and Hahn worked well, especially the latter's, though during Fauré's songs there were two exquisite moments; the first being the elegant and extended finish of "En Sourdine," and the way Maltman let his voice soar during "C'est l'extase." The final "ah" of Hahn's "La Barcheta" left an impression that could be felt throughout the audience and Maltman seemed to truly enjoy singing "La primavera." But the German songs felt like they were composed by tourists who really had no insight into what they were writing about, no doubt in part because a song about a gondolier sounds absurd when it's sung in German. The disconnect between the subject matter and the material was exacerbated by Maltman's lack of engagement with the audience during the first half- he spoke no words and sang every song to one person seated in the center of the last row of the orchestra section, only smiling during the applause between cycles.

He warmed up during the second half, first graciously thanking SF Performances for how they handled his earlier cancellation and then saying how nice it was to be back in San Francisco- a city which he's been fond of since he first visited us at the age of 10. Then he announced he and Martineau were going to change the order of the program, putting Schubert's "Drei Gasänge" before Schubert's "Three Rückert Lieder." This turned out to be a wise decision, as the songs now being performed first were a kind of potpourri of Schubert sounding like Weber, Haydn and Rossini (Maltman's description), while the three lieder are, well, Schubert lieder. Since Schubert's"Three Rückert Lieder" was to be followed by Mahler's "Rückert Lieder," of which there are five, a sort of arc could be established that wouldn't have worked had the program been performed as originally planned- eight Rückert Lieder in a row. While all of this was going on I was wondering why the songs of the first half were about Venice if Maltman likes San Francisco so much? I was also puzzled by the cut and style of Maltman's tux, which The Swede assured me was "in the European style."

The Rückert lieder were the highlight of the program, closing on a marvelous note as Martineau held the end of "Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen "I am lost to the world" for full dramatic effect.

Waiting for the encore, I was thinking that while I enjoyed the Rückerts immensely, there was strangely little I heard in the performance that compelled me to want to hear Maltman in an opera. This thought changed immediately with the first encore, the Doge's aria from Verdi's I due Foscari (yet another Venetian number), which Maltman delivered with verve and passion, even if he was still singing to the person in the back row. He followed this with a song about Naples, the name of which I didn't catch, and then, as mentioned, finished the performance with "À Chloris."

Walking home, I noticed a hooker who has worked Hemlock alley for years had taken up a new spot at Hyde and O'Farrell and wondered if she didn't want to walk the extra blocks to her usual spot because of the rain.

In praise of James Conlon

James Conlon. Photo from LA Opera

The other day Isabella and I were discussing the differences between LA Opera and San Francisco Opera and naturally we ended up talking about conductors. Though Placido Domingo gets the lion's share of attention as the company's General Director and the world's most famous living opera singer, LAO wouldn't be where it is today without Music Director James Conlon. A tireless and passionate advocate of the art, Conlon is the company's not-so-secret weapon.

I've missed the "Recovered Voices" programming LAO has had to set aside during the current economic climate. The programming, featuring works by composers suppressed by the Nazis, has put some great productions on the stage of the Dorothy Chandler and it's Conlon's baby. However, the current lack of funds for "Recovered Voices" isn't stopping Conlon from bringing these works to the public. Over the weekend of January 20-22, he will conduct "a program inspired by [the] Recovered Voices series" at the Colburn School, just down the street from LA's Music Center. One has to admire the man's passion for this worthy project.

It's a double-feature of Viktor Ullman's one-act The Emperor of Atlantis, composed in 1943 while he was imprisoned in Terezin, paired with Ernst Krenek's The Secret Kingdom. Krenek emigrated to the U.S. after his works were labeled "degenerate" by the Nazis. Neither composers career was ever the same after the war.

Conlon will be conducting musicians from the Colburn School and the singers will be from the Domingo-Thornton Young Artists program. Tickets are $25 and can be purchased by calling 213 621 1050 or at colburnschool.edu/tickets. Conlon will be giving a lecture prior to each performance, which will surely be worth attending. 

Les mauvaises filles sont toujours plus divertissant

Susan Graham: Photo by Dario Acosta

Perusing the program as we waited for the lights to dim, Isabella quietly said, "You always take me to see such fluff."

"Filth?" I replied, my misunderstanding of her words surely based on her lack of appreciation for the genius of Vampire Girl vs. Frankenstein Girl, which I had been watching earlier in the evening.

"Fluff," she replied, with a wry smile.

The lights dimmed and Susan Graham strode onstage dressed in a form-fitting, an almost blindingly white dress which made her look simultaneously sexy and angelic. Accompanist Malcom Martineau followed behind her in white tie. She smiled, graciously acknowledged the audience's applause and they immediately went into Henry Purcell's "The Blessed Virgin's Expostulation (Tell Me, Some Pitying Angel)"- a scena published in 1693. Next came Berlioz's "La Mort d'Ophelie (The Death of Ophelia)" composed in 1842. Both of these selections are familiar territory for the mezzo and she sang them with vivid expression and conviction.

She followed with six songs with texts drawn from Goethe's Wilhem Meister composed by Schubert, Schumann, Liszt, Tchaikovsky, Henri Duparc and Hugo Wolf (performed in that order). Liszt and Wolf used the same text and the contrast in musical styles was telling, with the latter providing a much more dramatic interpretation of "Kennst du das Land (Knowest thou where?)."

Intermission followed. Up to this point the performance was absolutely first rate, and I was especially impressed by Martineau's accompaniment. However, it wasn't exciting nor illuminating. One expects a singer of Graham's stature to be able to sing these kinds of works extremely well, and she did just that, pleasing the audience to be sure, but offering little beyond exhibiting her already known and established formidable talents. That's certainly not a bad thing, especially given the ritualistic nature of the format followed by opera singers, but recitals I've attended in the past year by Hvorostovsky, Kaufmann, Blythe (and what I heard about Mattila's) have raised the bar on what excites me.

For the second half, Graham came onstage in a dark, sequined gown, cut to bare her right shoulder and arm. She looked elegant... and hot. There's no other way to put it, and the audience let her know it. She responded by vamping it up a bit as she made her way toward the piano and though an explanation of the sartorial juxtaposition was really unnecessary, she gave us one, speaking to the audience for the first time to explain the first half of the program was about "good girls" and the second would feature music about women with "a more dubious moral compass." Needless to say, I found this pleasing.

She began with Joseph Horovitz's Lady Macbeth, composed in 1970 using texts from the Scottish Play. After Martineau played the introduction, Isabella whispered "Iambic pentameter" in my ear- an observation about the music I would have missed otherwise. Graham delivered it with relish, giving an excellent performance dramatically and vocally and here the recital became something special.

She followed with six songs by composed by Poulenc in 1939 set to poems by Louise de Vilmorin and collectively called Fiancailles pour rire ("Engagement for Laughs"). These poems, about desire, love, and death were quite beautifully sung and Martineau concluded "Il Vole (He Flies)" with a witty flourish.

The program noted "More Songs about 'Ladies' to be announced from stage" and Graham introduced the first by speaking the title in French, prompting Isabella to laugh. I turned to her, puzzled. Graham then said the title in English, "I have two lovers" and said something else in French about the song , causing Isabella to laugh again, then whisper in my ear, "This song's about you." Graham then translated the gist of the song for the audience as "men are beasts."

"You speak French?" I asked, surprised I hadn't known this before as we've spent a significant amount of time together these past months.

"Mm-hmm," she replied.

The song was Guitry and Messager's "J'ai deux amants," which she followed with Cole Porter's "The Physician." Graham ended the second half with a parody written for her by Ben Moore called "Sexy Lady"- a fun piece of kitsch bemoaning her inability as a six-foot-tall mezzo to land the sexier operatic roles. Moore's written similar parodies for other singers, including "Wagner Roles" for Deborah Voigt.

She and Martineau returned for three encores: "Connais-tu le pays" from Mignon; a witty version of Sondheim's "The Boy From..."; and concluded the performance on a high note with what she described as her favorite song, Reynaldo Hahn's "A Chloris."

The concert was part of Cal Performances' Koret Rectial Series. Graham mentioned how much she liked performing for the Berkeley audience, thanked Director Matias Tarnopolsky, and said she hoped to be "back soon."

The series continues with pianist Kirill Gerstein on February 12 in a program of Bach, Mozart, Knussen, Weber and Schumann. The series also presents recitals by baritone Wolfgang Holzmair in March and soprano Sandrine Piau in April.  Graham's twelve city tour of North America continues on January 18th at the new Valley Performing Arts Center in Northridge, California before heading east to Morrow, Georgia, Toronto, Carnegie Hall and D.C's Kennedy Center Concert Hall. Check her schedule for more information.

Le Martyre de Saint Sébastien (SFS @ 100 post #9)

Ida Rubinstein

Debussy's Le Martyre de Saint Sébastien, composed in 1911, has few champions, but count the San Francisco Symphony's Michael Tilson Thomas among them. He conducted the first performances of it here in 1995 and is presenting a new, semi-staged version of it this weekend. Containing elements found in a symphony, opera, ballet, oratorio choral work, it's an odd assemblage originally designed to be a popular piece, but it never achieved that goal.

The version presented by the Symphony and director and designer Anne Patterson is an alluring 70-minute pageant of beautiful music enhanced by accompanying projected and live visuals-  a strange thing to describe and it's something of a modern masque, though that description doesn't quite capture its essence. The program notes by Michael Steinberg point out that this is the most Wagnerian music Debussy ever wrote, and one can certainly hear that, but the French composer's stamp is all over it- there are moments in the score of gorgeous Impressionism- cascading water, cerulean skies, Tristan chord-like yearnings of desire, all played with exceptional precision by the immense orchestra, whose brass section was exhibiting new heights of clarity and force throughout the evening.

Also on hand to make the whole thing work was a small troupe of excellent singers and performers- Frederica von Stade narrated the Saint's lines, and although she was miked and not singing, her voice possessed force and she performed the part with moving and graceful conviction. Sopranos Karina Gauvin and Joanna Taber, along with mezzos Leah Wool and Sasha Cooke, handled the singing roles and sounded lovely, though I have to admit the sumptuousness of the music, combined with the arresting visual projections and lighting designed by Adam Larsen and Matthew Frey, frequently found me paying less attention to the singers than I would ordinarily. The staging often featured images of the mercurial Ida Rubinstein, who as the original ballet dancer for Le Martyre had a large part in the piece's origination. For this production the dancer was San Francisco Ballet's Damian Smith, whose performance of choreographer Myles Thatcher's moves was projected on multiple screens, often in slow motion and still images- again, the only word to describe this was gorgeous- and at times surprisingly poignant.

MTT led a superb performance of the orchestra through the work's five movements, with each of the "mansions" building on its predecessor. It does seem a bit long toward the end, but the final movement (Paradise) unfolds to a reverent finale.

The first half of the concert featured Janacek's Sinfionetta- a twenty-minute militaristic blast featuring a bevy of brass on the stage and scattered in three trios on the terrace seats. The opening flurry lacks the subtlety typically found in Janacek's works but as the piece continues the themes clearly emerge in wondrous developments. The work features all of the gorgeous rhythmic vitality found in the composer's better-known pieces, like The Cunning Little Vixen, especially in the final allegro. Certainly these performances are another highlight of the Centennial Season.

Machine at the Crucible

Eugene Brancoveanu in Machine. Photo by Sean Donnelly

I've been looking forward to finally seeing a production at The Crucible for some time and last night I caught the dress rehearsal for Machine, a "fire opera" by composer Clark Suprynowicz and director/ first-time librettist Mark Streshinsky.  The production incorporates many of the skills taught and practiced at the educational facility, which means fire spews from the set constantly- from the floor, from above, from the mouths of performers and the entire production has a Burning Man/steam punk vibe to it- imagine Nibleheim beneath the Thunderdome.

The opera, based on the short story "Deus Ex Machina" by Derek J. Goodman, is about William, whose father has disappeared, leaving behind a destitute wife, daughter and son. William is performed by the very talented baritone and former Adler Fellow Eugene Brancoveanu- an incredible coup for this production and a sign of the indefatigable singer's artistic curiosity. William takes a job at the Longitude Steel Press to provide for the family and ten years later wakes from an imposed stupor not comprehending what has become of him or his family, since he's spent it working mindlessly for the Machine.

The Machine, or at least its slaves, has three authority figures: Sonya, played by mezzo Valentina Osinski (longtime veteran of Bay Area opera companies); Redshirt, performed by tenor Joe Meyers; and Brigid, performed by rock singer Dawn McCarthy. The staging and libretto never quite make clear who the big boss is, as each seems to control a different sphere within the Steel Press. The clever, three-tiered set designed by Jean-Francois Revon has action taking place in almost every corner during the 65-minute show, and it's easy to miss things- do you want to follow the singers, watch things ignite, or admire the bodies of the performers? The choice is yours.

The musicians are placed on all three tiers. Led by Barnaby Palmer (formerly of San Francisco Lyric Opera), there are seven percussionists, two guitars, a bass, cello, accordion, and some computer-generated sounds, all of which at some point are buttressed by the low-humming of gas jets (or something). Amplified in a space obviously not acoustically-friendly to nuanced music, Suprynowicz's music ends up creating effect and mood rather than driving the work more than one would deisre in an opera, but it's clear he has some interesting music in the score, with many of the opera's first forty minutes or so reminding me at points of Berg and Janacek (Wozzeck and Katya Kabanova specifically, both of which contain themes not far from those found in Machine). Toward the last third, the music shifts to a more jazz-infused rock orientation, with no ill effect. Brancoveanu and Osinski can handle everything thrown their way with ease, and the same can be said for the smaller roles of Alexis Lane Jensen as William's mother and Ann-Kathryn Olsen as the sister once her microphone was adjusted.

There are many fine elements at work here- creative staging (though it all feels very Burning Man), some interesting music, and two fine performances. The story, a variant of one told many times before, is well-translated to the stage by everyone involved and one can easily discern the commitment and energy of the entire crew to make it all work. But not all of it works and there are a few things clogging up this Machine which keep it from being a complete success.

One problem is Brigid's vocal part, sung by "rock and roll singer" McCarthy. If that epithet makes you cringe a bit, hearing it will only be worse. The rock-style vocals don't blend in easily with the rest of the score and McCarthy doesn't bring enough to the part to make one wonder what someone with more vocal range and dramatic ability may have done with it, but as it is, the role veers toward camp. Meyers' Redshirt costume makes absolutely no sense in the production's visual aesthetic- he looks like he left his actual costume on a BART train on the way to the performance. Also, there are moments when the singers stop singing and just talk their lines, completely disrupting the flow of the what the audience is hearing.

These are relatively minor criticisms but I do have one major one and that's Streshinsky's libretto, which has a couple of moments in it where I couldn't believe the lines actually made it into the finished work. At one low point I felt somewhat embarrassed for Brancoveanu, who has the misfortune to have to sing about how surprised he is to have an erection in the presence of Sonya. Not that that's inappropriate to his character or the story (and Osinksi's character is certainly alluring in her black leather hot pants and boots), but it was handled so clumsily it was- well, just bad. I almost laughed, and I'm 99% sure it wasn't meant to be funny. The other problem with the libretto is it more often than not fights against Suprynowicz's score instead of working with it, though that may be the composer's problem and not the fault of the librettist.

There are seven performances coming up- check The Crucible's website for tickets and details, and I did see some on Goldstar. Oh, and the vending machine for drinks is broken- bring your own.

The Cookie

There were still plenty of holiday leftovers in the fridge, including more sweets than either of us would ever consume. Looking for something to snack on while making dinner, I saw two cookies that had been on one of the shelves for awhile. I popped one in my mouth. It was chewy, and its time in the fridge seemed to have robbed it of any real flavor it may have once had. I moved on to the homemade caramel corn, which was much more satisfying.

I went about preparing the meal, pausing to light a cigarette. As I inhaled, I couldn’t feel anything entering my lungs. I looked to see if there was a tear in the paper somewhere, but there wasn’t. I took another deep drag. Nothing. Stubbing out the defective American Spirit, I lit another. Same result, but I kept on smoking it.

“Where did you buy these cigarettes?” I asked.

“The place on the corner,” she replied.

“Hmm.”

“Something wrong?” she asked.

I didn’t reply, but kept on about my business. She was in the living room watching Bell, Book and Candle. It annoys me that I remind her of Jimmy Stewart.  I took another hit off the cigarette and felt a strange sludge winding its way outward from my ribcage to my limbs, eventually encasing me in something which felt toxic. I figured it was just the combined latent effects of the previous night’s dinner, not enough sleep and the torn muscles I was experiencing after working out hard for the first time in years.

Having set up what I needed to in the kitchen, I joined her in the living room bearing three cheeses and a medley of crackers arranged on a piece of black slate, which my sister had given me for Christmas.  Setting the slate on the coffee table, we started talking about something. I can’t remember what it was, probably something about how awful it is to be compared to Jimmy Stewart when you’d rather be thought of as a Bob Mitchum type. I started eating the cheese- I was particularly enjoying the Stilton.

Between mouthfuls I said something which didn’t quite sound right, meaning I didn’t like what I was hearing, not what I was saying. Then I realized I didn’t even care for what I actually said. And then it hit me.

“There were two cookies by themselves in the fridge.”

“Yes,” she replied, turning to me.

“Are they pot cookies?” I asked.

“Yes, don’t you remember? A_____ gave them to me.”

I suddenly had a vague recollection of a conversation we’d had more than a week earlier.

“Oh no!” she said, “Did you eat one?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“What do you mean? They’re small- I ate the whole thing.”

“Oh shit. Really?”

“Yes. Why?”

“What’s your tolerance like?”

“I don’t know, can't really say- it’s been a long time, but I never had a high tolerance for the stuff.”

“Oh shit. Shit.  She said a half of one would last for hours. She recommended a quarter for me. You ate it all?”

“It was a small cookie.”

“This is going to be a very interesting night... what are you like when you’re stoned?”

“Like this, I guess,” feeling very much like Jimmy Stewart and nothing like Bob Mitchum, as I stuffed another piece of cheese into my mouth.

She began to laugh. I did, too.

“Do you want the other cookie?” I asked.

Christian Tetzlaff shreds Ligeti's concerto (SFS @ 100 post # 8)

Now that the holidays are over, the San Francisco Symphony can get back to celebrating their Centennial Season and they certainly got the new year off to a good start with last night's concert featuring a rock star performance by violinist Christian Tetzlaff in Gyorgy Ligeti's violin concerto and a sumptuous account of Tchaikovsky's first symphony. The promotional materials for the concert emphasize the Tchaikovsky, but I was drawn by the chance to hear Ligeti's work, and the well-attended house seemed to be split in its perception what was actually the night's main event- a healthy sign in my opinion.

Michael Tilson Thomas introduced Ligeti's concerto (written in 1990) as "village" music, and being of the "past and the future," as well as commenting on how fiendishly difficult it was to play, requiring every musician onstage to perform at a virtuoso level, and he noted they certainly had one in the house as he introduced Tetzlaff.

Hearing Ligeti performed live is an altogether different experience than listening to a recording. The composer's music contains sounds that slowly appear from nowhere and one repeatedly finds oneself looking around onstage to see where they're coming from. There's always something drawing the listener's attention in multiple directions, though the music always weaves its frequently disparate components into a cohesive, complete whole.

Christian Tetzlaff, Michael Tilson Thomas: photo stolen from Ivan Maly.

Tetzlaff led off the five part work with hardly a sound coming from his violin as the rest of the strings slowly came in behind him, including a violin and viola tuned scordatura, and together they built a screeching, wriggling frenzy which felt monumental within moments. MTT's conducting brought out a rhythm to the work I hadn't previously noticed in the one recording with which I'm familiar (Christina Astrand/ Thomas Dausgaard/Danish National Radio Symphony Orch).

The first movement continues without pause into the second with an abrupt about-face into a gorgeous "aria" performed by the soloist, soon joined by a viola, a single flute, then followed by a cello before the entire ensemble joins, including the strange-sounding quartet of ocarinas, a double-duty performed by the horns, with sharp accents coming from the percussion and winds. It's perhaps the most "traditional-sounding" part of the work and hearkens back to both the romantic and the baroque traditions of the form.

The third movement has the soloist taking on a wickedly forceful pizzicato section. Here Tetzlaff was able to achieve an enormous volume from his instrument, leaning forward and using his body as much as his fingers as the music built to fantastic flourish before ending so abruptly it was as if the orchestra had suddenly been swallowed by an abyss. The Passacaglia of the fourth movement is one of melody performed in tricky ways, and I was constantly drawn to the cellists sliding their hands repeatedly up the necks of their instruments until my attention was forcefully drawn elsewhere by a sound I couldn't initially recognize without seeing which instrument it was coming from.

The final movement featured Tetzlaff performing his own cadenza, and since I spent a good chunk of the morning being alternately amused and horrified by NME's list of the 50 greatest guitar solos ever, I'm going to  describe it using the vernacular of a different musical genre: simply stated, unequivocally, Tetszlaff fucking shredded it! It was truly an astounding performance.

At the intermission I was actually willing to leave, because the thought of listening to Tchaikovsky after such an incredible performance was actually unappealing. But we stayed, and I'm glad we did. It's been awhile since I've heard MTT conduct anything in the Russian rep and I had momentarily forgotten how good he is with it. The orchestra sounded fantastic- the strings, which as I've noted before are playing at an altogether heightened level of excellence this season, were astonishingly gorgeous throughout, as were the horns and brass, with the horns sounding as good as I've ever heard them, if not better. The scherzo was taken with a loping elegance which was especially pleasing to experience. During the finale, associate principal cellist Peter Wyrick cast a wry smile at principal Michael Grebanier, as if to say "damn, we're good tonight." I don't know if that's what he meant to convey, but it's certainly what went through my mind.

The concert began on an uneven footing with Liszt's Symphonic Poem no. 5, Prometheus, which sounded under-rehearsed and never gelled. Its fourteen minutes sounded more like the god was waving to a crowd at a parade instead of shaking his fist at Zeus. No matter, I suspect no one really cared after what followed.

Doe Paoro

In the last year I've received a lot emails promoting musicians of all sorts. Many of them I just delete- it's obvious the sender hasn't bothered to read this blog or they wouldn't be sending me information about Mary Mary or whomever. But today I received a press release from the Muse Box hyping a song entitled "Can't Leave You" by a new artist from Brooklyn who goes by the name of Doe Paoro.

Atypically I decided to check out the video, which I'm not terribly enamored with, but I love the song. So much in fact, I've listened to it about a dozen times this morning. Paoro's album comes out January 31st, and one can only hope the rest of it is as good as this track. In the meantime, give it a listen.

The Artist

The other night I saw The Artist- the delightful film by Michel Hazanavicius about a silent film actor's inability to deal with the advent of "talkies." It's been a long time since I've enjoyed a film in a theater- not that I don't go, though I haven't gone that often in the past year, it's just that I usually let someone else pick the film and more often than not I end up seeing movies geared toward a teen audience. Even the ones I had fair expectations for (Super 8, Drive, The Tree of Life) I felt were pretty awful. I didn't choose The Artist either, though it was my second choice (mine would have been My Week with Marilyn). So I was pleased it lived up to the accolades its receiving.

Jean Dujardin plays George Valentin- a Valentino-like actor at the pinnacle of his career until the head of his studio (John Goodman in an excellent supporting turn) decides silent films are a thing of the past and cancels further production of them. Valentin's ego pushes him to make his own film, which flops. From there, he goes into a decline resembling that of Hurstwood's in the Dreiser novel Sister Carrie. There's another parallel element in the film reminiscent of Dreiser's tale- as Valentin falls, a young woman who owes her career to him becomes a superstar. Thankfully, the beautiful Berenice Bejo (a glowing performance as the ridiculously named Peppy Miller) is no Carrie Meeber, and it's her continued interest in the fading actor which saves him in the end, despite his self-sabotaging pride.

Technically the film is gorgeous, shot in a rich black and white that makes the most of current technology. There are three fantastic set pieces: the first takes place on a tremendous staircase, replicating a common element found in 20's films; the second finds Miller alone in Valentin's dressing room- one of the most romantic scenes I've seen in a long time; and finally, Valentin's nightmare of living in a "talking world" is brilliantly crafted. The Artist is also buoyed by Dujardin's flawless performance and visual credibility in the lead role. I had a harder time accepting Bejo, who little resembles a star of the era, but in the end she won me over. There are unexpected cameos throughout the film, and James Cromwell's loyal driver is another noteworthy performance.

The music by Ludovic Bource is no small part of the film's success- at times referencing Wagner and Bernard Herrmann as well as hits and film scores from the era (Waxman and Korngold are two obvious inspirations), it consciously supports the film at every moment. When Hazanavicius finally breaks the silence it comes so perfectly I almost didn't notice it.

One quibble- the dance sequence at the end, with choreography reminiscent of the best of Astaire, was ably handled by Dujardin- so expertly in fact that Bejo's lesser abilities become a distraction. That's hardly a reason not to see it- but it is the only flaw I found in an otherwise perfect film.

The Kreutzer Sonata

This first morning of the new year broke so brightly there was really no choice about what to listen to as I prepared the first cups of coffee- Furtwangler's 1951 recording of Beethoven's 9th from Bayreuth. It's turned out to be an all-Beethoven morning- next was Solti with CSO for the 6th & the 8th, and now, as I procrastinate a bit longer before making steak and eggs for breakfast, the third piano concerto is on the stereo. The steak is leftover from last night, which was spent listening to perhaps 100 songs from the past 50 years during a long, relaxed, home-made dinner.

2011, which I've decided to call "the year of living perilously," needed to expire on a quiet note.

I'm not one for making resolutions, because I resolutely fail at keeping them, but the holidays and the end of a year are always a time of involuntary reflection for me- and in the case of this past year I had almost too much to look back on and attempt to make sense of. In the end I couldn't, and as I told Isabella last night, though in a slightly different context, "there may be no resolution to be had." Like the ending of James' The Ambassadors, there's little more to say than "Then there we are!"- with no one in the story of the last twelve months arriving at a destination they could have foreseen, though for anyone viewing it from a distance, the denouement was likely the only one possible.

But here we are, indeed. The ships have been burned and there's nowhere to go but forward, wherever that is. For me, that doesn't necessarily mean ahead to a particular destination because I have a strong desire to go back to a time when things were simpler- a time when I used to wake up with a clear mind, make myself some coffee, and listen to some Beethoven to begin the day.