the little match girl passion

Anastazia Louise as the little match girl

After a three year hiatus, San Francisco Lyric Opera made a triumphant return to the City this Friday night with a sold-out performance of David Lang's the little match girl passion. The contemporary, Pulitzer-winning piece was a bold choice for the company's re-entry in the local opera scene and it paid off well. In the past three years the two driving creative forces for the company, Chip Grant and Barnaby Palmer, have been keeping busy with other projects- Grant launched Urban Opera and has been involved with numerous vocal groups while Palmer been conducting pieces around the world, from Budapest Festival Opera and Bohemian Opera to The Crucible in Oakland. Now back together with SFLO, which started off in the 1990s presenting scaled down productions of standard rep, the company has a new mission to "produce fresh, inventive opera in intimate settings" and to "cultivate and nurture the future of the art form by providing a forum to champion innovative chamber opera." Hence the choice of Lang's work, one which owes almost as much to the oratorio tradition as the operatic.

Perfectly scaled for the ODC Theater, which is designed for dance performances and thus affords the audience a perfect view of the entire stage from any seat, the little match girl passion features bass/baritone Eugene Brancoveanu, tenor Eric Maggay Tuan, alto Celeste Winant, soprano Ann Moss and performance artist Anastazia Louise in the most pivotal role as the title character.

The instrumentation is sparse, with most of the piece performed a capella, at times accompanied by glockenspiel and bass drum, with the occasional appearance of assorted bells, a brake drum (yes, that's right- as in from a car), and other percussion instruments. Brancoveanu, the award-winning former Adler Fellow and Merola alum provided an excellent foundation from which the other singers took off. Tuan's singing was fascinating- his voice has a range that's almost hard to comprehend. He crossed lower than Brancoveanu at one point and at others came off effortlessly like a countertenor. Winant has some of the most challenging parts, repeating phrases within the whole at the top of her range, and handled them well. Moss's voice is one of sheer beauty- I would listen to her all day, given the chance.

All four were in sartorial splendor- with the women looking especially elegant, creating a stark contrast to Louise, whose self-designed costume was created from the tablecloths of her grandmother and other women close to her, creating a real-life link in her portrayal of the match girl. Louise's performance is so integral to the production its almost impossible to see how it would work  without her- or at how the company could have created something that wouldn't have felt completely different and still have the strong emotional pull evident from the beginning which didn't let go until the end.

The production's design features lighting and projected effects which alternate between cold, antiquarian urban photographs superimposed with slowly drifting snow during the match girl's narrative, and lightly-hued solid backgrounds during the choral sections- a contrast between the girl's inner story and how she's seen (or ignored, or judged) by those passing her by on the street- the witnesses, both blind and seeing, creating a visual equilibrium to match the score's own balancing act between hope and despair, alienation and acceptance.

It works extremely well. This is a smart, moving production and the dedication to it is felt from all the participants. There are two more performances this weekend.

The company returns again in the fall with Benjamin Britten's rarely performed Owen Wingrave, a two-act opera based on the story by Henry James. Anastazia Louise's company, Bad Unkl Sista will be premiering its new work First Breath-Last Breath at Z-Space on April 27-28.

Certitude and Joy- the quick take

Erling Wold's Certitude and Joy is one of the strongest pieces of opera/theater I've seen in a long time. Featuring a haunting and poignant libretto, dynamic staging, a devastating performance by Laura Bohn including an epic aria, and a gorgeous score blistering with musical intelligence, I want to get the word out early- you don't want to miss this. When the stage goes dark at the end, the last sound you hear is someone gasping for air. It may just be the person sitting next to you. Get a ticket.

I'll post more about it soon.

Update 03/23: I wasn't the only one impressed- Josh Kosman's take is here.

About last weekend...

Anastazia Louise

Last weekend actually began on Thursday night and pretty much ran all the way through Sunday evening. I don't recall ever cramming so much into so little time. Besides the Mavericks concerts on Thursday and Sunday, Jeremy Denk and I had cocktails on Friday night. Denk is a charming and funny guy, full of anecdotes, gossip, and questions. More I'll save for another time, but it was serious fun chatting with him. After taking my leave of him at Jardiniere I met up with Isabella and headed over to Herbst to attend the Cypress String Quartet's Call and Response program, which featured the world premiere of Phillipe Hersant's String Quartet No. 3, a piece I'm sure is going to be featured on many future programs. Cypress also performed a Haydn Quartet and Beethoven's Op.127, but Hersant's work was the highlight of the concert.

The next morning I met up with Chip Grant (founder of Urban Opera) and Barnaby Palmer over breakfast to discuss the upcoming SF Lyric Opera production of David Lang's "the little match girl passion" and from there I went with them to observe a rehearsal. The production has a palindrome structure, which the audience will be able to follow by listening to the different voices and noticing the lighting by Matthew Antaky, who recently did exceptional work on Ensemble Parallele's The Great Gatsby. I also had a chance to meet the very intriguing Anastazia Louise of Bad Unkl Sista and watch as she rehearsed her Butoh-style performance with the singers present for the first time. She said she's been absorbed in little but this project lately and it showed. She's an intense performer and I think this is going to be a moving performance. All four singers are excellent- I've heard Eugene Brancoveanu numerous times and every time I do I wonder how much longer Bay Area audiences will get to see him in small, intimate productions like these before he completely succumbs to the temptation of the larger houses for which he seems destined. Ann Moss is an exceptional soprano, and Celeste Winant, a chorale member of Philharmonia Baroque as well as Volti, also possesses a gorgeous voice. But I was particularly curious about Eric Maggay Tuan, who seems to be capable of singing almost anything. There are only three performances at the ODC theater in the Mission this weekend, and though the scale is small (the four singers double on instruments and it will run less than an hour) the return of San Francisco Lyric Opera is a major event on the local arts scene.

Later in the afternoon I attended the American Orchestra Forum at Davies, where a group of panelists including composers John Adams and Mason Bates and San Francisco Symphony's General Director Brent Assink helmed a three-hour chat on creativity in the arts, focusing on classical music, current culture, and especially, delivering content to audiences online. I didn't plan on staying for the whole thing, but it was so interesting that I did just that. They'll have another one on May 13th featuring Alan Gilbert discussing audiences (which should be highly interesting in light of the recent I Phone incident), while the NY Phil is in town for the American Orchestras series. The event is free.

Afterward I went over to the Paramount in Oakland to hear Chrissette Michelle's SFJazz gig, a show that was so poorly mixed I left my seat in the seventh row to go sit in the very back near the sound board, which only helped a little. I left after an hour, dismayed about so many things I don't even want to write about it. Making my way home through the throngs of amateurs celebrating St. Patrick's Day, I was immensely pleased not to be in a bar on this night, or even worse, to be one of those idiots actually lined up outside of a bar waiting to get in- in San Francisco (where there is a bar on practically every corner).

Sunday afternoon was the last concert of the American Mavericks Festival, which ended at 4:20, leaving me just enough time to make it a few blocks down the street to hear "A Celebration of Bay Area Music"- a concert organized by clarinetist Brenden Guy featuring musicians mostly from the San Francisco Conservatory of Music (as well as Sarah Cahill, Miles Graber and Barnaby Palmer) performing a diverse program. Cahill performed John Adams' China Gates, a work dedicated to her and she brought along the original score. Also on the program were two delightful works by composer David Conte, including a highly engaging sextet. Although everyone onstage possessed a high level of talent, the show was stolen by the extraordinary violin playing of Kevin Rogers, whose solo in Ernest Bloch's Nigun- No. 2 (from the Baal Shem Suite) was stunning.

You don't really want to know what I did after that, do you? I didn't think so.

American Mavericks IV: Sundays with Cowell, Partch, Riley, Subotnick, Reich, Monk, Foss, Del Tredici

Meredith Monk and Vocal Ensemble with members of the San Francisco Symphony (SFS) perform the world premiere of the SFS commission "Realm Variations" by Meredith Monk at Davies Symphony Hall, San Francisco on Sunday, March 18, 2012. Photo by Kristen Loken 

Along with the three concerts featuring the full orchestra, San Francisco Symphony's American Mavericks festival featured two programs of chamber music on consecutive Sundays. The first had a fair amount of empty seats, but a very appreciative audience to hear a real grab-bag of 20th Century American music. It began with Jeremy Denk performing five solo pieces by Henry Cowell. These pieces suited Denk's talent and temperament almost perfectly- the usual physical expressiveness of his playing found a perfect foil in Cowell's demanding score, and he rose to the challenges of each, making them look easier to play than they had any right to- or to put it another way, he looked like he was enjoying the himself. Each piece had its own merits and challenges, but the one with the most impact was the gorgeous Exultation, with the aptly titled The Banshee leaving an almost equally strong impression.

Another five pieces by Harry Partch followed, performed by PARTCH on instruments created by the composer to accommodate compositions written for special tunings and a forty-three note scale featured in the works. The instruments are stunningly unique and beautiful, and the members of the ensemble obviously were masters of them. The PARTCH folks were performers as much as musicians, lending the selections a theatrical flair that was initially amusing, especially in San Francisco, which played well to the home crowd, as did Barstow, but the set stretched on a bit and became repetitive.

Terry Riley's G Song for String Quartet received a lush treatment from the Symphony musicians performing it, but its roots as a chaconne made it feel rather ordinary and out of place in context, and in a hall as large as Davies.

The final work of the first concert was Morton Subotnick's Jacob's Room: Monodrama, featuring a chamber orchestra and the composer's wife, singer Joan La Barbara, on vocals. Originally envisioned as a larger work on an operatic scale, the current version features La Barbara and musicians performing a piece not easily described- a Holocaust-themed work incorporating elements of Virginia Woolf's novel. Haunting, especially int he cadenzas where La Barbara let loose with an emotional vulnerability in her voice which was equally thrilling and disturbing. It felt a little long, with the limitation of having only one voice, even with one as chameleon-like as La Barbara's, eventually making itself felt. Still, it's power was undeniable and proved to be a potent ending to the afternoon.

From left to right San Francisco Symphony percussionists Tom Hemphill, James Lee Wyatt III, David Herbert, Jack Van Geem and Raymond Froehlich perform Steve Reich's Music for Pieces of Wood during the American Mavericks Festival, March 18, 2012 at Davies Symphony Hall. Photo by Kristen Loken.

A week later the house appeared full and people were eagerly seeking tickets out front. The concert began with Jack Van Geem, Raymond Froelich, David Herbert, Tom Hemphill, and James Lee Wyatt III performing Steve Reich's Music for Pieces of Wood, the pieces of wood being distinctly tuned claves. Not only was this piece a musical and rhythmic delight, it was amazing to watch the five percussionists perform it.  Requiring a level of physical and mental concentration that looked exhausting to execute, it was exhilarating to watch and hear as each musician entered one by one to create staggeringly complex patterns that shift in meter 58 times during the three separate sections. I loved every moment.

The audience seemed primed to hear the world premiere of Meredith Monk's Realm Variations, including the woman seated next to me who had flown up for the afternoon just to hear it. No one was disappointed. Monk's piece has a unique power and a palatable sensuality coursing through it. Featuring six singers and seven musicians, it was written for the Symphony's Catherine Payne, whose solo piccolo opened the work and continued to have a strong presence within it for the remainder. Monk at 70 years old still possesses an amazing voice, making herself clearly heard among the other talented singers assembled for the work. Sid Chen's bass was a standout among the excellent ensemble. On every level, Realm Variations felt like a complete triumph and the one piece commissioned for the festival that really felt substantial.

Pianist Jeremy Denk and members of the San Francisco Symphony perfrom Lukas Foss' "Echoi" during the American Mavericks Festival at Davies Symphony Hall on March 18, 2012.
Photo by Kristen Loken 

After these two splendid performances the afternoon was beginning to feel like it may prove to be the sleeper success of the entire festival, but the momentum didn't hold for the second half. Lukas Foss' Echoi, performed by Denk on piano, Carey Bell on clarinet, Peter Wyrick on cello, and Jack Van Geem manhandling an array of percussion including the lid of a trash can, had moments of interest during its four sections, but in the end proved too dense and hard to follow on a cold listening (I couldn't locate a version to hear beforehand). The four musicians worked hard to make it seem like something more than the sum of its odd parts, but they lost me early on and by the time Van Geem beat the strings of Denk's piano and hit the lid of the trash can in the Echoi IV I was ready to move on.

Michael Tilson Thomas conducts Kiera Duffy, soprano, and members of the San Francisco Symphony in David Del Tredici's "Syzygy
Photo by Kristen Loken 

Doing so took awhile, as it took some time to set the stage for David Del Tredici's Syzygy, which made for a long and dreary ending to the afternoon. Even the splendid vocal talents of soprano Kiera Duffy couldn't salvage it as she alternately yelped, barked and sang two poems by James Joyce, used here as the work's text, while MTT led a small ensemble that never quite made it to anywhere musically interesting.

American Mavericks III: It Might Get Loud- Varèse, Feldman, Adams, Bates

I've long admired Thomas May's program notes and I was halfway through reading about Mason Bates' Mass Transmission, commissioned by San Francisco Symphony for the American Mavericks festival, when I thought to myself May must have written this, so I turned to the end and lo and behold, I was right. He also wrote the notes for the other commission premiering this night, John Adams' Absolute Jest. May's notes are so well-written and intriguing that my anticipation for hearing these two pieces rose substantially- and I was already thinking this would likely be the best concert of the five offered. He almost got me thinking of the other pieces on the program, Morton Feldman's Piano and Orchestra and Edgard Varèse's Ameriques, for which he didn't write the notes, as afterthoughts.

I only mention this because the reality of the concert itself proved to be the opposite of what of I anticipated. After hearing Bates' wonderful Alternative Energy performed by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra when they rolled into town as part of the American Orchestra series last month, I was primed for more. Mass Transmission is nowhere near that level. Resting somewhere between Deep Forest and The Art of Noise, the three part work for organ (Paul Jacobs), chorus (conducted by Donato Cabrera) and electronica (Bates), seems like an extended fragment culled from something larger, but there's little in it that led me to want to hear more.

Adams' Absolute Jest should really be credited to another composer- Beethoven, because on hearing it for the first time the only memorable parts are those lifted by the former more or less straight from latter's late quartets and scherzo of the Ninth Symphony. Great choices to borrow (steal?) from, to be sure, but if the listener knows these works even casually, Absolute Jest comes across as little more than a Beethoven mixtape performed by an orchestra- "Ah, there's Op.131! That's from 127! Yes, there's the Scherzo again..." and so forth for twenty minutes. This didn't stop the orchestra from giving it a strong, vigorous performance, and there was something quite thrilling indeed in hearing an entire string section play riffs from the quartets, with the added bonus of having the powerhouse St. Lawrence String Quartet rocking the center of it all with glee, but I was somewhat dumbfounded by the standing ovation the work received and felt like we had all just been had- as if the joke were on the audience for thinking there was something substantial in it all.

I will say, however, The St. Lawrence String Quartet really impressed me. This was the first time I've seen them and I would go out of my way to do so again- even if that means heading all the way down the road to Stanford.

Just before launching into the Feldman, MTT decided to say a bit about the piece, which he obviously didn't plan on because he didn't have a microphone at hand. He was hard to hear from where I sat toward the rear of the orchestra, but I think he was alluding to the similarity between the composer's work and those of the painters he admired- especially Rothko. Sadly, MTT didn't do his impersonation of Morty, which is pretty damn funny.

I vividly remember going to SFMOMA on a rainy afternoon one day years ago, looking at Rothkos, and thinking what the fuck?- I could paint that. Thankfully I was with a guy who was an art history major and I asked him to explain the paintings to me. It only took a few minutes of his comments for me to realize I could never paint anything like that. Feldman's Piano and Orchestra is similar in that on its surface it appears quite simple, and its slow, meditative pace, quietly played, isn't easily penetrated without concentration. This isn't made any easier by the part for the soloist, here performed by Emmanuel Ax, who seems to do little more than chime in somewhat regularly with two dissonant chords. But as the piece progresses, and once I started understanding what I was hearing (it did take some time and some deliberation) I was amazed by its structure and the power underneath its placid surface. By the time it concluded, I was deeply moved and impressed by the performance and felt it truly defined the spirit of the festival.

But MTT wasn't finished, and after a long break to organize the stage to accommodate 125 musicians, including fifteen(!) percussionists, he led the orchestra in a stunning, pulverizing performance of Varèse's Ameriques. The antithesis of Feldman's quiet complexity, this was a barrage of sound I could physically feel coming from the stage. Mark Inouye led the brass section through a storm of outbursts and the percussionists created more noise than I would have thought possible, and in the most wonderful way. Taken together, the pieces on the second half of the program proved to be the highlight of the festival (though there's one more program left of chamber-sized pieces)- and truly defined what makes a "maverick."  

American Mavericks II: Bring the Noise- Cage, Foss, Cowell, Ruggles

The somewhat subdued response in the house last Thursday night for the opening night concert of the San Francisco Symphony's American Mavericks festival gave way on Saturday night to a rambunctiousness onstage that made itself felt in the audience.

John Cage's Song Books performed by Joan La Barbara, Meredith Monk, Jessye Norman, Michael Tilson Thomas and members of the San Francisco Symphony during the American Mavericks Festival at Davies Symphony Hall. Photo credit: Kristen Loken  

How could it have been otherwise, with the Symphony starting the night off with a delightful staging of John Cage's bizarre performance piece Song Books? Cage's piece contains 90 different "songs," each a solo in "one of four categories: 1) song [an actual one or something approximating what we know as one]; 2) song using electronics; 3) theater; 4) theater using electronics." The categories alone are hint enough that what's about to be performed was going to be unusual and it certainly was. The SFS brought some serious vocal talent to make it work: Meredith Monk, Joan La Barbara, and Jessye Norman. Also appearing in the piece was Michael Tilson Thomas and assorted members of the orchestra. What did they all do? Well, Norman used an antique typewriter to compose a note in French. Monk sang a quote by Thoreau as if it were a taunt and waddled around the stage like a duck. La Barbara did a take on her own "Circular Song." Cellist Amos Yang and Principal Bassoon Stephen Paulson played cards. MTT played with string and then noisily chopped up some cucumbers, threw them into a blender, turned it on and drank the results. Someone barfed- repeatedly and a pianist took a nap at the keys. There were 80 other things going on, but I can't tell you what all of them were, as most of it was unfurling simultaneously across the stage and it was almost too much to take in. There was "real" music and "singing" as well, some of it quite striking coming from all three guests and the assorted players, but in the end it hardly felt like that was the point and yet it was the entire point- what exactly does constitute a song? Song Cycles, at least as performed here, is one of those things you either go along with and love, or could just as easily hate. The audience seemed split into thirds- the lovers, the haters, and the baffled. I loved it.

After the intermission came three works which sounded almost traditional compared to the first half. Lukas Foss' Phorion was played in its non-aleatoric version, which I have to admit was a bit disappointing since the Festival is about breaking boundaries- why not go with the version which is more challenging? Thomas gave us the reason- when the piece was premiered in its aleatoric version by Bernstein in 1967, the ten minute work required ten hours of practice. Fair enough. A composed version of sampling using the prelude of Bach's Partita in E, Phorion (the word is Greek for "stolen goods") is an inventive novelty with enough charm and wit to seem more substantial than it is- but that's really the key to sampling- start with something good and use it well, and most folks will find it entertaining.

Speaking of entertaining, pianist Jeremy Denk was the soloist for Henry Cowell's Piano Concerto. Requiring a level of almost absurd dexterity to perform, including playing two octaves with a forearm and hitting tone clusters with a fist, once the novelty of how it's played wears off, the result is a pretty substantial piece of music that doesn't come across as a gimmick, but rather three movements of inventive, attractive melodies and rhythms, though I could swear I heard the "Mexican Hat Dance" music somewhere in the third movement. Denk handled the piece with aplomb, coming out in Johnny Cash black and performing with a James Cagney-like swagger.

Carl Ruggles' Sun-Treader has two things going for it- an absolutely fantastic opening and an equally wonderful finish, and it may be the loudest thing you've ever hear performed by an orchestra. However, in between those massive wall-of sound bookends, the piece lost me as it meandered over assorted sunspots, but man, that black-hole of a finish was some incredible noise.

Other music besides Mavericks this coming weekend- and the next

Cypress String Quartet. Photo by Basil Childers

Yes, the big show is certainly the American Mavericks festival taking place at Davies, but there are two other classical concerts coming up this weekend that are also well worth your time.

The first is the return of the Cypress String Quartet's "Call and Response" program, which takes place Friday night, March 16th, at the Herbst Theater. This year Cypress will perform Phillipe Hersant's String Quartet No. 3, commissioned by Cypress as the "response" to the other two works on the program: Haydn's Op. 20, No. 1 and Beethoven's Op. 127. Hersant will lead a pre-concert talk beginning at 7:15. You can purchase tickets here.

Then on Sunday, March 18th, at 4:30, Brenden Guy presents "A Celebration of Bay Area Music," taking place just down the street from Davies at The First Unitarian Universalist  Church at 1187 Franklin Street (on Cathedral Hill between O'Farrell and Geary). You can easily make this after the final Mavericks performance, which will end around 4:00. Featuring a stellar line up of local musicians, the event is free, though suggested donations of $5-$10 will go to the Winter Homeless Shelter Fund.

Check out the program (and who's performing it):

Conte: Sonata for clarinet (Brenden Guy, clarinet, Miles Graber, piano)

Pavkovic: Eight Figment (Valinor Winds- Sasha Launer, flute, Jessica Huntsman, oboe, Brenden Guy, clarinet, Alexis Luque, bassoon, Sivan Adato, horn)

Adams: China Gates (Sarah Cahill, piano)

Stillwell: Clarinet Quartet (Kevin Rogers, violin, Erin Wang, cello, Brenden Guy, clarinet, Aaron Pike, piano)

Pike: Child’s Play, Kevin Rogers, violin, Brenden Guy, clarinet, Aaron Pike, piano)

Becker: S.T.I.C (Kevin Rogers, violin, Michelle Kwon, cello, Sasha Launer, flute, Brenden Guy, clarinet, Miles Graber, piano, Barnaby Palmer, conductor)

Bloch: Nigun (Kevin Rogers, violin, Miles Graber, piano)

Conte: Sextet (World Premiere- Tess Varley, violin, Cassie Bequary, violin, Kevin Rogers, viola, Michelle Kwon, cello, Brenden Guy, clarinet, Miles Graber, piano, Barnaby Palmer, conductor)

And don't forget next week two new opera productions come to town: San Francisco Lyric Opera presents David Lang's Pulitzer winning the little match girl passion, and the world premiere of Erling Wold's Certitude and Joy. 

American Mavericks: Copland, Harrison, Ives- and meeting Jeremy Denk

Charles Ives

Though the audience felt a bit subdued at the opening concert for the San Francisco Symphony's American Mavericks festival, there was nothing of the sort coming from the stage. Surprisingly, Music Director Michael Tilson Thomas began the performance without any introductory comments- he seemed content to let the music do the talking on this night and indeed it did. Leading off with Copland's Orchestral Variations, MTT and the orchestra showcased the more unfamiliar side of the composer- dark, brooding and aggressive music that sounds like the blueprint for film noir soundtracks with no sign to be found this is the same guy who wrote Rodeo or Appalachian Spring. The orchestra's brawny approach matched it perfectly.

Lou Harrison's Concerto for Organ with Percussion Orchestra followed, featuring soloist Paul Jacobs and seven percussionists. Beginning with an Allegro section reminiscent of a drumline, the work proceeds through a variety of different musical terrains - an Adante follows for just the organist and then a dream-like Largo lulls the listener to a quieter place -indeed, it put the guy next to me to sleep. He awoke with a snort when the Canons and Choruses section began, which was a gorgeous, deliberate meditation full of hypnotic counterpoints. The final Allegro section veers into something that sounds almost delightfully like surf music, and Jacobs and the percussionists tore through it with a Ventures-like glee. At the end, MTT held the score aloft and kissed it.

During the intermission I took the opportunity to introduce myself to Jeremy Denk, who was seated next to cellist Steven Isserlis during the performance. Denk is performing in three of the scheduled Mavericks concerts and Isserlis is in town to perform Schumann's Cello Concerto with the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra. I was hanging fire at the rail of the rear boxes as Denk came in from the lobby, giving me the chance to buttonhole him in person. He proved to be kind and gracious, though for a moment he seemed apprehensive, as if he wondered exactly what I might be up to once it all clicked into place. The popular, well-regarded pianist and I have a bit of a thorny history, but I'll cheerfully admit to admiring the man's abilities with a keyboard whether it be attached to a piano or a computer. His recent recording of Ives is marvelous and if you haven't already read it, check out his brilliant piece in the Feb. 6 issue of the New Yorker on the trials of recording the album's Concord Sonata.

An orchestrated version of the same made up the second half of the concert. The piece was obsessed over for years not only by its composer, but also by Henry Brant, who worked on re-orchestrating it for more than forty years. Between the two of them, I doubt there's a single work in the entire musical canon that has had so much time has been spent on its creation and revision. It proved to be an enormous, frequently thrilling beast, with the orchestra's string section sounding (and I know I've said this before, but it keeps happening) better than ever. The four sections eschew sonata form and instead evoke the spirit of four mid-nineteenth century literary personages of Concord, Mass- Emerson, Hawthorne, the Alcotts and Thoreau. Emerson is the thorniest, Hawthorne the most interesting and diverse. The Alcotts mirror their history of transcendentalism and Thoreau is, well, Thoreau. The gorgeous hymnal section of the Hawthorne section proved to be the highlight for me before it (d)evolves into a cacophonous mash-up of who knows how many borrowed tunes- a feature of each of the work's movements, but done with special flair here. The time Brant expended on Ives' work proved to be well-spent- in his hands the Concord is an orchestral piece with a gravitas wholly different than its inspiration.

There's still time to buy a $100 pass for all remaining festival performances. Call 415 864 6000, or go the Davies box office. Also, Eva Soltes' great documentary on Lou Harrison continues at the Roxie this weekend and is well worth seeing.

Lou Harrison: A World of Music

Eva Soltes' documentary, Lou Harrison: A World of Music, is a warm, loving tribute to one of America's most original musical minds with a depth beyond most films of its kind. Often in documentaries about individuals, especially when the subject is a musician, there's a tendency with filmmakers to try create an aura of mystery or tragedy around the subject. Soltes' film has none of that- she lived across the street from Harrison for years and treats him, and his partner Bill Colvig, as real people, and as friends. That she does so without a trace of sentimentality is half the film's strength. The other half comes from her subject: Harrison's a truly unique American persona- a visionary musician who despite having suffered a breakdown that made him something of a recluse for years, he comes across as avuncular, warm, intelligent and curious. The more Soltes' camera exposes him, the more one wants to know about him. The same can be said of  Harrison's music, which runs through almost the entire film, but in wisely chosen and edited segments 

Despite the film's brief feeling (it's 90 minutes), there's a of lot territory covered- Harrison's childhood and early career in New York are given in-depth treatment, and the social/cultural contexts of his lifetime are seamlessly woven into the personal narrative, such as the tribulations undergone by friend, mentor and fellow musical visionary Henry Cowell. Soltes shows the man as well as his times, often revealed in engaging anecdotes by fellow artists including Merce Cunnigham, Terry Riley and Michael Tilson Thomas. But it's Harrison's own honesty and openness which truly make the film a small wonder- a portrait of a lone wolf, fully engaged with everything around him, and using it to create a life and art unique to his own vision.

The film opens today at the Roxie in San Francisco. Highly recommended.

Coming up: the little match girl passion

Tickets are now available for San Francisco Lyric Opera's upcoming production of David Lang's the little match girl passion. You don't want to miss this.

The Revelator: Gatsby Part 2, and almost everything else...

It started unraveling a month ago at the Kronos Quartet concert in Berkeley. Isabella and I were seated in front of a very odd couple. Everything they said, all of which was spoken quite loudly, was just off. She asked banal questions and made silly observations in a whining, Queens accent, which he answered with great pronouncements, of which half had little if anything to do with what she had said or asked. After a few minutes of this I had to turn around to see what these two looked like. She was slumping in her seat, almost to the floor, with her eyes closed. He was a bear of a man who looked like there was a large spring from the axle of an automobile stuck in his ass. They both appeared to be close to 70 years of age.

I whispered in Isabella's ear, "Just kill me now. Seriously."

Isabella, who has a way of silently mocking me with a look she perfected at some other time and place in her life, smirked, which meant she was mocking me with empathy.

The lights went down, Kronos takes the stage, and began an unnecessarily amplified performance of Michael Gordon's Clouded Yellow- a work for string quartet that could be a pop song if someone loaded a drum track behind it. It was catchy, it was pleasant, it was a pop confection. For a string quartet. I was a bit confused.

Then came something truly awful: an arrangement by Phillip Glass of Bob Dylan's "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right," again amplified, with accompanying non-live accompaniment by a theremin, mandolin and harpsichord. The last time I heard something so completely dreadful in concept and execution was this.

That train wreck was followed by a piece called Oasis by Franghiz Ali-Zadeh, which yes, was amplified- in fact everything was amplified in a hall that doesn't need it- and it was an interesting piece except for the canned drips of water that plopped all the way through it, making it sound like a jingle by Enigma for bottled water.

Now, during all of these pieces the two behind us kept on chattering to the point where I turned around and asked them to cease talking. The woman replied,"we're not talking." And then she said something to him about Bob Dylan, to which he replied he didn't like Dylan. All of this took place during the performance.
Then the Alim Qasomov Ensemble came out to accompany Kronos in the Azeri traditional Mahur Hindi Destgahi. Led by father and daughter vocalists Alim and Fargana Qasimov, this piece was interesting for the first five of its twenty minutes and then felt like an endurance test for both the performers and the audience.

Intermission.

The man behind us had been making strange, squeaking and chirping sounds for the last ten minutes. No one else in the full house seems to be disturbed by this. Isabella turns to me and says, "let's go outside."

We sit down and she says, "I need to talk to you about something important."

Inwardly I release a sigh. She's going to want to go home. She's tired and this is terrible. This is actually perfect, because it's exactly what I'm thinking. But it's not what she's thinking.

She tells me something else entirely which has nothing to do with the concert and doesn't mention wanting to leave.

So we go back inside and there's screaming and shouting coming from inside the auditorium. People are saying "Call 911!" I enter the hall to take a look (she doesn't want to see whatever is happening) and there's the man who was sitting behind us being wrestled to the ground by four or five men, somewhat unsuccessfully, since he keeps kicking them and shouting obscenities. The woman is beside herself and I expect her to start keening any moment. We decide to call it a night after 20 minutes of this and no ambulance in sight. I have no idea if the rest of the concert was as dismal as the first half.

The next night, Monday, Isabella and I have a major row.

Tuesday and Wednesday disappeared into a blur of the past colliding into the present and a desire to obliterate it all.

On Thursday I attended the Leif Ove Andsnes concert with The Swede, who had just returned that afternoon from his vacation in Pakistan. That's right- The Swede's idea of a vacation is to travel to Pakistan. Actually, our fine ally, harborer of terrorists and fanatics, was his second choice for a vacation spot, but he couldn't get a visa for North Korea without agreeing to such a rigid itinerary the whole idea became unpalatable to him. Nevertheless, he had a marvelous time celebrating the Prophet's birthday and eating ice cream with young, horny men and told me all about it over dinner and Manhattans before the concert.

I'll admit now that I did enjoy making him spit out a good portion of his drink through his nose when I timed an anecdote about my last visit to this restaurant with the Femme Fatale just right, causing him to exclaim afterward, wiping the bourbon from his chin, "That's why I love you. I thought only gay guys did that shit!"

At intermission the Swede hit the wall and had to leave, which I understood, as I was already surprised and impressed that he even wanted to go in the first place, since he had just got of the plane hours earlier. After he left I spotted Patrick in his usual spot in the front row and went over to say hello. Patrick wrote a most brilliant post about the concert wherein he wonders at one point if he was coherent while we were talking, completely unaware that I was thinking exactly the same thing, but for different reasons.

On the walk home I noticed the Chevy's on Van Ness had called it quits, and this surprised me for some reason, though it probably shouldn't have- after all, who wants to eat at a Chevy's when you're in San Francisco?

The next night was Gatsby.

Now I must confess to a dilemma concerning how much of this story I want to reveal. On the one hand, I'd like to put it all out there in an effort to be done with it, as it's colored (and explains) so much of the last eighteen months. On the other hand, the last time I wrote something like I've intended to post here, it seemed to freak some people out- some actually stopped talking to me and I felt a frost for months afterward. Apparently I had crossed a line by revealing too much of the backstory of my relationships to the characters found here. And what I wrote back then is nothing compared to what I've detailed about what went on at the Gatsby performance, and other things I've considered writing and then thought better of it, realizing it belongs in a different blog, if not another medium entirely. Conflicted, I asked two people whose opinions I trust- Isabella and Lily Bart, if I should write it and they both said write it, but don't publish it. Isabella felt even more strongly about this after I let her read the finished piece. So what follows is only the beginning of what I originally wrote and intended to post, and that's all there's going to be.


Isabella and I had really been looking forward to attending this performance together but the row dashed that plan. CC couldn't make it, so I ended up going stag. I picked up my ticket and as I was making my way toward the door the I saw the Femme Fatale ahead of me in all of her carefully constructed glory- a sight I had come to expect, since it was recurring with an ever-increasing frequency. I quickly looked around for the Cuckold and spotted him ten feet ahead of her.

I came up behind her shoulder and said quietly into her ear,  "Why don't you just introduce us?"

She looked at me steadily, as if she had expected this to happen.

"Okay, I will," she said, with an unsettling coolness in her voice and expression- as if this was all going exactly according to her plan....

She caught up to him and turned him around by the shoulder,
"I want to introduce the two of you," she said...

Use your imagination to fill-in the gaps from there. Was it ugly? Yeah, it was. If you think about what happens in Gatsby, add a heavy dose of adulterous noir, you'll have a pretty accurate picture of what followed. At the conclusion of the show, they went one way and I went another- just as we have for the past year, except for the brief interludes when she left his house for mine.

The next day I went to see the broadcast of Gotterdammerung- another outing planned with Isabella which I was now doing solo. Afterward I ran into Jim, an old theater guy from New York whose niece I dated shortly after I first moved here in 1992 and for another stretch a dozen years ago. I expected to see him, as he had also attended the other three installments of the Met's Ring broadcasts, and I was glad he was there. He's full of amusing anecdotes and strong opinions. We went for coffee after the broadcast and chatted for a couple of hours. It was the first time in the nearly twenty years I've known him we didn't talk about opera or theater and on that afternoon I couldn't imagine better company than that 80 year old man.

At this point I'm beginning to feel like Corky Corcoran- not the musician, but the character in the Joyce Carol Oates novel (read it if you haven't- it's a marvelous book).

Two days later it was Valentine's Day and Isabella and I decided to stick with a slightly modified version of our original plan, which was to go hear the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, who were visiting town for the first time in over 20 years. The concert began with Arthur Honegger's Pacific 231, a six minute piece ostensibly about locomotives which was thoroughly delightful in its chugging glory, but when the train reached the station, the subtlety of the "locomotive" euphemism disappears completely into an orchestral orgasm more obvious than the trombone exhalation ending the rape scene in Shostakovich's Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk. Some enterprising stripper should use the piece in a routine.

Next came Mason Bates' Alternative Energy. It's easy to be skeptical about seeing Bates as a serious composer. First, he comes off too easily as an orchestra's dream of who could lure in a younger audience- he's young, good-looking, and cool (lives in Oakland, and he's also a club DJ as well as a composer). Second, he incorporates electronic elements into most, if not all, of his compositions. But I really enjoyed his B-Sides, commissioned by SFS a couple of years ago and I was looking forward to hearing this new work, commissioned by Chicago, where he's currently one of two young composers-in-residence.

Don't let anyone tell you differently- Bates is the real thing. Alternative Energy turned out to be one of the most interesting and engaging contemporary works I've ever heard and if one were available, I would buy a recording of it tomorrow. The twenty-five minute, four movement piece was engaging from the first note, moving from Coplandesque hoedown to thumping beats that caused 70 year old conductor Ricarrdo Muti to show us his disco moves from the podium, baton in hand, as Bates' work stopped in four distinct places and times during an aural history of how things will fall apart in the future.

Sadly, Cesar Franck's Symphony in D didn't have the same impact after the intermission.

The next night I returned to see Chicago's next program, this one featuring Night Ferry, a work by their other composer-in-residence, Anna Clyne. Again, this proved to be the highlight of the evening. Clyne's work begins with the most evocative musical rendering of the sea I've ever heard and just grew more interesting as it went along. By turns hypnotic and violent, it ends with a gong being struck which dissipates into nothingness like a black sea left behind at night on a moonless night. I'd like to thank whoever decided to bring Bates and Clyne to Chicago- their works were wonderful to hear.

Again, as it was the night before, what followed was decidedly less interesting- Schubert's The Great Symphony, with its endless repeats, just felt tedious after Clyne's piece. This made it hard to really come to a conclusion about the Chicago orchestra- they gave excellent performances of works no had yet heard, but the familiar didn't leave much of an impression. I was seated next to Axel that second night, who marveled at what he described as their "blended" sound, but I found it more difficult to get an impression of what made the orchestra unique beyond the obviously high-caliber playing from every section.

Two nights later I was back at Davies, this time with Lily Bart, to hear former music director Edo de Waart conduct a program that proved to be much better in the house than it looked it on paper, which was a strange brew indeed.

It began with the Prelude of Franz Schreker's marvelous opera Die Gezeichneten (The Stigmatized), which in de Waart's hands sounded even lusher than I had remembered it when I saw it performed by LA Opera under James Conlon a couple of years ago. Schreker's music nods to Wagner, but the debts to Mahler and Strauss were what really came through in de Waart's hands. One can only hope the glory of this music encourages the company across the street to one day bring the whole thing to town.

This was followed by Simon Trpceski as the soloist for Rachmaninoff's fourth piano concerto. Trpceski gave a magnificent performance of a difficult but flawed piece- the fourth lacks almost everything which makes the second and third concertos so thrilling and absorbing- the decadent, lush melodies and over-the-top solos. Still, his jazz-influenced playing style was impressive and I look forward to his return. de Waart and the orchestra sounded fantastic alongside him.

The last piece was Saint-Saens Symphony No. 3, Organ, featuring Jonathan Dimmock as the soloist- an almost ridiculously over-stuffed work that was delightful to hear and played with serious earnestness. It worked remarkably well. de Waart hasn't been on the stage of Davies in a very long time, and I hope this strong performance, and the justly tremendous reception it received from the audience, causes the powers that be to bring him back again soon.

The next night Lily took me to a small salon out in the avenues, where we were part of a tiny audience watching two performers doing a spin on the theme of "Death the trickster"- one by a singer-songwriter whose cycle had a decidedly David Lynch-like quality to it, the other by a marvelously gifted magician with a flair for the dramatic and theatrical. The theme struck a chord with me, and a couple of days later, taking in everything that happened in those previous two weeks, and how it felt like the culmination of the past two years had just been bluntly pushed through the end of funnel lined with razor blades, something shifted inside my mind and I went undergound for awhile. But I'm back. And that's all there is.

American Mavericks begins this week

A  major highlight of the San Francisco Symphony's Centennial Season is the return of the American Mavericks festival, last held in 2000.

I was going to write a preview of it, but blogger SF Mike has a post that captures the enthusiasm for the upcoming concerts as well as can be done. You can read it here.

On the other hand, Josh Kosman of the SF Chronicle brings up some valid points about what (and who) is missing this time around (or how much 2012 seems like 2000 all over again). You can read that here.

Having missed it before (I was traveling that summer), I'm more in Mike's camp, enthusiasm-wise. Regardless, everyone admits it's a big deal, including Alex Ross of the New Yorker, so if you don't want  to miss one of the major music events of the year, get a ticket now before they're gone. The Symphony is offering an incredible deal- $100 will buy you a pass that's good for every concert. Mike says they're going fast.

Tákacs Quartet in Berkeley

We were lying on the bed, trying to get in a brief a nap before heading over to Berkeley to hear the Táckas Quartet perform at Hertz Hall. Isabella was tired- she had been up since a quarter to six that morning, a Saturday, first finishing some work for a client and then doing a seven-hour rehearsal for a play in which she was recently cast.  She wasn't really complaining, but simply talking about what a long day it had been so far, and how little sleep she had gotten the previous night, when I said, "Sush- at least you got shtupped last night."

"Speaking of shtupped," she replied, "your mother called me yesterday."

"Eww... oh god, why are you bringing my mother into this conversation?" and we both broke into laughter. 

Later that night, as we were riding home on BART, I started snickering and found I couldn't stop. I pointed toward the front of the car, telling her to look at the poster in front of us.

She started laughing too, and this went on for quite awhile. I know it's horribly juvenile to laugh at such a thing, but the graffiti perp did seem to be on to something: 

Anyway.

The concert began with a clean, bright performance of Schubert's Quartettsatz in C minor- the first movement of a quartet which the composer never bothered to finish since he couldn't figure out a way to match the brilliance of the first part. It's a nice bit, but there's something decidedly unsatisfying about hearing only the first movement of a work that by definition of form should have more to it. If Schubert couldn't be bothered to finish it, why should anyone bother to play it?

Next came Dvořák's Quartet in E-flat major, written after the composer had begun to meet with much success. Táckas caught all of the work's folk ballads and dances with aplomb, the first two movements led off by cellist András Fejér who played with a jaunty tone which was eagerly matched by second violin Karoly Schranz. The third movement Romanze closed with beautiful precision from all four players.

Táckas Quartet. Photo by Ellen Appel.

At intermission we stepped outside since it was an unusually warm and clear night.  Isabella decided it was time to disclose yet another in her seemingly never-ending list of talents and experiences by naming off a dozen constellations, including some I'd never heard of before. Later in the evening, walking down Bancroft, we spotted an exuberant party taking place inside a church, where it looked like dozens of people were dancing to House of Pain's "Jump Around," she would tell me about the time she met Timothy Leary and what a jerk she found him to be.

The second half of the concert was Beethoven's Opus 131 string quartet- the main attraction for me and probably most of the almost-full house. They began the first movement with a quickness I found a bit much, as it emphasized melody over drama and buried many of the conversational elements in the work. This continued into the second movement, and I noticed it was Schranz who seemed to be driving the tempo to a sprightly level. Still, principal violin Edward Dusinberre had many fine moments in these opening sections and violist Geraldine Walther reminded me of what a pleasure she was to hear when she performed with the San Francisco Symphony.

The quick pace continued to distract me, and then Fejér encountered a problem in the part of the fourth movement where the cello plays five notes in rapid succession (a motive which occurs repeatedly through the piece in different modes). He couldn't seem to get the last note off, and each time the cluster repeated he hit the same snag. This happened three times, I think. The group played through it, and I became more interested in the mechanics of it all- how the whole keeps it together when a part goes off the rails, than in following the music itself, until a simply ghastly sound came from the cello during the final allegro, which seemed to propel Dusinberre to a heightened intensity- his high notes just started to pour out with an emotion not evident in the earlier movements. That's when my attention somewhat left the music altogether and began to focus on execution, wondering and waiting for what came next while admiring Fejér's (and the others), ability to play through it all.

They received an enthusiastic standing ovation from many in the house, though there wasn't an encore. The concert was presented by Cal Performances.

Andras Schiff at Berkeley

Andras Schiff. Photo by Sheila Rock.

Often with solo recital concerts there's not a lot in the end about which one can really comment. A performer shows up, gives his or her interpretation of a piece, and unless something goes wrong, or one wants to make a pedantic case for how well something was (or wasn't) played, and one either likes it or not based on whatever preferences and experiences one brings when walking in the door. Of course there are some performers who lend themselves to ridicule or praise based on something other than what was actually heard, but it's not the norm.

To some extent that's my response to Andras Schiff's recital last Wednesday nightat Zellerbach Hall, where the pianist performed an extraordinary concert of works by Bach, Beethoven and Bartok (a variation of the three Bs I'd like to see replace the more traditional version, to be sure). Schiff's outspokenness on matters both political and musical is something I admire, but it doesn't have anything to do with his musical ability, except in how the latter influences his choice of repertoire (he's a very strict classicist). To put it simply, one couldn't have asked for a more consummate musical experience.

The program began with all fifteen of Bach's Three Part Inventions (Sinfonias), "straightforward instructional pieces whereby lovers of the keyboard, and especially those eager to learn, are shown a clear method..." Schiff certainly has the method down, and as in so much Bach the pleasure is to be found in the precision, not the heart, of the execution. Schiff gave each Sinfonia a precise reading which never reached any moment of either high or low intensity, but then again there isn't any such thing written into these works- it's kind of like listening to Joe Satriani play the guitar. Fine technique, but no soul. Fine, if you like such things, but I for one don't. Besides, Bach just sounds weird when played on a contemporary grand piano.

However, Schiff is capable of performing with strong passion, highly evident in what came next, Bartok's sole Piano Sonata, of which Schiff gave an explosive performance culminating in a thunderous conclusion of the last movement. The composer's interest in folk music and the work of his contemporaries riddles the piece, which looked fiendishly difficult to play as Schiff's fingers were a blur during many moments of the outer movements.

During the intermission, I ran into Rosine Stoltz and introduced her to Isabella. Rosine had just had a conversation with someone else where she revealed she had never heard all fifteen of the Sinfonias performed together, to which her interlocutor replied that there were ample opportunities to experience such a thing via recording. Her response, "Yes, of course, but why would you?" reminded me of why I've adored her for so long.

The second half of the concert was Beethoven's Diabelli Variations- a daunting piece to perform live if there ever was one and I marveled at Schiff's ability to play not only this work, but the entire concert from memory. His performance of the Beethoven was deeply informed and yet pleasingly, never showy. The thirty-three variations encompass almost everything we know about Beethoven- from his jocular  humor to his inimitable ability to capture something fundamental about the human experience in musical form, and everything in-between. An hour later, when it was over, there was a sense of having taken a long musical journey led by an expert guide.

Schiff returned for two encores. The first was Beethoven's fourth Bagatelle, which surprisingly found him turning up the intensity of execution even more than we had just witnessed- as if having scaled the mountain he now wanted to take in the expansive view. He followed this with Bartok's Allegro Barbaro, played with equal enthusiasm.

An interesting pedagogical aside, all three of these pieces were written nearly a hundred years apart, and it would have been great to hear them performed in chronological order instead of one that fit the standard concert format of two roughly equal halves separated by an intermission. No doubt by design, when I learned Schiff was to give an instructional lecture in a Music 101 class the next day on the Berkeley campus, I deeply wished I could skip work to attend it so I could hear his insights on how these works form an arc in composition and performance for piano. 

The concert was presented by Cal Performances.