Eric Owens in Berkeley

Eric Owens possesses a pleasingly stentorian speaking voice, with a warmth and welcoming tone behind its imposing depth and authority. That warmth has been magnified, in my mind at least, by his appearances during intermissions during the Met’s Live in HD broadcasts, where he somehow strikes that perfect balance between confidence and diffidence. Recent years have brought Owens’ to that point where he seems on the verge of achieving something big, especially since his appearance as Alberich in the Met’s recent Ring Cycle, where he delivered a performance (and interpretation) that others will be measured against for a long time.

Balance is a key element running through Owens’ career. In an Opera News feature from January 2012 he discusses appearing in new, contemporary works against those of more standard rep, trying to counter every appearance in an Adams opera with one by Verdi or Mozart in order to avoid being pigeonholed by directors and audiences.

In his recital with pianist Warren Jones last weekend on the UC Berkley campus, he took this balancing act to a more immediate and personal level in a bifurcated program of German and French composers, the first part of which was largely Sturm und Drang, followed by a second half of joie de vivre.

I arrived to the 3:00 PM concert slightly late (ah, BART, how I love thee), so I went upstairs to the viewing galley, where I almost stepped on a strange woman splayed out in the dark on a yoga mat with her eyes closed. Even by Berkeley standards this was a bit odd. She surrendered her occupation of the space with a bit of attitude, as if my late arrival was a rude intrusion- not to the performer, but to her yoga practice.

Owens, sporting a massive and mostly grey beard, stood stiffly before the piano and sung songs of Wolf, Schumann and Schubert with deliberate gravity that was undermined by an exceptionally stiff stage demeanor. As I mentioned, I was late, so if Owens introduced the material or said anything at all to the audience beforehand I missed it. What I saw was a succession of stoically delivered songs, without comment and with little acknowledgement of the audience. It felt stilted and uncomfortable to me, as if Owens, who can clearly sing this material and sing it quite well, was somehow struggling with how he wanted to come across as a performer.

After the intermission an altogether different Owens walked onstage, said “Hi” with a sheepish grin and a quick wave, and proceeded to talk with the audience a bit before launching into Debussy’s Three Songs. It was a bit of shock to see this fellow after the earlier one, and I liked this guy a lot more. Not only does he sing wonderfully in French, but he also looks like he’s enjoying himself a lot more than the dour guy who was onstage during the first half. With a little more work (or some coaching) Owens could be one of the most magnetic performers to grace a stage. The barrel-bodied man has incredible presence but he’s not capitalizing on it- at least on this afternoon, where the house was shockingly and inexplicably only about half-full (maybe it’s the 3:00 start times?).

Owens performed two encores, the first was Purcell’s “Music for a While” which he described as one of his favorite songs, which he followed with the spiritual “Shall We Gather by the River” which was simply marvelous, but served to illustrate how much potential was left unfulfilled by the afternoon’s performance.

The concert was presented by Cal Performances.

Loose Baggy Monsters

"I said I wanted a big chorus. This is only three hundred people and some kids. Now go get me a really big chorus..."

In his famous preface to the New York Edition of his novel The Tragic Muse, Henry James sticks it to Thackeray, Dumas and Tolstoy, acknowledging that though their immense novels are full of life, "what do such large, loose, baggy monsters, with their queer elements of the accidental and the arbitrary, artistically mean?" 

James' epithet stomped through my mind as I alternated between states of delight and ennui during the all-French, all-choral, all loose, baggy monsters extravaganza unfolding this weekend with the San Francisco Symphony, conducted by Charles Dutoit.

Now if your memory is as keen as Lisa Hirsch's, who greeted me at intermission with the words "What are you doing here? I thought you dislike Dutoit," you may be wondering why I was attending this particular concert in the first place, and I'm a gonna tell ya. 

The first item on the program was Poulenc's Stabat Mater, which has never been performed by the orchestra before, and the other item was Berlioz's Te Deum, which hasn't been performed in almost 40 years. Two massive, rarely heard choral works on one program? Count me in. Besides,  I figured it was time to give Dutoit another chance.

It turns out this was a good choice. Though it's a bit of a freakish program, with a lot of strange and wonderful singing, beautiful and frightening music, there's much to engage one's mind and ears. Having said that, I'm not sure I would be in a hurry to hear either work again any time soon, like I would if it was Berlioz's Damnation du Faust.  Having not heard the pieces before, I can't attribute this response to anything other than a lukewarm first impression to the pieces themselves. 

There were two choruses appearing last night: the San Francisco Symphony's led by Ragnar Bohlin, which gave a superb, forceful performance in both works; and the Pacific Boychoir, directed by Kevin Fox, which commanded everyone's attention during their moments in the Berlioz with their angelic tone surprising presence.

Jonathan Dimmock manned the organ during the Berlioz, which also featured a compelling performance from Paul Groves, whose Italianate tenor the high point of the entire concert. Not to be outdone in the "how much more can I heap on this and still get away with it?" method of composition, the Poulenc featured soprano Erin Wall for a couple of unnecessary passages, which by her presence she actually did make more compelling, but toward the end, during the "Quando corpus" section (the last of twelve), Wall started to look like she was about to explode in rapture and it creeped me out. Thaïs noticed it too, and had a similar reaction.  

I read in the program notes there was supposed to be some inappropriate trombone noises at the conclusion of "Vidit suum" section, but I missed it entirely because of a phone going off. It must not be that big of a deal- certainly not a Lady Macbeth of Mtsenk kind of trombone moment- I mean, you can't miss that no matter what else is happening around you, right? And then the great and terrible thing happened: first, Thaïs sneezed- loudly; then, to my horror, my phone fell out of my pocket, onto to the floor, and clattered about.  My. phone. fell. out. of. my. pocket. and onto the floor. Every vein in my body suddenly throbbed. Suddenly we had become those people. I was so glad Patrick and The Opera Tattler weren't in attendance. I don't think I could have withstood the extra heaping of shame their presence would have surely brought. Was I mortified? Actually, no, though there was certainly a time in my concert-going life where if I had been sitting next to me I would have though "what a fucking rube- and now he's gone and ruined my entire concert experience!" If you felt that after my phone fell on the floor, I want to sincerely apologize for the distraction. I know, it sucks. I'm sorry. It's never happened before. I doubt it will happen again. Please forgive me. Gravity happens. I can't believe how uptight I used to be. How embarrassing!

Dutoit led the orchestra ably, and when air seemed to go still and the temperature in the hall rose slightly during the "Dignare, Domine" section of the Te Deum,  well, I don't know exactly what caused that, but it was pretty damn impressive. Still, when it was over, I did wonder what it all was supposed to mean. 

The program repeats Saturday and Sunday. 

Yo-Yo Ma & Kathryn Stott

Oh, shut up- you already know what he looks like. Besides, doesn't the background in this photo of Kathryn Stott by Lorenzo Cicconi look like a Gerhard Richter painting? 

A couple of weeks ago I saw Yo-Yo Ma and Kathryn Stott perform together in UC Berkeley's Zellerbach Hall. I can't decide if being Yo-Yo Ma would be a wonderful or terrible thing. I do know it sort of sucks to write about one of his performances. What can one say that hasn't been said already? Is possible to separate the man's abilities on a given night from his aura and reasonably critique his performance at this point in his career? To say something negative, anything at all, would make one appear petty, spiteful and small, because not only is Ma such an extraordinarily gifted performer, but his spirit and sense of generosity toward the audience, and his fellow artists, pervades every moment he's onstage.

Even if it were true there would be very few people who would even believe you if you ever said, "Yo-Yo Ma? He was just okay." I wonder when the last time was when that was actually true. He's gotta have an off night too, right?

Maybe. Maybe not. Because Yo-Yo Ma is just a little bit different that you, I or your everyday classical musician. I suspect he knows this to some extent, and it's how he wears this knowledge like a loose garment that is so incredibly damn flattering. What I find complelling about the world's most famous and recognizable classical musician is he is always willing to share the spotlight. He knows he can't avoid it, he can't escape it, so he might as well share it. And that's the mark of a uniquely confident and generous soul. And a class act.

Because Stott and Ma have a long history together, she seemed as comfortable as one could be for being in the decidedly unenvious role of the musician no one is paying to hear. However once the music started none of that really mattered and if one couldn't quite view them as equals on the stage, they were certainly peers and partners, which yielded a number of rewards since it never felt like "The Yo-Yo Ma show, accompanied by Kathryin Stott." Credit the canny selections performed by the duo, beginning with Stravinsky's Suite Italienne, which allowed Stott ample time to ingratiate herself with the audience before Ma tore into the Tarantella and reminded everyone who they came to see.

Of the three pieces which followed, all from the Latin world, only Piazolla's Oblivion stood out to me as particularly noteworthy, perhaps because none were originally scored for the cello, though the mournful craving of Piazolla's tango-infected music is perfectly suited for the instrument's voice.

That same lack of conviction was felt in Manuel de Falla's "Siete Canciones Populares Espanolas," but only when it came to the cello. Stott was fantastic with these songs, especially in Seguidilla Murciana and the Albeniz-flavored Asturiana. Ma appeared to become almost giddy as he watched her dominate the songs- not ceding the stage to her, but happy to let her take the wheel and drive the performance.

After the intermission came what was for me the highlight of the scheduled programming, Louange al'Eternite de Jesus from Messiaen's Quartet for the End of Time (Quatuor pour la fin du Temps), which was followed by the evening's most traditional selection, a Brahms sonata (No. 3 in D Minor for those of you keeping score). There's not much to say about either except they were exceptionally played. If you thought my earlier comments were some sort of intimation on my part that Ma was "just okay," well, no- he was as wonderful as we all expect him to be.

Yet for all that, the best part of the concert was still to come during three generous encores. The first was "The Last Song" by Clarice Assad, whose father was in the audience and graciously introduced by the star. Next came Ma's own Cristal, which felt like straight-up Brubeck and found him fiendishly following Stott's own alternating lead hands on the piano's keys like a leopard chasing down a gazelle.

The final piece of the evening was Saint Saen's The Swan, and even this familiar, gorgeously decadent piece, which the pair have performed numerous times together, had an air of freshness and possibility. The sold-out house departed happy, dazzled and delighted once again by the classiest man in the business. The concert was presented by Cal Performances, who have a number of noteworthy concerts coming up, including a recital by the magnificent bass Eric Owens this coming Sunday, and especially the upcoming solo recital next Tuesday by the white-hot violinist Christian Tetzlaff, which promises to be a highlight of the year.