Di Castri's "Lineage" breaks with the past, and Bronfman kills it (again)

Zosha Di Castri

Lineage, by 28-year-old composer Zosha Di Castri, is the first commission to come out of a new partnership between the The San Francisco and New World Symphonies and the music publisher Boosey & Hawkes. In the program notes for its West Coast premiere Di Castri describes it as “a combination of change and consistency, a re-imagining of places and traditions I’ve known only second-hand, the sound of a fictitious culture one dreams up to keep the memories of another generation alive.” It's a disarmingly honest statement about the work, and an accurate one. Intentionally or not, it's also a revealing truth about the music from a new generation of composers now emerging in concert halls- a generation which views (and experiences) 20th Century composers as being of  a distinct era, now past, and notably not their own. These are composers whose living role models aren't Copeland, Stravinsky, Ives, Harrison, etc. Not Messiaen, or even Carter. Their living models are composers like Adams, Glass, Penderecki, Golijov and and Saariaho. I imply no judgement regarding these contemporary composers vs. their predecessors, but bring attention to this only to illustrate a distinctly new era is underway. It is taking place now.

More importantly, these younger composers are coming of age during an era when there is much more than just the Western Art music tradition to draw from, more than just music itself, actually. Technology may prove to be a greater influence on them than Beethoven or Berg ever will be. So is it a surprise that Di Castri's first piece written for a full orchestra has a structure more closely resembling the rapid-fire, montage style of an MTV video or current film than a tone poem or anything resembling sonata form? She wasn't even alive when Michael Jackson's Thriller was released. 

As Lineage unfolded the musicians kept issuing snippet after snippet of arresting, alluring music- little threads that I kept hoping would expand and develop into full themes, but none did- one would just be taken over by another in a constantly shifting kaleidoscope of texture and sounds- some soft and scratchy, some noticeably melodic, but none for maybe more than 20 seconds. A constant tease, especially since many of them sounded so promising. It was a technique resembling sampling- something that has been going on in pop music for the entirety of Di Castri's life, and a form as familiar to someone her age as a triad is to earlier generations. For some listeners that may have proved frustrating, possibly even uninteresting, but for me it was like hearing what the future is going to sound like- and it sounds pretty damn interesting, though it is quite different- at least for those of us raised on a set of musical assumptions that may have been declared obsolete or irrelevant while we weren't paying attention. But the "change and consistency" she mentioned, those "places and traditions I’ve known only second-hand" proved to be true. Nicely done.

Next, Yefim Bronfman strode onstage to perform Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1 (speaking of which, what ever what happened to No. 2? Is it ever performed?). I've mentioned before that Bronfman is my personal favorite pianist to hear in concert and he proved why again with this astounding performance. His ability to play with such a substantial difference of force in each hand boggles my mind. During the first movement his left was a constant source of deliberation, almost relentless, while his right always seemed to float gently above the keys, still making each note distinctly heard within and above the orchestra, which was in rock-solid alignment with him. The first movement was so brilliantly played it drew a substantial ovation when it concluded from throughout the house. 

The second movement, the tone of which to me has always alternated between an acknowledgement of winter's melancholy and a paean to the potential found in every spring, and the dancing propulsion of the third, found Bronfman steadfastly refusing to linger over any of it, refusing to milk a single note, a common practice with lesser pianists which so often turns this masterpiece into romantic gloop. This was true of his approach to the first movement as well, but became more obvious here with their briefer lengths and less luxuriant orchestral parts, which MTT led with a surprisingly taut, muscular sound. Once again, Fima killed it. In fact, this may have been the best performance of his I've attended so far.

After the intermission the orchestra played Prokofiev's Third Symphony, a relative rarity, and I can understand why. It utilizes elements from the composer's opera The Fiery Angel, which I'm unfamiliar with but now am rather keen to at hear if not see, because musically this thing is an assault on the ears led by the most overpowering brass section I have ever heard in my life. It was initially frightening, as befits the opera's story, but in the end it felt wearisome, all but obliterating the afterglow of Bronfman's gorgeous performance. There was one superb moment where Mark Inouye and another trumpet player, breaking apart from the phalanx of brass, delivered a brief passage played so softly the sudden contrast was stunning. But the bombast of the whole largely eclipsed these few fine moments scattered throughout the piece, despite fine playing from the entire orchestra, especially the strings, which sound better than ever.

Chamber music with Fima and SFS musicians

Once in awhile I'll attend a concert, thoroughly enjoy it, and find that I have little to say about it beyond "yeah, that was really good (or great, or [even] wonderful)." I'm not alone here- Patrick and I have discussed this at length, and thankfully it doesn't happen to me very often. However,  I felt this way about what will end up being the last performance I'll have attended this year- an excellent chamber music concert featuring Yefim Bronfman and ten members of the San Francisco Symphony.

I don't regularly attend these concerts because it feels unnatural to me to sit in a theater or auditorium in the middle of the afternoon, unless it's raining or something. And when it's raining, and I'm looking for something to do indoors, I typically think about going to the movies, because the chamber music series isn't regularly scheduled for every Sunday afternoon. One must pay attention, or make arrangements in advance. I know I miss out on a lot of good stuff with this attitude, including the longstanding Saturday morning performances of the Alexander String Quartet and SF Opera's Tosca and Rigoletto this year, but it has to be someone or something I really want to hear to make me want to take that seat on a Sunday afternoon. Something rare, or something special. That was the case a couple of weeks ago for this particular concert because of Bronfman's presence- I've mentioned before he's my favorite pianist- and I was all the more intrigued to hear him because the Emperor he'd performed a couple of nights before with the orchestra wasn't bad but it certainly wasn't a highlight of the season, or even of that particular concert.

That Sunday I arrived at the hall late, barely making it into my seat on time, on what turned out to be an unexpectedly nice day, because I had been arguing with a horrid and dreadful woman, which was to be expected because it seems she and I can't not argue on a Sunday morning. Some people go to church. We go at each other. Thankfully that weekend seemed to be the last of the Sunday morning arguments (as of this writing). But I've digressed. Walking into the hall, I was pleased to see the orchestra section nearly full, and a couple of familiar faces in the audience, one of whom went on to provide a much more detailed account of the music than what you're going to get here.

The first selection of the afternoon was John Harbison's Twilight Music- a trio for horn, violin and piano. Maybe it's just because I'm paying more attention in light of the local performance earlier this year of his opera The Great Gatsby, but it seems to me we've seen Harbison on a lot more programs than usual this year, which is all to the good. Twilight Music, written in 1984, has four movements. In the program notes for the piece Harbison is quoted from a few years earlier talking about intervallic this and that, which makes sense if you want to listen music that way, but I usually don't (click here to listen to the piece performed by the Chicago Chamber Musicians in 1993). But two elements really drew me into the piece: first, Harbison's writing for the piano here is pretty much straight ahead jazz, and it was fascinating to hear Marc Shapiro weave this element seamlessly into a classically dressed costume; the second point of interest was Nicole Cash and her horn.

Cash joined the orchestra in 2009 as associate principal after a few years with the Dallas Symphony. She always piques my interest when I see her onstage (she's a very attractive woman) but I had yet to hear her solo for an any extended period of time. She drew a range of sounds from her instrument I didn't even know were possible, and between her wonderful playing and Shapiro's excellent jazz performance, poor Dan Carlson on the violin seemed almost like an afterthought in the mix, as I found myself paying little attention to that part. At the end of the fourth movement's Adagio a two note motive faded away to create one of the most gorgeous conclusions I've heard all year.

Next came the trio of Yukiko Kurakata on violin, Sebastien Gingras on cello, and Katie Kadarauch on viola to perform Ernst von Dohnányi’s Serenade in C major. The entire five movement work was charming, but I was especially impressed with the Romanza, which reminded me of a late Beethoven quartet, possibly Op. 130, and the exuberant Rondo of the finale. I have to admit to also being distracted by Kadarauch, who was a stunning figure onstage in her red chiffon, halter-top gown.

Both of these performances were satisfying to the extreme, but the main event followed the intermission when Bronfman strode onstage with Nadya Tichman, Dan Smiley, Jonathan Vinocour, and Amos Yang to perform Brahms' Piano Quintet in F Minor. Bronfman blended seamlessly into the group of the orchestra's top tier musicians, neither dominating nor holding back in anyway, but rather through his own forceful performance engaged the other players and the entire ensemble gave an indelible performance, completely erasing the mediocre taste left by the Emperor a few nights before.

Pandora steals the show from the Emperor

Mark Volkert. Photo by Kristen Loken.

Thaïs had one of those nagging little coughs that usually annoy me when I hear it coming from someone else. Another person seated close to us smelled pleasantly like soap. I was sitting next to a woman I've seen many times before and I wanted to introduce myself, but the proper moment never arrived. 

"Strauss is for old people. I don't like him. It's all 'boom boom bum bum,'" she whispered to me as Michael Tilson Thomas walked across the stage to the podium. 

That was fine. We weren't really there to hear the Strauss, but it turned out to be a fine performance of Till Eulenspiegel's Merry Pranks- one of the composer's tone poems which are beginning to appeal to me much more than they did when I was a younger person. I've become one of the old people, I guess. So is she, but since she's in denial about that I didn't bother to ask her what she thought of it. Till's march to the gallows reminded me of various points of discord in our relationship- after a bunch of pranks, boom booms signal the end is near, a head will roll, and some happy music brings it all to close, right back where it began. Applaud. 

What came next was the world premiere of Mark Volkert's Pandora, a 20 minute piece for string orchestra written by the San Francisco Symphony's longest-serving musician (an astonishing 40 years) and Associate Concertmaster. Volkert certainly doesn't look old enough for that first title, but he joined the orchestra at age 21. That long history has served him well in orchestrating his latest work- an engaging, accessible, yet challenging piece that should be performed by other, adventurous chamber orchestras. A different fate for Pandora would be an injustice and missed opportunity. I hope Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg was in the house for one of the performances.

Structured in traditional sonata form, Volkert uses the Pandora story as told by Hesiod to create a musical narrative which relates all of sorts of ills being unleashed once the lid's come off the jar (or box in the more familiar usage), but isn't bound by trying to maintain them within the confines of programmatic writing. The opening reminded me of "Fire On High" by the Electric Light Orchestra, starting somewhere sinewy and mysterious, before it plunged forward. The piece contains some dizzying, virtuoso moments for many in the orchestra, including a cadenza whipped into a frenzy by concertmaster Alexander Barantschik, and has a satisfying narrative feel to it. Buzz-sawing violins give way to basses that sound like fiddles using odd string attacks and pitch changes. It's easy to get lost in a new work one hasn't heard before, trying to follow the thread of the music while listening for clues as to where it's headed next, but Pandora kept me guessing in a good way, nicely interjecting quieter moments within its overall quickly-paced structure. The ending felt right, but wasn't telegraphed in advance. When it was over I observed something rare- Nadya Tichman beaming with obvious delight. The audience gave it a well-deserved warm reception and Volkert, who was seated in the Symphony's VIP section in the Loge off the left hand side of the stage, looked enormously pleased.

During the intermission, while Thaïs queued for a vodka, I went outside to smoke. A slightly weathered, red-faced man in a bright blue shirt stood eyeing me. He was older than I by ten years at least, possibly twenty. I debated whether to approach him and make some small talk about the music we just heard, or take the more common, contemporary option of looking for something fascinating and urgent to read on my phone. I decided to go old school and actually talk to another person rather than stare at my phone while waiting for Thaïs to appear, knowing she could easily get waylaid. My choice yielded dubious results. 

The man was quite jovial and willing to talk. He lived at the far end of the BART line and was himself a musician- I believe he used the words "semi-pro" to describe himself, which meant that he played music for people in an assisted-living home. He began to explain the opening key of the Emperor, which was to be played next, and he did indeed appear to know all of the notes, which he exhibited in a sort of human beat-box delivery, one hand playing the notes on an air piano, the other holding his cigarette and drink. I listened and watched approvingly.

Then Thaïs appeared, so I made introductions. However, I had misheard his name, on which he corrected me. It seems his dentures often caused people to misunderstand him. He then popped them out with his fingers for a visual demonstration. Thaïs and I looked at each other, and I knew I was going to hear yet another lecture later about why I should quit smoking so she doesn't have to wait around for me and endure such people.

Out interlocutor/denture demonstrator then asked where we were from and we replied we lived here in town, which surprised him.

"You two don't seem like San Francisco people," he said.

"Really? Why not?" I asked.

"Well, most San Francisco people are snobs, I think. You two aren't snobs. This place" and here he waved his demo hand toward the brightly lit lobby, "is full of snobs."

I couldn't bring myself to look at Thaïs at this moment- the irony was too great.

He went on about this for a moment or two more, and then noticed people were re-entering the hall, and said he supposed he should get back to his seat. He extended his hand to me in farewell- the same one he used for the denture demo. Time almost stopped in my mind and it seemed like I was having an out-of-body experience as I reflexively took the demo hand and shook it. I wondered where else it had been but managed to stop myself before the entire list of potential horrors grew to a point which would trigger an anxiety attack. Out of the corner of my eye, still in slow-motion, I watched a tight grimace unfurl over Thaïs' face, her eyes hardening into blue steel.

We thanked him for his compliment, and lingered behind, just long enough. 

I waited for the scolding, but it didn't come. Instead she started laughing, "We're not snobs?"

"I guess not."

We re-entered the hall chuckling about this, and I made a beeline for the hand-sanitizer dispenser. 

Back at our seats, we settled in for the second half and Thaïs resumed coughing. 

I've mentioned before that Yefim Bronfman is my favorite pianist and because of that he was the draw for this particular concert, which originally didn't include Volkert's Pandora. However, I wasn't all that excited about what he was playing- Beethoven's Emperor Concerto. That's not because I don't like it. I love it in fact, but somehow it just seemed like an odd choice for Bronfman. Too safe a choice perhaps, for a performer whose recent performances have found him taking on some really challenging pieces. Not that the Emperor isn't a challenge, but it just doesn't feel like one to me at this point. Which seems like a ridiculous thing to actually write down but there you have it. That I would rather hear it performed by a younger, less-established pianist would probably be the best way to describe my ambivalence, and I'd prefer to hear Bronfman perform something more unusual- something which needs to be championed. Salonen's concerto, for example.

Then there's my additional ambivalence around MTT's approach to Beethoven, which can range from the full-throttled, sanguine/sublime end of the scale to stripped-down, lean performances bent on presenting the work as if it were performed on period instruments. I love the former approach, but the latter leaves me cold. I like my Beethoven ruddy, rude and transcendent.

That's not what we got. Now I'll admit I've probably ruined my ability to hear the Emperor correctly. When I first became enthralled by it I used to listen to it while driving in my car, playing it at volumes more suitable for Black Sabbath than Beethoven. Wait- I don't really mean that. Beethoven sounds great at that volume. The problem is a live orchestra is never going to play it that loud. And that's okay if it's performed with gusto and bravado. But on this night at least, everything seemed to be dialed down, with little of the piece's "heroic" character shining through.  The trumpets blended with the horns, instead of standing out clear and bright on their own. Even David Herbert's timpani sounded subdued. The sole bright spot was the string section, which sounded like they were still riding high from Pandora.

Bronfman, meanwhile, performed it seemingly note perfect, and with expressive delicacy at times, especially in the second movement, nicely conveying its sense of wistful loss and remembrance. But it was missing an individualistic stamp which would have raised it above a performance where there was nothing was at all wrong, but there little to be excited about beyond hearing a masterpiece. That's not a bad thing mind you, but this orchestra and soloist have spoiled their audience lately into expecting more. Still, that didn't stop more than a few folks in the center terrace from swaying to the music during the third movement, which was brought to a close with a lively, fast-paced flourish.

Kick some brass

The New York Philharmonic blasted into town for two concerts this week as part of the San Francisco Symphony's Centennial Season programming, which includes a special series inviting the elite American Orchestras to perform music they've commissioned, as well as rep that best represents their strengths over two consecutive nights. Judging by these performances, the New Yorkers can boast of having no equals at at least three things (and Philly ain't gonna top this when they hit town next month, so it's a done deal):

1. They're the best-dressed musicians in the country (especially the women). 
2. They can play faster and louder than anyone else.
3. Their brass section can kick your brass section's ass, no problem.

Ass-kickers extraordinaire

Starting off Sunday night with a boisterous, rowdy version of Dvorak's Carnival Overture, which served notice they came to play, the next piece was for me the main event of the entire visit- Yefim Bronfman as the soloist for Magnus Lindberg's Piano Concerto No. 2. The orchestra just premiered the new commission earlier this month and though its garnered some decidedly mixed reviews, I found it to be hugely entertaining in its back-and-forth pull between sounding like a lost Rachmaninoff concerto and the most sinister of 1950's sci-fi movie soundtracks. The Beast With a Million Fingers turned out to be Bronfman, who keeps upping the ante with every performance he's made here in the past few years, and if the material wasn't as brilliant as what he performed during his finger-busting recital in Berkeley last October, his playing exceeded even that incredible performance. 

Bronfman. Photo by Jennifer Taylor for the New York Times.

Fima- you amaze me. The orchestra kept up with him as he plowed, pulled and pulverized his way through Lindberg's almost maniacally dense score, at times the two were so interwoven it was difficult to distinguish who was following whom in a most thrilling way, especially when the piece hit the periphery of jazz.

Conductor Alan Gilbert began Tchaikovsky's Fourth Symphony with a loud urgency and never let up, taking the warhorse on an unusually high-spirited gallop (hey, Tchaikovsky deserves that groaner). It became apparent pretty early on that this brass section is really something special, especially in the Andantino of the second movement, where they created a burnished warmth as unique as it was inviting. It also became apparent that Principal Timpani Markus Rhoten is one of the best there is, his playing is full of incredible nuance. The Tchaik 4 turned out to be a canny choice, because it gave the principals of every section a chance to shine in a big way, and each rose to the occasion, with special notice due Mindy Kaufman on piccolo, Robert Langevin on flute, and Mark Nuccio's clarinet. The finale contained the most astonishingly loud brass playing I've ever heard and the audience ate it up with a tremendous ovation. I only wish I could hear this section perform some Wagner instead. An encore of Bernstein's "Lonely Town" was a classy way to end the show.

The first night raised my expectations for the second, because what was on the program didn't seem nearly as enticing. It began promisingly, and just as energetically as the first, with Berlioz's Le Corsaire taken at a breakneck pace that was as much fun to watch being played as it was to hear. Unfortunately after that it took a very long time for the night to regain the excitement of that opener. 

Concertmaster Glenn Dicterow, a fine musician, brought what he could to Bartok's First Violin Concerto, but there's a good reason it's a rarity- it's boring, and all of Dicterow's lyricism and nuance couldn't breathe much life into it. It wasn't that much better after the intermission with Debussy's La Mer, which Gilbert led with a light fluidity that became so delicate the impressionistic piece ultimately didn't leave much of one, it's twenty-five odd minute length soon seemed like an overlong series of ripples.

However, the night ended with a bang as Gilbert almost literally wrestled every last bit of oomph out of Ravel's La Valse. I can't understand why many classical music enthusiasts see Ravel as a second-rate composer- for my money he's on par with Berlioz in the top tier of French composers.  For an encore they performed Charbrier's "España," and then Gilbert let the brass take center stage for a gumbo blast medley of dixieland/New Orleans/Creole to close it out that had many in the audience shakin' it.

I'm going to skip the upcoming Philly visit because I'm not a fan of Dutoit. So having heard all the visitors I'm going to hear, I have to say that while New York sounds about as good as an orchestra possibly can, and has myriad strengths, aside from that killer brass section they lack a distinct identity that makes one say "Yeah, that's gotta be New York." If it were a contest, I'd have to say Boston took the series, with Cleveland coming in second.

Quick takes from the weekend

The New Century Chamber Orchestra's season ending concert was Saturday night: Schoenberg's  Verklärte Nacht (Transfigured Night) is the kind of music this ensemble does best and it was fantastic; ten minutes of variations on "Happy Birthday to You," not so much; Ellen Taafe Zwilich's Commedia d'ell Arte proved accessible, interesting and entertaining- a rare trifecta for contemporary premiere; Michelle Djokic probably has no idea how sexy she is with a tambourine in her hand.

The New York Philharmonic's first of two nights at Davies: if I described Magnus Lindberg's 2nd Piano Concerto as a mash-up of a 50's sci-fi movie soundtracks and Rachmaninoff you may not think that's a compliment, but it certainly is; Yefim Bronfman is simply f_cking amazing; the principal wind players of this orchestra are dazzlers, as is their brass section; that was an amazing Tchaik 4 and the finale went through the roof; a bit of Bernstein for the encore was a nice touch; Chloe Veltman looked pretty fetching in that hat.

The burgers at Flippers in Hayes Valley kind of suck but the waitresses are really kind. The food at Burmese Kitchen in the Tenderloin is a steal for how tasty it is. My mother is pretty much the only person I know who can get me to eat Popeye's fried chicken, which tastes much better in the South than it does in California. The Minister's Rebellious Daughter paid me the kindest of compliments when she said, "it's nice to see you're back." Lara Downes sent me an email, but I can't tell you what she wrote. There was an explosion of hits coming to A Beast from Thailand, all searching for images of "ASIAN NEWSWOMAN TURNS PORN SLUT"-what they found on arriving here was a picture of Linda Blair taken from "The Exorcist."

RIP Duck Dunn and my Aunt Rose.

Two wild girls- my grandmother on the left and her sister Rose on the right, circa 1935.

The Best of a Beast: 2011

In compiling this year's "best of" list I knew two things before I even began:  Prince would get the top spot and there would be very little opera on it. Part of the reason for the latter is because I didn't travel to L.A. or New York this year (though there was much I would have liked to see in both cities), and the other is locally it wasn't a good year. San Francisco Opera's Ring Cycle had some great moments, but overall, director Francesca Zambello's production failed to leave a lasting impact after the thrill wore off of having a Ring Cycle in town. Regrettably, I missed SFO's Xerxes, which was their only other production to get solid reviews and word of mouth. Half of SFO's fall offerings were so uninspiring I didn't even bother to attend them and those I did were severely flawed. However, I really enjoyed Merola's Barber.

The void left by the lack of good opera created a list dominated by contemporary performance pieces and recitals. Two shows, The Tempest: Without a Body and Necessary Monsters, were presented by Yerba Buena Center for the Arts (YBCA). The organization is dedicated to presenting the work of living artists and they consistently deliver challenging and provocative programs. It's become an increasingly important source of culture for me this past year. I'd also like to acknowledge the success of the San Francisco Symphony's Centennial Season programs, both onstage and within the community- this is truly a special year for the organization and their hard work is paying off handsomely.

As has been the case in the previous two years, it was difficult to narrow it down to ten-  in the end I cheated.

The ranking is in order, starting with the best:

1. Prince
Prince played three wildly different shows, each with a unique set list.  More impressively, he struck a completely different tone as a performer every night- on the first he was a sexy crooner, the following evening he was the funkmeister, and finally, in the last show (my favorite) he was a blazing guitar god for over three hours. I've never been more impressed with a musician. Prince is a genius, and in his prime as a performer.

2. The Tempest: Without a Body
Eight months later this performance by Lemi Ponifasio's MAU company, it still frequents my consciousness. It was dark, disturbing and unforgettable and I don't think I could stand to see it again. Still, I would if given the chance, because I've never seen anything else that moved me in quite the same way.


3.  Orphée
Ensemble Parallèle proved again that an opera company doesn't need tremendous financial resources to put on a great production- just talent and imagination. It's been years since San Francisco Opera did something this well. Get ready for their production of John Harbison's The Great Gatsby in February.

4. Necessary Monsters
Like The Tempest: Without a Body, Carla Kihlstedt's work also left a lingering impression long afterward. An enchanting work-in-progress that will make you think about the Necessary Monsters in your own life, see it if you have the chance.

5.  The San Francisco Symphony's Mahler's 3rd
San Francisco Symphony's Centennial Season has had numerous highlights so far, but this exquisite performance was truly spectacular.

6. Yefim Bronfman
Bronfman turned in another brilliant performance this year, made all the more heroic because he didn't let on that he had seriously injured two of his fingers during it.

7. Jonas Kaufmann
He came and conquered the audience with an extremely generous performance. Never have I heard German sung with such eloquence and beauty.

8. Dmitri Hvorostovsky
Hvorostovsky's recital was an early highlight of the year. He's never sounded better and the material he chose was perfect. The encore was thrilling.

9. Goran Bregovic and his Wedding and Funeral Orchestra
The most fun I had at a show all year, maybe ever- and on top of that, these folks can play.

10. tie: Max Raabe and the Palast Orchester, Alexander Melnikov, &  The Robert Glasper Experiment
Initially I was going to make this year's list a dozen so that I could include all three of these performances. Let's just call it a three-way tie instead because at one point each one occupied the tenth slot.

Honorable mentions are due to The Wild Bride, The Boston Symphony Orchestra, Elizabeth Rowe, Jay Hunter Morris, The St. Petersburg Philharmonic, the Keith Jarret Trio,  YoYo Ma & the SFS, and the San Francisco Symphony Chorus, which has been consistently spectacular over the past year.

In praise of Fima

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wishing you a complete and speedy recovery Fima!


The concert was presented by Cal Performances.

Bronfman plays Brahms

Wednesday night Chad and I caught up at Max's before heading over to Davies to hear Yefim Bronfman play the first Brahms piano concerto. It was unusually crowded (the penultimate performance of the brilliant Makropulos Case was also taking place that night across the street) and there was a blonde I knew I'd seen before at the far right of the bar and to my left a brunette I had the same issue with, who was seated with a man in a bow tie some years her senior who I'm pretty sure works for the opera to her left. Sometime between the first time I noticed her and midway through her meal the brunette had perfectly applied a very red lipstick to her mouth. The things I notice can be quite strange- I suppose the things I remember a day and a half later are even stranger. I had the black bean soup which was pretty good- Chad had a salad, two beers and a whiskey straight up. A perfectly balanced meal.

Entering Davies I was pleased to see what looked like a very well-sold house, at least from the orchestra level. Whether this was due to the program (Brahms and Berg), Bronfman's appearance or the timing of a concert before a four-day weekend for most people was hard to discern. My interest in the program was primarily Bronfman, who has become a don't-miss performer for me over the past few years, even though it seems like he just performed this piece here last year. Turns out I was wrong- he last performed Brahms' first two seasons ago- last season it was Brahms' second I think, before he returned later in the spring to turn in some amazing performances during the Schubert/Berg smackdown last spring (Berg won, by the way).

Fima Bronfman- photo by Dario Acosta

 Bronfman intrigues me- for starters, he's the most laid back-looking musician of his stature there is. As he strides onstage he almost looks out of place. He doesn't look like a musician- he looks like the postman delivering a package or a butcher bringing you a tasty cut of meat. What I mean by that is he's going to deliver the goods, but his manner is one of delivery, knowing he's only the intermediary, not the creator, and he has an air of humility inherent to being the middleman.

I also appreciate he doesn't tour with only one piece to play, as many musicians do, taking his Brahms from stage to stage around the world. I checked his schedule- he hasn't played the piece since last March- in the meantime he's been performing the Beethoven 1,2,3 & 5th (!) concertos, Lizst's 2nd, all three Bartok's, Tchaikovsky's 1st, Brahms' 2nd, Prokofiev's 2nd, numerous solo recitals and a few gigs with Pinchas Zuckerman where they played Beethoven, Mozart and Brahms sonatas. From here he's on his was to play Rachmaninoff's 3rd and Salonen's 1st, which was written for him. That's a helluva schedule.

And yet here he shows up and plays the Brahms 1st in a way that was completely unexpected. It's so easy (and typical) to hear Brahms played with blustering, forceful Romanticism. Bronfman did none of that. He performed with a deliberate, articulated approach that was never rushed, never flamboyant and brought out all of the yearning in the score without calling attention to it. Despite silently talking to himself, closing his eyes at certain passages and finishing lines with a flourish of his hands and a glance at Michael Tilson Thomas as if to say "now it's your turn, Mikey- take it away!" Bronfman's tempo was slower than one might have expected, but this allowed him to make every note count, creating drama from the music, not from his performance. This was evident from his earliest solos in the first movement, where Brahms has the piano enter with gentle music requiring the listener to focus their attention in place of the usual robust fanfare announcing the soloist is now ready to show off. When it was over, I marvelled at the almost complete silence in the room- very little coughing, throat-clearing or other obnoxious noise so commonly heard between movements. Just a kind hushed silence from the crowd, waiting to hear more.

The second movement was even lovelier, the adagio taken at a slow, almost elegiac pace but without a trace of solemnity at all. When it ended, someone in the audience sneezed and as if on cue, Bronfman turned and very quietly said "Bless you."

The third movement brought it home with a vibrant, rhythmic close during which smiles appeared on many  faces of the members of the orchestra, who were also obviously enjoying the fact that once again, Bronfman killed it. He got a hearty standing ovation and Michael Tilson Thomas looked thrilled when it was all over. Bronfman on the other hand, had a pleased, almost bemused smile on his face, but it didn't reveal more than the deep satisfaction of a job well-done.

This was the second half of the concert by the way, unusually scheduled for the guest soloist to take the stage after the intermission. The first half was Brahm's Academic Festival Overture, which came off as a lightweight piece of opening filler, followed by the first SFS performances of Three Pieces of the Lyric Suite by Berg. MTT always manages to make Berg interesting, though I'm always left with the impression he's as mystified as the audience often is with one of the 20th Century's most intriguing composers. This piece, originally written in six pieces for a quartet, had a number of compelling moments for the strings-only orchestra, especially the middle section which at times sounded to me like a million scurrying insects (not a bad thing- just an unusual one). Chad thought it too close to "film music." The audience gave it a lukewarm reception.

Afterwards, we ended up at Urban Tavern after discovering First Crush was closed for some inexplicable reason. Miss Trixie, what's going on? Even though it's part of the Hilton, the bartender at UT makes a mean Manhattan and the bar menu has some pretty tasty stuff. It also had the benefit of being a relatively quiet place where we could have a chat without having to yell- something now a rarity in all but the diviest of bars in downtown at 11:00 pm.

Bronfman and the Symphony will be performing the same program Friday and Saturday night. Get a ticket.

More Berg and Schubert (with more Berg)

San Francisco Symphony's Dawn to Twilight continued Wednesday night with four pieces from Berg and two from Schubert, though there were two more Schubert pieces (four-handed rondos) performed prior to the concert which I didn't attend due to ignorance of this amuse bouche. Although everything offered was performed at the highest level, I have to admit the programming for this particular concert was baffling to me and I couldn't make out what Michael Tilson Thomas is trying to state by placing these works on the same bill. The evening had no thematic continuity to at all, but rather seemed more like setting an IPod containing just the music of Berg and Schubert to "shuffle."

Regardless, this evening saw a real triple threat of guest artists show up and give some fantastic performances. Unfortunately, the fact that they all seemed to be playing in an entirely different concert diminished their individual contributions to the whole and by the time it was over I had almost forgotten Julia Fischer's sublime playing of Schubert's Rondo in A major for Violin and Strings, which started off the show. Playing with and against a sixteen instruments, she gave a subtle, beautiful account of this romantic piece whose grace almost sneaks up on the listener. The strings play music that sounds of the earlier, Haydn-Mozart classical era, even hearkening back further to some Baroque flourishes, while the soloist performs a theme that begins in a distinctly more romantic vein. The theme gets a nice workout and in the end everything returns to the classical fold. Fischer played with superb clarity and control throughout.

Interesting for me was becoming aware of the concert experience in a different way and how a performer's individual presence or appearance can shape my impression. Following a string recent female performers at Davies who are the equivalent of classical music's "It Girls" (Yuja Wang, Leila Josefowicz) and true legends (Martha Argerich, Anne-Sophie Mutter), Fischer initially didn't make much of an impression on me from the stage. This wasn't helped by the traditional romantic sound of the piece she was playing. It was only when I stopped dwelling on the fact that she lacks a certain cultivated vivaciousness I've unconsciously come to expect and actually paid close attention to what she was playing, and how she was playing it, that her talent and taste made itself clear. I was very impressed, though I think someone needs to take her over to Barney's before the next pair of concerts (she'll be performing the Berg Violin Concerto Friday and Saturday night). I look forward to hearing more from her this weekend.

Next up, comes a genuine opera star- Laura Aiken, whose performance as the Angel in SF Opera's St. Francis still burns bright in my mind, took to the stage in a smart Louise Brooks bob, a gorgeous green dress, and hot red shoes. See Julia, this is how it's done! She had the challenge of performing Berg's Altenberg Lieder, five songs where the soprano is paired with an enormous orchestra which swallowed Aiken completely for the first two songs to the extent she could barely be heard above it. This changed during the last two songs, which meant I enjoyed them much more. Whether this was Berg's intent, poor conducting by MTT, or just a mismatch between soprano and orchestra I can't really say because of my unfamiliarity with the piece, but I was disappointed in the beginning that Aiken couldn't be heard. Thankfully she returned in the second half of the program.

To end the first half the orchestra performed Berg's Rondo from the Lulu Suite, which didn't come across as much of rondo compared to the Schubert piece we had just heard, but it was another interesting work with another one of those devastating endings that Berg so masterfully crafted. It also featured stellar flute playing from Robin McKee.

At intermission I had a nice chat with Axel Feldheim, whose thoughts are always interesting to me.

The second half of the program began with Yefim Bronfman performing Berg's Piano Sonata. Since the people seated next to me (well, actually just the wife) have proven to be annoying all season long, I took the opportunity provided by the scattered empty seats in the orchestra to sneak down from my perch in the 1st Tier and got a great seat in the seventh row for the second half and was really glad I did. While I couldn't see his hands, I had a great view of Bronfman's (and his page-fluffer's) face while he performed this incredible sonata.

I note this for two reasons. The first is that while obviously attending a concert is different than listening at home, going back to my previous remark about Julia Fischer's appearance, Bronfman's face conveyed as much as his playing did. He and the page-fluffer both looked, and there's really no other word for it, terrified. This lent the performance an air of urgency and depth that was truly captivating. And it wasn't at all theatrical. Just a performer staring down a daunting work and getting the better of it through talent and determination. It was the highpoint of the evening.

Watching Bronfman perform from this close-up vantage point, I couldn't help but wonder how it came across in other parts of the hall, though I doubt anyone could have thought this performance to be less than impressive, regardless of what one thought of the piece itself (there seems to be a number of Schubert partisans in the audience for these concerts). This again points to the the distinct pleasures to be had from the concert-going experience. The nature of the piece, of the work, is influenced, indeed it is ineluctably impacted, by the performer through whose hands or voice it is interpreted. Thank you Yefim- that was an experience I am never going to forget. You killed it. Seriously.

Afterward, Aiken returned to the stage with MTT and clarinet player Carey Bell in tow. MTT sat at the piano and the three performed Schubert's Der Hirt auf dem Felsen, the very last work by the composer. Coming after Bronfman, this made almost no sense and though Bell and Aiken were marvelous, the piece itself and their performance suffered as it couldn't help but be anti-climactic.

However, it provided the emotional distance to prepare one for the evening's closing work, Berg's Lulu Suite, which was captivating. When Aiken sang genommen hat I felt a visceral response to her, which came back tenfold when she screamed. Does the scream contain all twelve tones in the music accompanying it? Someone please let me know. It was a thrilling, scary, shocking moment and made me realize I absolutely must go see this opera sometime this year. Aiken performed her part from memory, which impressed me all the more. Laura Aiken- magnificent!