San Francisco Classical Voice

Save for the final set, the program proved to be a lot more interesting than appeared at first glance. First, there is the fact that Anker is a totally skillful musician with a large, dulcet voice. Second, the dozen new songs used a variety of accompanying instruments, with John Dornenburg on viola da gamba or electric bass; Frances Conover Fitch, harpsichord; Scott Woolweaver, viola; John McDonald and Wayman Chin as pianists, plus percussionist Peter Maund. Third, the differing compositional styles never adhered to any one school. They ranged from very conservative quasi-Barber, to something close to Schoenberg's early 1920s style.

Buxtehude's little cantata with viola da gamba and harpsichord support is a mini-concerto in six sections. Each of the instruments has what amount to solo sections spread among the three flashy arias. It's a wonderfully effective piece of Baroque writing by a most neglected and important 17th Century composer. And it was splendidly set forth. Anker went to the heart of Mahler's two romances with piano: the first, a light waltzy excerpt from Des Knaben Wunderhorn; the second, set to a rather profound love song from the five Rückert Lieder. The first of the two sat a little high for Anker's voice, which sometimes produced her only grainy sounds of the afternoon.

Trester set Georgia O'Keeffe's “Nobody sees a flower” with simple piano accompaniment, a bit of lovely prose with simple warmth and sincerity. It's really a thing to be admired. I was also impressed by Johnson's setting of Denise Levertov's “Poet Power.” He turned it into a little melodrama for unaccompanied voice that fit Anker to a T. Frazin's “A Wren” for voice and viola, a kind of lullaby in barcarolle style, is a charmer, again set to a Levertov poem. Indeed, eight of the twelve new songs used her poems. Curious, no?

Leave it to the SF Conservatory's Elinor Armer to come up with the largest contrast, a comic setting of May Sarton's “Eine Kleine Snailmusik” for voice, viola and piano. The poem begins, “What soothes the angry snail?” then goes on to mention various composers as possible aids to that goal: Beethoven, Handel, Prokofiev, Tchaikovsky, et al. As the song progressed, the instruments started quoting familiar bits: Tchaikovsky's “None But the Lonely Heart,” a snippet of a Chopin Etude, Debussy's “Clair de Lune” — even “Stars and Stripes Forever.” There were also little bits of miming along the way as Anker and pianist Chin dropped to their knees, in search of the snail. All this, however, was accomplished in good taste and fine timing.

Perhaps the most original song was Brust's setting of Levertov's “. . . That Passeth All Understanding” for voice, then piano. Schumann sometimes wrote long solo-piano epilogues onto his songs, but I have not heard the likes of Brust's usage. Anker began solo, then went through most of the text this way. Little by little, small scraps of piano sounds appeared — a soft chord or two, no more. When Anker had run out of text, the pianist was playing alone, slowly, very quietly. The larger surprise was a beautiful meditative piano solo epilogue, lasting as long as the first vocal section, while Anker stood there in silence. The effect was stunning, and very moving.

None of the songs approached the avant-garde, at least not in the Boulez or Ligeti sense. But Mark Winges' “In Summer” for voice, viola and piano — again a Levertov poem — employed a freely dissonant texture such as the Schoenberg aforementioned, but over a strong tonal underpinning. In that sense, although not in texture, Winges' style sat akin to the mature vocal music of Britten.

My frustration here, and with most of the other songs, was that the composers seem too concerned with declamation of the words. In the process, one lost the melodic essence of song, the lyric touch. Most came off sounding like accompanied recitative instead of songs. In truth, reading thought the texts, generously furnished in the program, Levertov's poetry does not strike me as particularly musical. On the other hand, O'Keeffe's prose flows like refined poetry. I've always admired her paintings, but had no idea she was such a literary craftsman.

The audience cheered everything to the echo, and several times even took to stomping the floor. So in spite of reservations about this or that, the recital can only be counted a major success. Certainly the assortments of Anker's many talents and artistry were enough to insure this.