Two composers of world prominence, Peter Sculthorpe and Per Nørgård, write terrific music that is far too rarely heard in these parts. Sculthorpe is Australia’s most famous composer, with music described in the program as “rooted in classic forms with an intense interest in the indigenous music of his native land and the Pacific Rim.” Two of his works were performed, From Saibai (1997), for violin and piano, and the world premiere of a new version of his 2005 String Quartet No. 16. Saibai is an island south of Papua New Guinea, a traditional melody of which forms the basis of a beautiful four-part movement. Unfortunately, Kate Stenberg, the indefatigable violinist of the Del Sol String Quartet who otherwise performed admirably in many festival works, weakened the impact of this impassioned music with her fairly dry and tentative interpretation.

Sculthorpe’s Quartet was one of the two highlights of the festival. The new version had an added instrument, the didgeridoo, an aboriginal wind instrument that is blown as a drone. Each instrument has only one note, but is capable of strange varieties of sound when its player introduces vocalizations as part of the sound production. Three different didgeridoos were blown for four of the five movements, with Stephen Kent ably accompanying the Del Sol String Quartet.

The piece was written to honor asylum seekers, many from the Middle East, who have been incarcerated in remote Australian holding areas pending deportation, under reportedly inhumane conditions. Reflecting the refugees' thirst for freedom beyond the fences, Sculthorpe artfully introduces bird calls throughout the quartet, using trills and glissandos in the strings. In between, melodies of a Middle Eastern character hauntingly entwine over the didgeridoo drones. Results were enthusiastically received by the audience.

Nørgård, the most famous composer in Denmark (and, some say, in Scandinavia), was represented by a recent quartet (No. 10, 2004-2005) and by a beautiful work for mixed chorus from 1980, Wie ein Kind (Like a child). The quartet was composed during an anxious phase in the composer's life, when his wife began showing symptoms of a serious illness. For some reason the Danish name (høst-ttidløs) of the autumn crocus flower (Colchicum autumnale) came to his mind and would not leave. The flower blooms in the fall after its leaves have died, and has poisonous roots and seeds. The Danish components of the name could be (incorrectly) translated as “harvest-timeless,” the association that stuck for Nørgård.

The music therefore deals with the autumnal stages of life, winter storms, and the dying out of elements, and, according to the composer, a promise of spring in the coda. I found the work supremely well constructed, in the organic fashion of Sibelius, reflective of pain, and moving toward timelessness or negation. I didn’t hear the magical coda so positively, however, but more like a screen door on an empty house squeaking in the wind.

The second Nørgård work for a capella chorus deals with the phenomenon of what is now called Outsider Art and one of its most famous practitioners, the Swiss Adolf Wölfli, a child molester who was imprisoned as a schizophrenic from 1895 until his death in 1930. The piece is a triptych in which nonsense texts by Wölfli frame a central poem on spring by Rainer Maria Rilke. Strange, out-of-synch calls from soloists emphasize the plight of the outsider who has difficulty connecting with society, represented by the rest of the chorus. The music is tonal, melodic, and compassionate, yet at the same time disturbing in its implications — a short but powerful work extremely well performed by the choral group Volti and its conductor, Robert Geary.

The music of three composers and one collective was marked by deviations from normal concert expectations. Only one of these was reasonably successful in his efforts, and that was Daniel David Feinsmith, a Zen monk of Jewish heritage who is obsessed with the names and actions of God (see "Channeling the Divine"). He is writing a series of works on the names of God, admitting he has “a bunch more to do” after Elohim, a nearly hour-long work for piano, cello, and two guitar parts. The religious motivation is ecstatic, but, unlike the slow, lengthy mysticism of a Pärt or a Tavener, Feinsmith writes mostly in a frenetic, at times beboppy style, with a strong emphasis on the piano part.

Potential problems with lack of variety are mitigated by catchy and varying rhythms; short, sudden pauses in the flow; and changes in instrumentation. Elohim contains eight movements, each named after an action performed by God during Genesis: naming, creating, blessing, dividing, seeing, forming, placing, and saying. Among the performers, all of whom were excellent, pianist Christopher Taylor was most impressive. Despite missing a note now and then, he tore through the many pages with an obsession and ardor equal to that of the composer — a joy to watch and bob heads with. Enthusiastic rounds of applause ensued after his efforts, as well as those of his fellow performers (Jennifer Culp, cello; Michael Manring, bass guitar; and Gyan Riley, guitar).

Trumpeter Markus Stockhausen, son of the radical modernist Karlheinz Stockhausen, concentrated his eccentricities in the area of attenuated attention span. Working with clarinetist and bass clarinetist Tara Bouman, the younger Stockhausen presented an hour of pieces that all sounded pretty much alike: very slow, tonal takes on song forms. Commonly the two players started far apart on or off stage, then slowly moved toward each other. What was mildly interesting the first time did not improve with repetition, despite the quality of sound production and the introduction of a gong and leg rattles in one piece. On the other hand, the music is a good cure for insomnia.

The Norwegian composer Maja Ratkje was represented with four compositions that I found eccentric with respect to form (or common lack of it) and dissonance (extreme and unrelieved — a good cure for somnia). Worst in the latter trait was her Japanese-inspired gagaku Variations for accordion and string quartet. Ratkje has a genius for major sevenths, minor ninths, and assorted mixtures of quarter tones that were eyeball-popping in their continuity and shrill severity. Three other works of hers, presented the next day, showed little rhyme, reason, or concision, sounding like throwbacks to 1960s experimentalism.

The final eccentricity was Sunday's “concert intermission feature,” a collaborative performance by the Vacaville Christian High School in the Jewish Community Center atrium. As described in the program, “The performers employ saxophones, trumpets, clarinets, guitar, bass, and electronics including vintage microphones, theremins, radios, portable televisions, video camera, video projector, electric fans, cycle machine, Tesla Coil ... and laptops.” This feature impressed on me the importance of the intermission as a means of cleansing the sonic palate: The noise drove me from the building. The motives for including this group are laudable, but other methods must be found.

The other highlight of the festival was the extraordinary performance of improviser and composer Joëlle Léandre on the bass viol. This Frenchwoman from Aix is a fountain of ideas and energy:

... there are as many sounds as molecules in the human body .... Improvisation isn't taught, especially in the academic and classical institutions. Only organists, by tradition, are given "homework" in style — Renaissance, Bach, etc. Free improvisation would create too many questions for the teaching staff and for our culture. ... The notion of charm in music isn't one of my strong points. The notion of truth, stripping bare, reflection, exchanges, doubtlessly jubilation; but responsibility first and foremost, consciousness, work ... hard work! ... Being open, hearing and listening, are the potting soil of expressivity. What are we? We're like sponges, saturated with joy and sorrow all our lives. ... Laugh, as well — laughter is so good!

Strumming, singing, shouting, and, yes, playing her instrument, Léandre constructed a cohesive and entertaining set of performance art, aided by two other experienced improvisers, Xu Fengxia, who was simply amazing on the guzheng (a zitherlike Chinese instrument), and Gunda Gottschalk on violin. Along with Sculthorpe, Léandre received the most vociferous plaudits from the audience in the festival.

The Canadian composer Ronald Bruce Smith had a brand-new String Quartet (No. 2) for the festival, nicely performed by the Del Sol. The work was well made (Smith has completed a Ph.D. in music from Berkeley), but I heard nothing original or eccentric about it, other than titles for two of the movements: Caprice — Eine Kleine 9 Music and (Quasi)-Chaconne — (How do you get to) Wonderland? I heard no references to Mozart and no chaconne, but I’m sure they’re in the score for researchers to extract. The work was not easy in its first and last movements, so the Del Sol is to be congratulated for its doggedness in learning this work so well.

The final new item was the venue. The acoustics of Kanbar Hall, as mentioned, are excellent. There are, however, logistical and technical difficulties with the setup. For one thing, the Jewish Community Center offers multiple events. On Friday, a teen dance was taking place, and someone apparently set off the fire alarm in the middle of Feinsmith’s piece, causing an interruption and half-hour delay in resumption. On Saturday, there was a bar mitzvah in the atrium, cutting down the already barely adequate space to nil. And the center is no different than many venues in that too few folks manage the refreshment counter, causing long lines and traffic jams.

Finally, there are two technical problems in Kanbar Hall itself. The seats are bleachers, with rattly steps that separate slightly from their underpinnings, thus causing a fairly loud bang when people step on them. Padding should be placed between these members. Secondly, the lights go completely out during performances. During the Nørgård choral piece, the dark was a great disservice to the audience, since no one could read the text. Worse, though, was when latecomers (including composers coming in from backstage to hear their music) tripped on the noisy bleacher steps trying to find seats in the dark. The same thing happened when necessity required folks to leave during a performance.

Something must be done about the bleachers and the dark, but one thing is certain: The Other Minds Music Festival was a teacher and brought new-music light to this side of the North American Ark.

(Jeff Dunn is a freelance critic with a B.A. in music and a Ph.D. in geologic education. A composer of piano and vocal music, he is a member of NACUSA and president of Composers Inc.)

©2006 Jeff Dunn, all rights reserved