San Francisco Classical Voice

CONTEMPORARY MUSIC REVIEW Brilliance and Skill

February 18, 2002

By Benjamin Frandzel

It's a risky and inviting choice, pitting two similar pieces against each other on the same program, one brand new and one an imposing work with some history behind it. In front of a sold-out audience at the Yerba Buena Center Forum last Monday, the San Francisco Contemporary Music Players took this leap, with mixed results Solo percussion works by John Zorn and Iannis Xenakis, each suited to their players' style, each with something to say, were heard. This approach inevitably brings about comparison and in all truth it made Xenakis' music seem more of an achievement, Zorn's less compelling than it would have been otherwise.

By way of contrast, the ensemble works, each by a gifted local composer with a strong musical personality, all found the room to breathe on their own, mixing diverse instrumentation, techniques, and compositional approaches.

The percussion music generated some of the evening's greatest excitement. Zorn set himself a formidable challenge with his Gris-Gris, creating interest from a dry set of timbres, a collection of fourteen tom-toms, bass drums, snares and bongos. Without anything like cymbals or metallic percussion to provide a sense of release, Zorn's piece sustained a fair bit of tension as it grew. Certain sections heightened the work's drive, such as the long rolls on the bongos near the end or the shifting two-plus-three accents at the beginning. But many of Zorn's ideas, repeating without much development, simply weren't engaging enough to sustain the piece, particularly without great variation in color. William Winant, the piece's dedicatee, brought the free and spontaneous energy so typical of his playing to a virtuosic performance.

Kaleidoscopic riot

Reaching back for a solo percussion classic, the Players also featured Xenakis' 1975 work Psappha with Dan Kennedy the soloist this time. Like Zorn's piece, this began with subtly shifting accents, but with adroit control expanded to a broader range of instrumental colors in its thickening forest of sound. As much as this piece seems to be the product of a tightly controlled process, it also builds to a wild, Bosch-like carnival of color and intensity, especially in the buildup of metallic percussion at the end. In another great solo performance, Kennedy played with unbroken focus and precision, exerting a sense of authority even during the lengthening silences in the middle of the piece.

Wayne Peterson's new Nonet is as affecting a work as I've heard from this composer. The first of its two movements, dedicated to the memory of the CMP's late oboist William Banovetz in particular, made masterful use of the three winds, horn, three strings, piano and percussion, continuously revealing sweet ensemble textures and pointillistic tone colors in a brilliantly controlled mix. A striking aspect of the work was its alternation of collectively flowing lines and colors stopped in time, with interest added by rotating judiciously chosen percussion. Although I didn't find the second movement as moving, I was taken by Peterson's abilities as an orchestrator of transparent textures, as every line could be heard clearly, even with all nine instruments involved. Credit should also go to British guest conductor Paul Hoskins, who managed the work's shifting balances with unerring fluency and momentum.

A very different approach to ensemble writing was taken by Cindy Cox, in her quartet, "World a tuning fork…" Eschewing a traditional dramatic buildup, Cox assigned simple, lyrical lines to an alto saxophone and piano, quiet rolls to a set of five tom-toms, and periodic single notes to the bass. Coaxing the audience to listen more and more closely, these elements repeated and varied a bit but mostly were allowed to be heard and reexamined for their own value, each assuming a dignified independence.

Tranquil moods

In an effective touch, poet John Campion, whose writing inspired the work, was heard on tape near the end speaking his lines, "World a tuning fork/lift-up-over sounding." Cox explained in her notes that these words refer to the Amazon rain forest, and the distinct instrumental lines brought to mind a set of trees in the wind, bending toward each other but always returning to their own point of balance. The collective effect was calming, then ultimately transporting.

Robert Greenberg's Funny Like a Monkey, a three-movement work for piano quartet, took a more traditional but certainly individual approach to ensemble writing, highlighting this composer's contrapuntal skill. Greenberg opened the work with the instruments in a sort of tightly-controlled chase with elaborate arabesque figures emerging amid rapidly changing moods. The second movement was lovely, with lush harmonies (I thought of Satie at times) alternating with open, lonely music for the strings.

I only found the piece faltering a bit in its third movement, an homage/dismembering of the finale of Brahms' G-minor Piano Quartet. The movement flirted outrageously with the earlier composer's music, and did so with impressive control of line and texture. But after the strength of the first two movements, the referential mode was not as engaging as Greenberg's original ideas.

(Benjamin Frandzel is a Bay Area musician and writer. In addition to writing concert music, he has collaborated with dance, theater, and visual artists, and has written about music for many publications and musical organizations. He is currently a graduate student in composition at San Francisco State University.)