San Francisco Classical Voice

Not least of these were Four Exercises, a jointly improvised (on the spot), cooperative work presented in two versions: "... in Four Movements" and "... in One Movement." A sleek chamber orchestra of saxophonist John Ingle, trumpeter David Bithell, trombonist Toyoji Tomita, pianist Christopher Jones, percussionist Chris Froh, violinist Erik Ulman, and bassist George Cremaschi was given direction by clarinetist Matt Ingalls, who took a seat often occupied by the principal cello, just stage-left of a nonexistent conductor. No conductor, and no sheet music or stands either, as this sensitive and fiery ensemble intoned and wailed through excerpts from a number of 20th century compositions, unnamed in the program and pretty much unidentifiable. No matter. The net result was an arresting succession of sonorities, with two particularly striking movements: one, mostly a series of sustains; the other, music of frenetic, mad passion.

These are people who like their tone clusters and ear-piercing shrieks, who are not afraid of a certain Charles Ivesian dissonant machismo — the head-bangers of concert music. Yet, at the same time, there is refinement and always commitment in the sfSound world, be it represented by a "group" or an "orchestra," as it was billed two Januarys ago at San Francisco's ODC Theatre. No one would have taken either concert as a frivolous, gratuitous exercise. If anything, in this recent incarnation, this ensemble defaults to earnestness, if not gravitas. The second performance of Four Exercises, which provided an A-B-A framework to the initial part of the show, proved a fascinating counterpoint to the first. Here, identifiable constructs from the introductory improvisations made their approximate return in new orderings, with unexpected transitions and a surprise ending.

Between these, like the proverbial diamonds in the rough, were the chiseled masterpieces that are Anton Webern's Four Pieces for Violin and Piano, performed by Graeme Jennings and Jones. While this reviewer has heard these pieces a number of times, often in the recorded complete-works series of records and CDs conducted by Robert Craft and Pierre Boulez, these performances leapt out in their attention to nuance and detail. The Webern palette is truly a "world in a nutshell," and these crack performers cracked it. Aphoristic and enigmatic, such works surely must have influenced Cage, who studied, of course, with the same master as the Viennese composer Arnold Schoenberg.

On the other side of the spectrum, and also nestled between the mass improvisations, was Gerard Grisey's sparkling Solo pour deux, a welcome example of so-called spectral music from this composer (1946-1998), who defined the style. The piece was a literal face-off between Ingalls and Tomita, who often stood and blasted and coaxed sustains out of their instruments, with plenty of difference-tones and overtones. In contrast to the improvs, there was sheet music aplenty (far more than for the Webern), which required a page turner for Ingalls and ample floor space for Tomita. Also necessary for the trombonist was a plethora of mutes, precariously balanced and hilariously utilized toward the end, as the performer sampled one after the other on a low pedally tone.

Another more arch aspect of the goings-on was the in-and-out insertion of the bell shaft of the clarinet into the aperture of the trombone bell. This made for more wild overtones, not only sonic, but visual. Was it good for you, too?

After the break was Con Voce, by neo-Cageian Mauricio Kagel, during which Ingle, Tomita, and Bithell, in tight array at a small pulpit, were dramatically lit in harsh light on a dark stage. A lot of prepositions, adjectives, and nouns, all written "in remembrance of the 1968 Soviet invasion of Prague. ... Just as the Czechoslovakian people are robbed of their voices, so are these three performers robbed of their instrumental voices." Classic Kagel, whose works also include tropes on Beethoven and a nice old Deutsche Gramophon recording of a performer cleaning his instrument. In this case, the reference sounds were wind and little pathetic moanings, as well as a fair amount of silence, with deer-in-the-headlights fear in the eyes of the performers, who kept their instruments cocked and ready for instrumental sounds never heard. Think of Fisherman's Wharf old human-jukebox routine gone to the devil.

The capper was Cage's own seminal Concert for Piano and Orchestra, in which the group, with the addition of Jennings and the subtraction of Froh — alas, Cage wrote no percussion part for this masterwork — was arrayed Ocean-like (in reference to the giant surround-sound Cage-Culver-Cunningham work given in 1996 at the Cal gymnasium) around the performance space. While conceived as a piano concerto, it is additionally a potential solo concerto for each performer, with separate parts not coordinated in score. More shrieks and banging and energy, of course, and much more traditional beauty, as well, from an array as follows: Piano at its traditional solo spot, violin upstage center, saxophone downstage left; trombone, clarinet, and bass back-to-front along audience left wall; trumpet front audience right; and violist Jennings (is this that "don't get no respect" deal, again?), at back.

The turnout was small — this is not music for everyone — but the rewards were great for those with open ears and a sense of fun.