San Francisco Classical Voice

Had this been written yesterday, it would no doubt be filed in the "postmodern messing around with old music" folder of program- designers' imaginations and we'd never hear it again. It was, however, written a quarter of a century ago, when both the Tatar composer and the Latvian violinist for whom the piece was written, Gidon Kremer, were residents of the Soviet Union. For Gubaidulina, Bach was not something to joke with; it was a lifeline, and even the passages (like the chorale) that might sound silly in less stern hands work.

The violin part would sound like it had been written for Kremer even if he had not been playing it himself Friday night. The double-stopping — especially the double-stopped harmonics — is fearsome, but also the sort of thing Kremer does especially well. (Indeed, on Friday there was very little in that exceedingly demanding part that he didn't nail.) The orchestral role, meanwhile, is full of fascinating colors. Vast section-wide string glissandi, tinkling percussion, unexpected but retrospectively perfect wind solos . . . everything is in there somewhere, and yet the piece doesn't feel like a hodgepodge. The most astonishing thing in the score is superficially the blandest, because it sounds almost exactly like "white noise." It's near the end of the piece, and so far as I could tell involves every string player in the orchestra holding a different pitch, ppp. It hardly sounds like an instrumental effect at all.

It would be unfair to Kremer to say that he was predictably terrific. As a matter of fact, he is not predictably anything, and even his recordings don't exactly meet a uniform standard. But Friday he was superb, hitting every one of those mean double-stops spot- on, and pouring out sound in every register. And while he played from the score, he obviously knows the piece cold, and loves it. Any composer with such a player to write for is lucky indeed.

Following the Gubaidulina with Tchaikovsky's Fifth Symphony, of all things, looks peculiar. But actually Masur's Fifth was the right thing to come next. It was simultaneously exacting and expressive, giving the players something to show off on and unwind with at the same time. Certainly the brass took it that way. They were fantastic, the 'bones in particular. The solo horn in the slow movement also needs a mention: I have not heard that solo played before so quietly and evenly. Steve Paulson in the Waltz's coy bassoon solo was both cute and elegant. And the finale's grand cheesy moment — you know the one — for once didn't sound ridiculous, just (almost) dignified. In a way, the same thing could be said for Masur's entire approach.