San Francisco Classical Voice

The first half of the concert consisted of a remarkable set of excerpts. Ever since Shaw referred to them as "bleeding chunks," critics have had a canard to use against this practice. But the advantages of chunkdom are well worth bringing back into fashion. Excerpts allow more works to be covered in less time and greater quantity, can help create interest in later renditions of the full monty, and finally allow for, as in this case, provocative programming combinations.

"Three Dances After Oscar Wilde" was the title of the first half of the program. The segment really had many more than three dances, but it did have three composers. It began with excerpts depicting Wilde's fable "The Birthday of the Infanta," about a young and ugly dwarf, raised in the woods without mirrors, who is given to a Spanish princess as a present. When his dancing pleases the princess, he thinks it's because she loves him, but when he runs across a mirror, he realizes the truth and dies of a broken heart. The now-toyless princess is not amused.

Schreker wrote a ballet about it (same title), and Zemlinsky an opera (The Dwarf). Which excerpts of the Schreker were performed was not clearly detailed in the program notes, but they all were delightful (since they were pre-mirror). Originally written in 1908, Schreker reorchestrated his work into a Suite in 1923, and by 1924 he had rearranged numbers into a ballet later renamed Spanisches Fest. One of the "Marionette" movements was especially beguiling, with a mandolin trickling through the sensuous soundscape. Zemlinsky's opera was represented by a 3.5-minute passage just before the dwarf's entrance. The third dance-group was the famous "Dance of the Seven Veils" from Strauss' Salome.

Being able to listen to all the dances together, a gift to us from Conlon, highlighted the characteristics of this last gasp. One, the dazzling orchestration with prominent use of scintillating instruments such as harp, mandolin, celeste, and xylophone. Two, the restless themes of contrasting character coming, going, intertwining. Three, the debt Schreker and Zemlinsky (as well as so many other composers of the era, including Szymanowski, Korngold, and De Sabata) owed to Richard Strauss — and all owed to Wagner. Four, that if one could pretend never having heard any Strauss, Schreker, or Zemlinsky before, how superior Strauss' work was by comparison.

Throughout the dances and the second half of the program, Conlon led the orchestra in seemingly flawless performances. He displays a fine ear for the internal drama of the music and passionate gestures at climaxes. The "Seven Veils," the only familiar work on the program, seemed to drag in a couple of spots, but the conclusion was as well-handled as any I've heard — elsewhere. It is an amazing fact that this orchestra has not played the Strauss warhorse in 33 years. How many overplayed warhorses did we have instead?

Zemlinsky's opera A Florentine Tragedy, in concert version, was presented after intermission and lasted nearly an hour. The work was written in the midst of World War I, but it and The Dwarf reflect internal, prior wars involving Mahler's wife Alma Schindler and Zemlinsky's sister Mathilde. Zemlinsky had a powerful sex drive, but one of the least attractive faces of any composer. Like half of Europe, one by one, Zemlinsky had fallen for Alma, but she dumped him for Mahler, while reminding him of his ugliness in writing. He never got over the humiliation. Seven years later, Mathilde temporarily dumped her husband, Arnold Schoenberg, for another painter who ended up killing himself after she went back to Arnold. Zemlinsky later married twice but had numerous affairs of his own.

Hence the resonance for the man with librettos about ugliness and rejection (The Dwarf), and betrayal/return to affection (A Florentine Tragedy). In Tragedy, the hardworking merchant Simone arrives home to find his wife (Bianca — also the name of a Zemlinsky sister, who died in infancy) flirting with prince Guido. Instead of beating a hasty retreat, Guido treats the merchant little better than a servant ("chapman" or peddler), while not-so-politely implying Bianca should be given to him as part of a sale. This attitude leads to Simone eventually strangling him, but Bianca, initially showing contempt to her husband and lust for Guido, saves herself by getting turned on by the violence and sidling up to Simone and saying, "Why did you not tell me you were so strong?"

Bass-baritone James Johnson, lines memorized, with a powerful voice and air of menace, was an ideal Simone, the occasional scraping quality to his voice helping to set the mood. With more than 60 percent of the notes, the Simone role was crucial to success, yet the fine voices of Kate Aldrich as Bianca and Kim Begley as the too-glib Guido made the event all the more memorable.

The lack of show-stopping tunes was of no matter, considering the strength of the drama, directed intensely by Conlon as an obvious labor of love. To assist the audience, a complete libretto was surtitled and printed in the program. The cloth merchant Simone's words were literally portrayed in the orchestra fabric — the Luccan damask and Venetian velvet slid richly across the strings and woodwinds. A solo violin portrayed "a flower among flowers," while later the violas, with exquisite trills, provided the sounds of a spinning wheel. There might have been interesting results if both Strauss and Zemlinsky been given the challenge of who could best depict musically a spoon in a glass of water!

At a crucial point in the action prominent, A's and E-flats (S in German) are heard. Was A.S. for Arnold Schoenberg, Alma Schindler, or both? Was it just Simone, or Zemlinsky as well who says, "My soul is in a prison house, and needs music to cure its madness"?

Let's hope, with Conlon being not far from us as he takes over the L.A. Opera from Kent Nagano, that we will hear more Zemlinsky, and that a bunch of psychologists are invited to weigh in afterward on this intriguing musical personality.