Cycles spread over different periods and instrumentations are not uncommon. There's the four Hindemith ”Konzertmusik” titles, Berio's 11 ”Sequenza,” and the like. Most of Kraft's “Encounters” have been chamber music involving percussion parts in some form or other. “Encounter I,” for example, is scored for percussionist and tape; “Encounter VI” is for concertino, roto-toms and percussion quartet. This being the largest Encounter as to forces and possibly length, accounts for its “Grand Encounter” status.

The program booklet mentioned that Kraft was hesitant to ascend the commission for a second Timpani Concerto. Well he might be, as an outstanding player himself. His 1981 First Concerto quickly emerged as best of breed. Indeed, he made a fine recording of it with the Los Angeles Philharmonic and Zubin Mehta — the orchestra in which he served from 1955.

Solo timpani is not, by and large, a viable medium except during brief outbursts. The composer is hampered by the availability of only three, four or five pitches at any one moment. Since the Baroque, attempts have been made at writing timpani concertos or soloistic pieces. But, as yet, nothing has established itself as a repertory item other than a novelty work. Having come so close the first time, it is not hard to realize the difficulties of creating an adequate sequel, let alone a better piece.

Set out in two parts joined at the hip, the new Concerto comes off as suggestive of a kind of tone poem in one movement, running a tad over 23 minutes in length. Materials alternate between quite rapidly blazing fanfare-like segments and soft bits of tenderness. The music is largely in a free dissonance style with tonal implications shadowing the background. Fresh in sonics and superbly orchestrated, it does not set out to reinvent the wheel, and thanks be for that. Here and there, I heard little genuflections toward the Big Band sound, vaguely related to William Schuman's orchestral gestures.

There was also one terse, noisy cadenza for the soloist and, oddly, somewhere about the middle, a quiet long lyrical solo for unaccompanied flute. When it was all done, the audience cheered and observed that obligatory cliché, the standing ovation. Well they might. The piece is effectively exciting.

Herbert's performance glittered and blared, as the orchestral playing nearly matched his sheen. He displayed not only extremes of dexterity and musicianship but devotion to the cause of timpani expansion. For this piece, he actually commissioned the making of a set of new small timpani commonly called piccolo timpani. These were mounted on a rack above the expected symphonic instruments, although that virtually obscured him from sight on the main floor. From where I sat, I could see only a bit from Herbert's forehead above the drums. This was not helped by the glare of the stage lights reflecting off the shiny new copper instruments.

This effort to expand the range of timpani, however, stuck me as relatively pointless. The normal high range of timpani is the F of the mid baritone register – F-sharp if you push it. Anything higher than that loses much of the sensation of pitch. What comes across is mostly a percussive thunk not unlike tom-toms. Even Mozart took a couple of stabs at using the high G – in Seraglio and Symphony No.32, K. 318 – but soon abandoned the practice because it's a rather ugly sound largely void of resonance. Piccolo timpani have been a curio item over the centuries and seem likely to remain so.

The larger flaw of the Concerto lay in the fact that Kraft's "13th Encounter" didn't much present the idea of "Timpani Concerto." The timpani part was active, but not particularly prominent. My overall impression was of virtuoso playing in the brass section and the timpani's four sibling instrumentalists playing marimba, bells, gongs, et al. What one would expect as a predominant solo role turned out to sound more akin to obbligato support for the other players. As a matter of fact, the Scherzo of Beethoven's Ninth comes closer to sounding like a timpani concerto than Kraft's new piece.

Having Herbert at stage rear was no help. The visual aspects of artists playing should never be overlooked. Watching the performance in progress is nearly as important as hearing it. Otherwise, you might as well just be listening to a recording.

Tilson Thomas took very fine tempos throughout the Beethoven, adding restrained touches of rubato to the phrasing that gave the expressive possibilities breathing room in the Adagio. He also avoided the fairly common alternative instrumentation of the work by Wagner, used by such supposed purists as Toscanini. Orchestral playing was generally excellent, especially from the woodwind section, playing with the kind of warmth and balances of the old Koussevitzky Boston Symphony. There were a few minor bloopers in the orchestra, but those never fell into the mortal-sin category. You know: one missed note by a horn player, a momentary lack of perfect ensemble in the lower strings . . . nothing serious. The inner two movements were outstanding, bursting with vitality in the Scherzo, and almost painfully moving during Beethoven's super slow movement.

The hero of the event was the chorus, which sang as fine a performance as I can imagine. Rich in timbre, terrific in intonation and detailed in observance of dynamics, the result was totally admirable, even a tad miraculous considering Beethoven's sometimes unreasonable demands in high registers.

Wilhelm Furtwängler once said that for the Ninth, one needs a super bass-baritone, a superior tenor and a good soprano, adding, “As for the alto, she has only to stand there and try to look pretty.” In truth, not one in five bass-baritones emerges unscathed from that hideously difficult opening recitative of the finale, and Aceto, a bass, did not manage it without problems. The music climbs a bit too high for the comfort of a true bass, and drops a little low for a baritone. Aceto, who was otherwise fine, lacked full command of that opening segment. One can be sympathetic, however, for he was above average during what is the Ninth's standard Achilles heel.

Tenor Griffey, on the other hand, was most impressive. Local audiences will doubtlessly remember his appearances as Mitch in André Previn's Streetcar Named Desire in the San Francisco Opera's premiere of the work. He was outstanding in the important march segment, right on target, with no sense of strain whatever, Griffey singing through it with seeming if unlikely ease. Soprano Robinson also did herself proud, although the role is less murderously exposed than those of her colleagues. Mezzo-soprano Mitchell-Valasco's alto role went well, although one never got to hear her much of her as more than a part of the mass. That's Beethoven's doing. She easily fulfilled Furtwängler's requirement.

The program is being repeated this week: Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday in Davies, plus the Friday performance in Cupertino.