San Francisco Classical Voice

Barrueco has been gradually rising to the top rank of his field, largely through a succession of fine EMI recordings. Indeed, he even recorded this Rodrigo Concerto with no less than Plácido Domingo as his conductor. But the proof of the pudding lies in hearing him live. As this was my first such opportunity, I can say he's absolutely for real. His musicality of phrasing and remarkable rhythmic stability were as impeccable as one can imagine. Even fast-running sixteenth notes — the great bête noire of strummed instrument playing — were played with the sort of accuracy I've not encountered since the heyday of Julian Bream. They are extremely difficult to control, as not all five of the plucking fingers are of equal strength.

With a well-placed microphone, Barrueco brought great warmth to the three-movement concerto, even during the lively outer movements. But it's that atmospheric, slow central movement that forms the core of the work's popularity. (It's even been recorded in jazz versions, notably in a classic rendition by Gil Evans.)

Conductor Willis overdid the adagio's big climax a bit with his melodramatics, but otherwise this was a performance that provided total satisfaction, so naturally the concerto was cheered to the rafters. The powers that be in the Symphony's administration would do well to invite Barrueco back for the subscription concerts, especially since he carries such a large repertory of traditional and modern works, including some avant-garde pieces.

Willis chose excellent basic tempos and had the orchestra playing with polished dynamics and fine balance throughout. That's no small task, considering that the Symphony had to prepare four different programs on four consecutive days. Willis used only the tragic epilogue to the Carmen Prelude to open the concert. Except for that, every single movement drew a salvo of applause — including the Falla dances, which were brilliant in their verve. I did find it difficult to watch Willis' exaggerated podium gyrations; he flapped about like some prehistoric bird trying to take flight in a white tuxedo. I suppose he thought he was being dramatic, whereas the truth is that it proved to be only a constant distraction from the music.

Piazzolla's rhapsody represents one of his serious efforts at bringing his idiom into a more abstract symphonic style. There were only casual hints of his tango reputation. Tangazo, for instance, opens with a fairly long, quiet elegiac passage for strings alone. That was followed by more lively stuff, before moving back and forth between the two textures. Yet the aroma of the tango made only brief appearances. It's a nice piece, but the total result was just a tad dull.

Márquez, who was born in the Mexican state of Sonora, studied in Mexico City, in Paris, and at the California Institute for the Arts, earning his master's degree there in 1990. Whereas he leaned toward avant-garde modes at first, he has since softened his style into something more commercially acceptable. Considering his background, it seems odd that he should flirt with a Cuban dance style in his seven-part Danzón — there is, after all, no shortage of Mexican dances from which to select. On the other hand, we live in an era of increasing internationalism. Bizet, Debussy, and Ravel all wrote great Spanish pieces; Saint-Saëns, both Cuban and African; and Copland, both Mexican and Cuban. So why not?

Just before the Piazzolla, while the orchestra was on stage awaiting Willis, the lights went out: first the stage lights, then the entire hall's system. Sitting there in pitch blackness, one couldn't help but realize we were in a hall full of more than 2,000 people, many of us elderly — had there been panic and a rush to exit, we would have faced an almost certain fiasco. Fortunately, everyone remained calm. The lights blinked on briefly before another patch of darkness, then full illumination was restored and the concert continued with no further problems. I've been at performances interrupted by earthquakes — small ones — but never before a loss of the lighting. (I was later informed that it was all PG&E's doing.)

There were no more such incidents during the short Piazzolla and Márquez works, nor during the vigorous and noisy encore, the final dance "Malambo" from Ginastera's early ballet, Estancia.