San Francisco Classical Voice

Although Uitti was alone on the stage, and the enthusiastic and appreciative audience may have looked small in Hertz Hall, her striking dramatic presence and the intense concentration of her sound filled the space the moment she began to play. The first work of the trilogy Triphon begins, characteristically, with a single note that moves through shifting dynamics, articulation, bow pressure, and vibrato. Uitti evoked these nuances with precision. A special feature of this piece is a mute, developed by Scelsi and Uitti, that adds a gravelly resonance to the cello's lowest two strings. The mute was inspired by Scelsi's study of Tibetan Buddhism, and, as the work intensifies into an aggressive texture moving rapidly across the strings, the mute adds rich interference. The second movement begins with the same note on which the first movement trails off, an emblem of the stubborn stillness of the sound world: this is not music for the impatient. At times the music's meandering does not seem to add value — but interest is then renewed by an attractive sonic or textural change.

For the next work, Dithome, Uitti moved to the second of three music stands positioned in a diagonal line across the stage, perhaps a symbol of the autobiographical aging between the pieces as well as a practical measure to accommodate the many pages of music. In Dithome, fifths, unisons, and octaves come in and out of focus as they are varied with vibrato and microtonal oscillations. The fifths, in particular, give the work an antique sound, as if the cello is to suggest a lute or viol. It may not be coincidental that Scelsi embarked on his exploration of fine details of vibrato and tuning at a time when interest in historical performance was also growing.

The final work, Ygghur, stands out as the most compelling of the three. Uitti truly enters and exits from silence; the listener is barely aware as the sound passes from inaudible to audible. Her motion through space is almost as controlled as her sound, connecting gestures with quiet energy. The harmony of Ygghur is more resonant than the other pieces: the return of pitches and sonorities sounds necessary and natural. Now the cello is more like a sitar, with left-hand pizzicato suggesting the strumming of sympathetic strings. In the second movement, the hollow, toneless pizzicati even bring to mind a tabla. The title is from Sanskrit, so perhaps Scelsi's associations are intentional. The sonic palette is further augmented by playing molto sul tasto (on the fingerboard), and col legno tratto (with the wood of the bow). Scelsi uses these devices to make the music approach and recede in aural space, adding a “third dimension” to the sound.

Controversy has surrounded the production of Scelsi's music. It was not composed in a conventional way: Scelsi improvised many of his pieces on the ondiola, an early electronic instrument, and recorded them to tape. They were transcribed by the composer Vieri Tosatti and further refined in collaboration with performers like Uitti, who is herself an experienced improviser. All deserve creative credit, but that need not diminish appreciation for the final result. Bay Area listeners would benefit from more opportunities to hear, and more interest in hearing, this beautiful music — especially performed by such expert hands.