To a Traveler was written as a memorial to Norman Fromm, one of the founders of the Paul Masson Vineyard concerts and the old San Francisco Chamber Music Society, as well as one of the nicest, most generous people I've ever known. The score is for violin, clarinet, and piano, and the single-movement piece follows the traditional A-B-A structure, with the central section being fast and passionate. Imbrie's title is drawn from an ancient Chinese poem by Su Tung P'o, on parting with a loved one. That struck me as a nice but subtle touch. The final result is a profound study in tenderness, certainly appropriate to Fromm's memory. It was performed by clarinetist Marilyn Martella, violinist Robin Sharp, and, as an eleventh-hour fill-in, pianist Karen Rosenak. This technically demanding piece came off beautifully.

The memorial theme continued with Britten's viola piece, based on John Dowland's famous Lachrimae or Seaven Teares for viol quintet and lute, which was a set of variations on his lute song Flow My Tears. (Why Britten changed the spelling to Lachrymae I have no idea.) Britten first composed his set of 10 fantasy-variations for viola and piano in 1950, then revised them for viola and small orchestra just before his death in 1976. So this plangent work constitutes both an homage to the great Elizabethan composer and, likely, a requiem for Britten himself. This somber piece would seem to indicate as much, for Britten surely knew the end was near. Most requiems written late in life are, after all, for the composer himself.

Britten's Cantata Misericordium (Cantata of Mercy) was set in Latin rather than English. It centers around a retelling of the parable of the good Samaritan and was premiered in Geneva as part of the centennial celebrations of the Red Cross, hence the use of Latin: This was an international event, and Latin seemed as close to a lingua franca as any other.

The tenor takes the role of victimized traveler and the baritone that of the Samaritan. All the while, the chorus acts as both commentator and dramatic recorder, much as in a Baroque choral composition — thus, an ancient language set in an antique form, helping to coat the work with a special gravitas. It's an extremely effective and moving composition, as fine in its way as the more famous War Requiem.

Winges has served as Volti's composer-in-residence for a time, giving them much effort — and they, him. His setting of Carolyn Forché's poem divides the eight stanzas plus epilogue of the slightly gimmicky poem into three sections, or movements, as the composer calls them. Each stanza begins with a given letter of the alphabet. The opening uses only "A," the second only "B," the third only "C," and so on. The stanza opening with "B," for instance, successively used "back," " back," "balefire," "because," etc., to begin the lines — all lower case, for some reason. (See what I mean by gimmicks?)

That made for quite obtuse scanning of abstract thoughts for Winges, and it took some doing for him to bring all this into an orderly progression. Along the way, he created some memorable and original sonorities. At one point he calls for two solo singers, one sustaining an extremely high note while the other is way down in the wells of sound, a kind of soft frame, as the rest of the singers center in on the text. I know of no such effect anywhere else, and it's terrific. On the other hand, as admirable as such moments were, Open the Book didn't seem to fulfill formal clarity. When all was sang and done, my sensation was that it never quite seemed to peak.

Along the way, Winges called for other solo singers to feature within or before the general choir. In his first movement of stanzas, they included Tonia D'Amelio, Clifton Massey, and Roderick Lowe. For the second movement, we heard Elisabeth Commanday, D'Amelio again, and Toon Vandevorst. In the third and final section, soloists included Lara Bruckmann, Christopher Kula, Michael Eisenberg, and Philip Saunders. All of these did very well indeed.

The orchestra had some trouble accompanying Imbrie's On the Beach, with ensemble and intonation problems pestering the low strings. But the remainder of the concert went very well, while violist Aceret played superbly, technically polished in all respects, and with an exceptionally luscious timbre. This constituted a major artistic presentation. Tenor Barr sang well during the cantata, and baritone Goodson — a student of Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, no less — was magnificent, with a rich, full timbre, particularly fine Latin elocution, and a luxurious approach to color variations. This was first-class vocalism at the top international level.