Not the least fascinating aspect of Other Minds' series of Saturday performances at San Francisco's Church of Swedenborg, at least for me, was the discovery that there is a Church of Swedenborg. The church, in the city's Cow Hollow district, is named for the 18th-century philosopher and theologian whose spiritual vision was equal parts Christianity, metaphysics, and mysticism. True to this spirit, Other Minds presented these performances as "a new music séance summoning the specters of musical forbears [and] channeling the spirits of their successors." The second of the day's three programs, titled "Deep River Dreams," was given over to works for piano and violin, with "forbears" Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, Olivier Messiaen, Samuel Barber, and Morton Feldman appearing alongside contemporary "successors" Ingram Marshall, Gabriela Lena Frank, and Mamoru Fujieda. The afternoon began on a not particularly spiritual note. The opener, Barber's Excursions (1944), combines the composer's "neoromantic" musical language (as it is sometimes called) with hints of jazz. Pianist Eva-Maria Zimmermann did much to bring out the youthfulness of the work, Barber's first official composition for solo piano. In the second movement, "In Slow Blues Tempo," Zimmermann played with a sense of novelty that I imagine inspired the musical "excursions" to which Barber's title refers. The next piece, Messiaen's Eight Preludes (1929), calls for a more serious tone. Especially in the movements chosen for performance, "The Impalpable Sounds of Dream" and "Bells of Anguish and Tears of Farewell," the work foreshadows the mysticism that would characterize Messiaen's entire career. Zimmermann erred perhaps too strongly on the side of humility, for by emphasizing the music's inscrutable mystery she sacrificed the emotional intensity that was equally a part of Messiaen's spirituality. In Zimmermann's reading, the recurring tritone motive that haunts the latter movement was merely enigmatic, inspiring neither fear nor awe. Of the program's works, Feldman's two Piano Pieces (1955-56) were most suited to a musical "séance." Like other compositions by him, the Piano Pieces call for an almost oppressive blanket of silence, with a sparse constellation of notes only occasionally breaking the surface. The task of performing such a piece can sometimes require something like religious patience and concentration, and pianist Sarah Cahill displayed both. Many of the Piano Pieces' effects, like the subtle resonances in the piano's strings created by silently depressing the keys, were unrealizable in the church's close quarters, but this only enhanced the sense of mystic ritual: Both Cahill and the audience were striving for an impossible ideal.