Dulled Impact

Jason Victor Serinus on May 6, 2008
What is all the fuss about Mason Bates? The 31-year-old DJ cum classical and electronica composer, whose works have been championed by his teacher, John Corigliano, has received both a Rome Prize and an American Academy in Berlin Prize. Even before the San Francisco Symphony followed the lead of at least eight other orchestras and awarded him a commission for next season, the California Symphony, which has an enviable track record of championing young composers and artists who go on to major careers, had selected him as its 2007-2010 Young American Composer in Residence. Certainly Bates is a personable and charming fellow. As the third person to address the audience at California Symphony's Sunday matinee in the packed Dean Lesher Center in Concord, he carefully introduced several sections of his four-movement Music from Underground Spaces, about to receive its premiere. After each explication, he tediously made his way to the back of the players, picked up his briefcase-sized electronic pad, and proceeded to merge his electronics with the orchestra in extended examples. [Note to the California Symphony: I understand how hard it is these days for arts organizations to muster the financial support they need. But two consecutive PR spiels (one by Barry Jekowsky tooting his own horn), followed by an extremely long composer explication, delayed the start of the program by 18 minutes. Please give us more compact presentations in the future.] When the piece finally got going, my impression was similar to what I experienced last August at the Cabrillo Music Festival. There, conductor Marin Alsop's reading of Bates's Rusty Air in Carolina led me to comment in American Record Guide, "Beyond the charming visuals, an affable jazzy middle section, and a genial feel, the orchestral writing seemed lightweight, the themes undistinguished." Here, I had trouble staying awake. In Bates' words, "Music from Underground Spaces marries orchestra and electronics to vividly conjure up a variety of underground worlds." The first movement, "Tunnels," "where subways roar past kaleidoscopic orchestral figuration," supposedly includes "propulsive motives and driving techno rhythms" that transition from "blurry activity to slow-motion ambience." The subsequent "Infernos" purports to feature "surreal effects ... where a demonic techno groove, paired with flickering figuration, moves the work into one hell of a nightclub." After the "sparkling netherworld" of "Crystalline Cities," the piece ends with "Tectonic Plates," an earthquake-country-inspired finale that features "beautiful and eerie earthquake recordings" processed by Peggy Hellweg of the Berkeley Seismology Laboratory.

Tame Sonic Ride

It all sounds wonderful on paper. But as someone who was born in Manhattan, and who spent five days in the Big Apple less than a week ago, I swear on my Katz' Delicatessen kosher pastrami sandwich that Bates offered the tamest, least clattery subway ride in the shortest string of cars I have ever ridden in. (Maybe he recorded the subway from across the Hudson.) Yes, there was a danceable techno beat, with the woodwinds amiably bubbling along as though Ecstasy were nothing more than a harmless sedative. But before long, "Tunnels" devolved into warmed-over Steve Reich without the mesmerizing looping and subtly changing patterns that make for Reich's greatness. Several movements later, the surprise Bates had promised the audience in "Tectonic Plates" turned out to be some barely noticeable, innocuous low rumbles, laughable in the face of the ominous booming that rocks my own windows from the souped-up Buicks of Oakland's barrio. While pondering whether Bates' popularity lies in his ability to merge electronica with orchestra in ways that will never upset a conservative audience, I awaited the visceral thrills and equally conservative harmonies of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana. Another fizzle. From an orchestra seat under the balcony overhang — not a good place for anyone, especially not a critic — the Oakland Symphony Chorus, together with the Contra Costa Children's Chorus Honors Choir and full orchestra, only approached bacchanalian levels at the very end. Part of the problem lay in the Oakland chorus' inherent imbalance (only a third of the chorus is male, and three of the 12 "tenors" are women). Yet even the orchestra itself, including the percussion, seemed incapable of achieving anything remotely orgiastic.

Soloists to the Rescue

The performance's saving grace was its three soloists. Baritone Keith Phares, who recently partnered with the beloved Frederica von Stade in the Houston Grand Opera premiere of Jake Heggie's Last Acts (retitled Three Decembers in its forthcoming San Francisco Opera premiere), is also on the roster of the Metropolitan Opera. No wonder. His voice is gorgeous, resonant on the bottom, thrillingly full on top, and capable of a caressing falsetto that merges seamlessly into full voice. The man seemed capable of summoning more power than half the orchestra and chorus combined. Every note was to savor. Soprano Kiera Duffy, a finalist in the 2007 Met's National Council auditions, got better as she went along. Duffy made an impressive showing in her frequently excerpted solo, Dulcissime (Sweetest one), which was quite beautiful save for a somewhat screamed high D. But she must cease drawing attention from her fellow soloist by swaying and making expressive faces rather than sitting respectfully while he rightly commands the stage. Tenor Tyler S. Nelson, given a single, impossibly high assignment, got better with each repeat, and by the third stanza the lower resonance of the voice had clicked in. His glowing ease and sweet, sterling top suggest a great future. Conducting the proceedings, Barry Jekowsky danced up a storm on the platform at the finale. If only the performance had followed suit.