Contemporary Music Ahoy!
Last night I went to my first contemporary music concert since I heard fellow-Oberlin grad Chris Riggs play bug-like music on his guitar at the Luggage Store sometime in 2010.
While I was unemployed in 2011 (between Oberlin & VerticalResponse), I was pining after a subscription to SF Contemporary Music Players' season. Upon becoming employed, I became a subscriber! I was silly, though, and didn't make it to the first two concerts because I was variously unprepared to go straight from work (all the concerts are on Monday nights) or just too beat to go listen to probably challenging music.
Since I had to work on President's Day this year, I took yesterday off as a make-up holiday. Didn't do much — Travis and I pretty much treated it as a regular weekend day. But without any excuses about being too tired, I picked myself up and went to the concert.
There was a pre-concert talk at 7:15 with Steven Schick (the artistic director/conductor) and a guest (who turned out to be composer/musicologist/Italian Luciano Chessa). Schick jumped right in with "Is there anything essentially Italian about the Italian works on the program tonight" which elicited a "No, Italy is a big country" kind of response from Chessa. It was a somewhat difficult conversation to follow; I haven't thought about the veiled textures of some of Wagner's works, and not know the pieces they were discussing, wasn't sure how to put that together. I was a little worried at that point; it seemed too heady & intellectual & totally ungraspable.
But then the music started, and boy howdy was it great. The program had four (well, five) pieces and at least for me, they went from most accessible/easy to listen to to most challenging. The opening Dallapicolla, Piccola Musica Notturna was paired immediately by a "companion" piece commissioned by the SFCMP. The timing and movement was the same, but the composer, Michelle Lou, made something of a photo negative of the piece, which had a totally delightful effect. With muted strings and lots of winds, the Dallapicolla had a kind of somber but beautiful tone. Lou' version was all scratches and noise — but with a similar sobriety. I was amazed at how lyrical and melodic the Dallapiccola was for having been composed in the 1950's.
The next piece, Le Voci Sottovettro by Salvatore Sciarrino, was a series of short 'elaborations' on pieces by Carlo Gesualdo interspersed with readings of letters from the Italian poet Torquato Tasso from within an insane asylum. The piece was written in 1998 and sometimes just sounded like Gesualdo played a bit wrong, and sometimes took a more deliberate departure from the 17th century sound it was inspired by. Though I didn't understand the Italian letters at all (I did think I heard the word "cappuccino" at one point), listening to the cadence and sounds of Italian from a native speaker was delightful. These pieces also marked the first appearance of the evening of the wonderful soprano Mary Bonhag. She had an amazingly unassuming-yet-confident presence on stage, and dealt with the mostly low vocal part in the Sciarrino very well. I did like the few moments of moderately high notes a little more in the context of so much chest voice.
During intermission I ate three cookies for dinner but they were not very filling. An elderly gentleman approached me and asked if I was with "San Francisco Film & Art" or something. I said no, he asked if I was at the concert, I said yes. And he left.
The second half was much shorter: Comoedia, 10-minute Dusapin piece — again with Mary Bonhag — and Palimpset, a 12 minute raucous Xenakis tumble. Comoedia was beautiful. Perhaps a little less lyrical than the Dallapiccola, but then again, it was written in 1992. The program notes mention Dusapin's total avoidance of French avant garde institutions while remaining a totally avant garde composer. The piece was emotional without being sentimental.
The finale was loud and abrasive. The percussionist was absolutely fantastic and toward the end of the piece performed possibly the most consistent long decrescendo I've heard. It was like someone with a steady hand was turning down the volume.
I tend to listen to music with my eyes closed, because I don't like the visual distractions. If a piece doesn't have perceivable meter, I don't want to know when the downbeat is. The problem with this is that I do miss out on the experience of conductor's body language; I can't comment at all on what Steve Schick looked like during the concert. I only know that the sound was detailed, tight, and full.
I was also sitting next to probably the most excited person in the audience. After the Xenakis, she was bursting with joy, and let out a loud hoot the very moment Schick's arms started to fall, and continued to holler throughout the applause. I just grinned, and now wish I'd given her a high five. She'd probably have appreciated it.
The next piece, Le Voci Sottovettro by Salvatore Sciarrino, was a series of short 'elaborations' on pieces by Carlo Gesualdo interspersed with readings of letters from the Italian poet Torquato Tasso from within an insane asylum. The piece was written in 1998 and sometimes just sounded like Gesualdo played a bit wrong, and sometimes took a more deliberate departure from the 17th century sound it was inspired by. Though I didn't understand the Italian letters at all (I did think I heard the word "cappuccino" at one point), listening to the cadence and sounds of Italian from a native speaker was delightful. These pieces also marked the first appearance of the evening of the wonderful soprano Mary Bonhag. She had an amazingly unassuming-yet-confident presence on stage, and dealt with the mostly low vocal part in the Sciarrino very well. I did like the few moments of moderately high notes a little more in the context of so much chest voice.
During intermission I ate three cookies for dinner but they were not very filling. An elderly gentleman approached me and asked if I was with "San Francisco Film & Art" or something. I said no, he asked if I was at the concert, I said yes. And he left.
The second half was much shorter: Comoedia, 10-minute Dusapin piece — again with Mary Bonhag — and Palimpset, a 12 minute raucous Xenakis tumble. Comoedia was beautiful. Perhaps a little less lyrical than the Dallapiccola, but then again, it was written in 1992. The program notes mention Dusapin's total avoidance of French avant garde institutions while remaining a totally avant garde composer. The piece was emotional without being sentimental.
The finale was loud and abrasive. The percussionist was absolutely fantastic and toward the end of the piece performed possibly the most consistent long decrescendo I've heard. It was like someone with a steady hand was turning down the volume.
I tend to listen to music with my eyes closed, because I don't like the visual distractions. If a piece doesn't have perceivable meter, I don't want to know when the downbeat is. The problem with this is that I do miss out on the experience of conductor's body language; I can't comment at all on what Steve Schick looked like during the concert. I only know that the sound was detailed, tight, and full.
I was also sitting next to probably the most excited person in the audience. After the Xenakis, she was bursting with joy, and let out a loud hoot the very moment Schick's arms started to fall, and continued to holler throughout the applause. I just grinned, and now wish I'd given her a high five. She'd probably have appreciated it.
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