Director Kennedy’s first action on stage this evening was to unbutton his shirt, revealing a t-shirt bearing 4′33” in bold black just below John Cage’s name. “I’ve guess we’ve got time for the first…,” he quipped to the appreciative audience, looking at his watch. The crowd laughed, and a light tone was struck that permeated even the more serious work to follow. Changes in the program were announced. The American premieres of Pascal Dusapin’s Attaca and Sly would not happen tonight. Instead, two works from Thursday’s program would take their place.

Replacing Attaca was Kaija Saariaho’s ethereal solo cello work, Sept Papillons. Full of sul ponticello and side bowing, this work requires a cellist not only to maintain intense tonal control, but also, and at the same time, be completely open. These butterflies must fly free or this lovely bit of music could end up sounding like shrill metallic trills with only the occasional intrusion of melody. Cellist Danielle Cho found a meditative sweet spot from the first trill that filled the hall with a gloriously luminous sound, deep yet light, and full yet shimmering. Ending with a blast of virtuosity that diminished slowly into the ether, her smile matched many in the audience.

Having fed the spirit, it was now time to take “care” of the body… Jacob Druckman originally wanted to title this difficult and “sadistic” piece for solo double bass…well…Sodomy, but his publisher didn’t quite appreciate the sentiment. So he named it Valentine. Aaron John Baird, in town with the SFO, handled this aurally pornographic, visually…well…evocative work with ease. Using not only a bow and his hands, but also a mallet to draw forth sounds from his instrument (as well as some whisper to a scream vocals…) he painted an unedited picture of the tender indignities, humor, and raw passion of sex.

Back on the printed program, our third work, To God, by featured composer Pascal Dusapin, careened through its angular blocks of melody like a roller coaster ride. Soprano Keira Duffy handled its treacherous swoops, dives, and rocket blasts without a hitch. It was one of the most astounding and artistic displays of vocal prowess I’ve ever heard. Soprano saxophonist Eliot Gattegno seemed to be in the background, occasionally providing punctuations and flourishes, but as this work built I realized that his presence was as a parachute for our intrepid soprano, shooting through the stratosphere. The beauty of this work lies in the stark texture of its cumulative effect. The audience called both musicians back to the stage multiple times, thanking them vigorously for allowing us to witness To God’s American premiere.

The second half of this program presented three works in a more jazzy vein. Anthony Barrese conducted members of the SFO in his own composition, The Apostolic Rag. This work deftly (if that’s a good word to use with 12 tone music…) answers a rather weird question; what would a rag sound like written in 12 tone style? Keeping the conventions of both styles neatly in balance, it produced a sort of hallucinatory time warp, that mostly worked, but at times could feel a little forced.

When Lindsay asked if I could cover this performance, I shuddered at the prospect of having to sit through the caustic attack of even one work by Wolfgang Rihm. My only experiences with his music prior to tonight were three rather abrasive discs that we carried at Millennium Music back in the heyday of the compact disc. Director Kennedy assured us that this was not an abrasive work. Indeed, it sounded as if Rihm was making fun of making fun of himself. Its four movements skated a vaudevillian pool that reeked of cigarettes and speakeasy booze. And it ended with…well, the Charleston.

Another American premiere, Morton Feldman’s arrangement of the famous Kurt Weill tune, Alabama Song closed the performance. Soprano Tammy Hensrud sang/spoke the familiar verses over Feldman’s machine-like tick-tock. The chorus brought her full voice beautifully to the fore while the orchestra provided an almost creepy modulation of the chord progression. The interlude was quite lovely however, and the overall impression was one of deep reverence for this slice of Americana.

Quite a show!

My full reviews of both the St. Petersberg String Quartet at Mepkin Abbey and Tacy Edwards’ Charleston Virtuosi can be found here.