Salonen Serves a Feast of Diverse Sonorities

Esa-Pekka Salonen at the SFS podium (from the event page of the concert being discussed)

Last night in Davies Symphony Hall, San Francisco Symphony (SFS) Music Director Designate Esa-Pekka Salonen presented the first of three performances of the first of the two programs he prepared for his visit to the SFS podium this month. Taken as a whole, the concert abounded with a prolific diversity of sonorities in imaginatively different combinations. The second half of the program was devoted entirely to the music of Maurice Ravel, represented by both chamber music intimacy and the full breadth of SFS resources. The first half, in turn, was divided into one selection from the string section and another for winds, brass, and percussion.

The program began with the first SFS performance of music that Steven Stucky had composed for Salonen and the Los Angeles Philharmonic in 1992, “Funeral Music for Queen Mary (after Purcell).” This took, as its point of departure, music composed by Henry Purcell for the funeral of Queen Mary II of England scored originally for four trumpets, along with a choral setting of the funereal sentence “Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts.” Those of my generation probably know this music best for “filling out” a Seraphim album of Johann Sebastian Bach’s BWV 243 setting of the Magnificat canticle performed by the Geraint Jones Singers. (Seraphim was the “bargain label” division of Angel Records.) A few years after this album had been released, Wendy (then Walter) Carlos appropriated the opening march giving it the same bizarre Moog synthesizer treatment that had been applied to the Switched-On Bach album in preparing the soundtrack for Stanley Kubrick’s film A Clockwork Orange.

Stucky’s approach had less to do with Carlos’ fondness for “special effects.” Instead he deconstructed Purcell’s material, engaging a broader spectrum of resources resulting in a diversity of perspectives on relatively straightforward music for a somber ceremony. Part of that reconstruction involved music that had not been in Purcell’s score but that Jones had added for his album, an additional part for the timpani that punctuated each phrase of the funeral march. As might be guessed, Carlos went haywire over that amendment, while Stucky allowed it to grow on the attentive listener over the course of his composition’s ten-minute duration.

All this made for thoroughly engaging listening, particularly for those more familiar with Jones’ scholarly recording than with Carlos’ ear candy. Personally, I could never quite grasp where the funeral sentence emerged in Stucky’s score; but the outline of sections in the program book said it was there. Purcell’s brass canzona was given the most imaginative treatment. On Jones’ recording it evoked the echoing brass choirs one would encounter in the music of Giovanni Gabrieli. Stucky, on the other hand, had the brass lines dissolve into dissonant clouds in the wind section, as if the winds were mirroring the acoustics of the St. Mark’s Basilica in Venice. Most importantly, however, was the diversity of sonorous details evoked by Stucky’s score and Salonen’s meticulous focus on guiding the attentive listener through each of those details.

The diversity of Stucky’s sonorities were perfectly complemented by Benjamin Britten’s ingenious devices for a full string section in his Opus 18 song cycle Les Illuminations. The variety of instrumental designs for winds and brass may be more diverse than the basic shape of the instruments in the string family; but each of the instruments (violin, viola, cello, and bass) has its own distinctive palette of sonorities. When all those instruments are assembled together, the variety can be just as rich as anything mustered by winds and brass. Furthermore, drawing upon the usual orchestral layout, Britten clearly added a spatial element to that diversity. This was most evident in the “call and response” of the opening fanfare; but, throughout the entirety of Opus 18, Britten was clearly conscious of which sounds were coming from where.

Soprano Julia Bullock sang Britten’s settings of poems by Arthur Rimbaud (which had been published under the title Les Illuminations). (While this music is probably best known by the recording that Britten made with tenor Peter Pears, the song cycle was originally conceived for soprano and strings.) The texts themselves run the gamut from the cryptic to the outrageous. This was a case in which the projections of the English translations contributed to the value of the performance. It is worth noting that the translations were prepared by Bullock herself. However, while Bullock knew how to blend her own sonorities in with Britten’s diversity of string colors, her command of French diction left much to be desired, particularly when it came to making sure that the consonants received just as much attention as the vowels. (Were these texts to be read aloud without the music, neglecting the consonants would constitute a mortal sin.)

Similar problems arose after the intermission, when Bullock returned to sing Ravel’s settings of three poems by Stéphane Mallarmé. This amounted to an “extended chamber music” performance. The instrumentation consisted of two flutes (Tim Day and Catherine Payne, the latter switching to piccolo in the third song), two clarinets (Carey Bell and Jerome Simas, switching to bass clarinet in the same song), a string quartet of violinists Alexander Barantschik and Dan Carlson, violist Jonathan Vinocour, and cellist Peter Wyrick, and pianist John Wilson. Salonen maintained just the right levels of balance and tempo in his conducting; and, once again, Bullock’s translations enhanced the impact of the relationship between music and words. Nevertheless, her diction problems with Britten returned in her interpretation of Ravel.

The program concluded with Ravel’s score for the ballet “Ma mère l’Oye” (Mother Goose). This music began as a five-movement piano duet composed in 1910. However, it subsequently grew to a one-act ballet, lasting about half an hour, with an orchestral score that added four interludes and two movements. This was the part of the program in which Salonen displayed his command of a large ensemble executing the full extent of the score’s rich sonorities. This expanded version receives much less attention than the original piano duet, and it is certainly true that the intimacy of the former gets lost in the rich textures of the latter. Nevertheless, the instrumental score allowed the attentive listener to appreciate the full extent of Salonen’s attention to detail; and this particular listener was definitely not disappointed.