A 'NEW'  SYMPHONY BY CHARLES IVES CHALLENGES THE PATRONS 
                                              By Paul Hertelendy 
        artssf.com, the independent observer of San Francisco Bay Area music and dance 
                                                                 Week of Feb..5-12, 2010
                                                                  Vol. 12, No. 62
            Are any composers less alike than Franz Schubert and Charles Ives?
           
Naturally, Michael Tilson Thomas can’t resist programming them cheek-by-jowl on the same evening.

           
From the most harmonious, to (at times) the most dissonant. The most ingenuous to the most complex. The most Establishment-oriented to the most rebellious, musically. The most Old-World European, writing sacred music, to a New-World iconoclast and innovator, hidden behind his guise as a New York  insurance executive. One of the great Vienneses masters, vs. the great, unique  early-American explorer/innovator.

           
Though Ives died in 1954 just short of his 80th birthday, he has produced something new here, an often prickly magnum opus called “A Concord Symphony,” 49 minutes of high-intensity performance by a large orchestra. You will not find it among his collected works; it is an orchestration of his clangorous Concord Sonata for piano, the one often referred to as unplayable. The maverick Ives worked on it for many years, adding overlay upon overlay, with jumbles of clashing notes often mushing into mere keyboard sound, never realistically expecting any one to play it, just happy to produce an intellectually profound  score with philosophical trappings to be left for posterity. Sort of like rolling “Moby Dick,” “Finnegans Wake,”  ”Crime and Punishment” and “War and Peace” into a single volume, with a lot of the typeset superimposed in agate for challenging reading. I could visualize a defiant Ives standing on a mountain during a raging thunderstorm and exuberantly waving his cane in defiance at all the lightning pounding down around him.

           
When premiered in the late 1930s, no less a critic than Lawrence Gilman wrote that this sonata was the greatest piece of music ever written by an American.

            Later on Henry Brant spent 36 years off and on orchestrating it and renaming it, until finally it came to San Francisco with the Symphony on Feb. 3. And, as one musician told me that night, this new  orchestral version was in many ways preferable, as the contrasting textures of the orchestra audibly flesh out much more of the music than the piano version. 

            Much of the audience at Davies Hall emerged on the grim side at the end of that night (and one patron confronting us was clearly angry), as Ives produces very few musical bonbons in his mammoth score. There is an oft-told tale that once at a concert Ives had spontaneously admonished a listener behind him showing his displeasure at a dissonant score, telling him, stand up and take it like a man!

            The four movements hardly resonate with the aura of the figures represented as we know them: Emerson, Hawthorne, the Alcotts and Thoreau. They come across as  mostly craggy, volatile, cantankerous.

            And Ives does not make it easy---the first two movements alone take a half-hour. There is hardly a smile or soft billet-doux anywhere, just the massive tonal overkill of that  rabble-rouser Ives, who in effect was vigorously sculpting his own Mt. Rushmore with sinewy strokes to commemorate outstanding New England literati of the period 1840-60. As a revolutionary, Ives was at work doing for America what Beethoven had done for Europeans.

            This is not a symphony (or even sonata) in the usual sense or definition. It’s four episodic works strung together, as much so as his
loosely  bundled “Holidays” Symphony, each part as hardy and untamed as a granite mountain range. There is little unity, or interconnectivity, afoot.
            So my solution is simple: At the risk of heresy, I’d propose not playing this  work by one of the great American innovators as a symphony, but rather detach each of the movements, to be played individually on different programs. They would resonate far better, and hold up for viewing the soul of Ives as well as the seminal figures portrayed with far greater clarity. I would start with one of the two final movements, “The Alcotts” or “Thoreau,” which go down more easily with their touch of warmth, serenity  and familiar quotations. And later on tackle either “Hawthorne” or that most daunting one of all opening the work, the furious “Emerson.” In that setting, Ives’ music  would glow brighter, with all his emotion, ferocity, and unbridled rebelliousness.

            And I think that would have been acceptable to Ives, who was notoriously flexible in his performance instructions.
   
            The “Alcotts” movement is the shortest and most peaceful, with oblique quotations from Beethoven’s Fifth as well as a couple of popular American tunes from Ives’ day. The “Thoreau” finale alludes to “Walden Pond,” with lyrical strings playing a descending theme. It has tempo shifts and metric shifts, along with moments of repose.

            MTT introduced the symphony and then led the performance, which bore out his description of this “sonic palimpsest.” “Emerson” was loud, long, brassy and fiery, as episodic as it was eccentric. The “Hawthorne” that followed was quirky, with outbursts of high-pitched winds, and many overlapping currents, eventually giving way to a hymn-like theme as if on a church harmonium, and then an agitated march.

            The large, percussion-heavy  S.F. Symphony forces executed this convincingly if not endearingly, with some notable solos (bassoonist Steven Dibner, oboist William Bennett).

            In a timely celebration of the S.F. Symphony-cum-Chorus winning three Grammy awards earlier in the week, they all turned out for a heart-warming performance of the brief Mass No. 2 in G Major (1815) written by an 18-year-old kid named Schubert. He was a very precocious kid, with an extraordinary command of melody, and a mature style some would compare to Mozart. It’s one of the most impressive things I’ve ever heard the SFS Chorus execute, enunciating the Latin consonants as never before (is Ragnar Bohlin reforming this ensemble and attacking its most consistent flaw of yore?) and breathing inspiration and life into the piece.   Among the three soloists, former Adler Fellow Leah Crocetto in effect had walked across the street from the Opera House and made the mass glow with her lyric-soprano solos.
             Schubert must have had rough sledding in his years of church-singing with the Vienna Choir Boys. In all six masses that he composed later on, he pointedly omitted the mandatory Latin text for "I believe in one, holy catholic and apostolic church" every time.
            
These concerts by the San Francisco Symphony and Chorus in Ives and Schubert continue through Feb. 6 at 8 p.m, under Michael Tilson Thomas' baton. For info: (415) 864-6000, or go  online. Broadcasts on KDFC-FM (102.1) at 8 p.m. on the second Tuesday following.
        ©Paul Hertelendy 2010
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           Paul Hertelendy has been covering the dance and modern-music scene in the San Francisco Bay Area with relish -- and a certain amount of salsa -- for years.
    These critiques appearing weekly (or sometimes semi-weekly, but never weakly) will focus on dance and new musical creativity in performance, with forays into books (by authors of the region), theater and recordings by local artists as well.
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