Giacinto Scelsi and his five surviving orchestral works:  in the city of
St. Francis, we have two down and three to go.  Oy.

I yield to no one in my admiration for Michael Tilson Thomas' brave,
imaginative, clever programming -- he plays so-called "new" and genuinely
*new* music, honors neglected American composers of old, commissions from
the live ones, presents novelties and unusual works.  And, best of all, he
keeps filling Davies Hall's 2,700 seats!  In all my years of watching the
"new music America" scene, I have not seen such a combination of doing good
(for music) and doing well (for the box office and contributions).

But, after all, MTT is only human and it's small wonder that "something has
to give." I may be in a minority, but I feel confident that "Michael's
Folly" is Scelsi.

Three years ago, the SF Symphony had the first-ever North American
performance of any work by Scelsi, "Aion." Today, in the season-closing
concert, Beethoven's Ninth was "prefaced" by another Scelsi premiere,
that of the 20-minute "Konx-Om-Pax," from 1969.  True to late, lamented
'Sixties, the title consists of the word "peace" in Assyrian, Sanskrit and
Latin, respectively.  When you have something to say, the use of Assyrian
seems especially expeditious.

Full disclosure:  other critical reaction locally has been positive.  An
otherwise perfectly sane writer, for example, found "K-O-P" nothing less
than "a fascinating and wonderful display of musical individualism." To me,
in contrast, Scelsi is an oversimplified John Tesh.  Perhaps my problem is
due to a kind of ethnic conflict:  Scelsi, you see, forbade in perpetuity
the performance of his works in his native Italy, going as far as ordering
that they should not even be played elsewhere if there are Italians in the
audience.  (A neat trick in San Francisco!) Perhaps in addition to all that
good Finno-Ugric-Semitic stuff cursing in my veins, there are a few drops
of Italian blood, and hence the conflict.  Or, perhaps, I know cacca when
I hear it.

Scelsi's love for the repetition of single notes makes the ostinato of
Minimalism a riot of imagination and artistry.  His inevitable crescendo
and unholy racket at midpoint between slow and boring unison passages are
not even disturbing -- just inconvenient.  Or, it could all be an elegant
counterpoint between life and composition:  When Scelsi suffered a mental
breakdown in the 40s, he found the only therapy helping him was to sit at
the piano and strike a single key again and again.  What might have led him
back to sanity (up to a point) now serves to create the opposite effect for
some in the audience (those who don't find the "wonderful" in this
reduced-early-Glass thing).  Bottom line:  even with a full orchestra and
large chorus ("Om," they hum, "Om," and where are the Sixties when we don't
need 'em anymore?), the Scelsi work is mostly a combination of sounds and
sound-effects.

And, finding my report from three years ago, it's apparent that the more
you hear the man, the less you appreciate him; at least back then, I took
him *somewhat* seriously:

   [June 1997]

   These are interesting times in Davies Hall in the midst of something
   called "Sacred & Profane," a sequel to last summer's riotously
   successful "An American Festival"...

   ... we finally had our introduction (and the American premiere of ANY
   of his orchestral works) to Giacinto Scelsi (1905-1988), one of MTT's
   very personal causes.  We were about to hear something advertised by
   the music director as "a work of colossal majesty and power, the
   farthest-out piece ever performed by the San Francisco Symphony."
   That's a quote and it is, as it turned out, completely wrong, an
   overstatement of Wagnerian proportions.

   In a lengthy, graceful, entertaining introduction from the podium,
   Tilson Thomas spoke about this apparently strange little man he met
   some 20 years ago in Italy, and his "Aion," a symphonic poem having
   to do with the Greek "eternity" and "Four Episodes in One Day of
   Brahma."

   The introduction was far more memorable than the music itself.
   (Example:  When MTT tried to talk with him in Italian and French,
   Scelsi told him:  "It is impossible to communicate in a language
   whose possibilities have been exhausted.")

   About the music:  apparently, Zoltan Pesko, Scelsi's champion in
   Italy (and my high school buddy from Budapest), called Scelsi "the
   Charles Ives of Italy." I wish.

   "Aion," whose only real connection with Greek mythology or Hindu
   theology is in the program notes, makes MTT's extravagant praise
   something as incongruous as I have ever heard from him.

   The first movement is a microtonal edition of the "Pines of Rome,"
   something vague, big and bombastic.  The two middle movements add up
   to musical noodling, something small going nowhere.  The last movement
   returns to Roman giantism and could, in fact, replace the soundtrack
   for the "Lost World" without much trouble.

   A great audience favorite was the unconcealed use of (apparently)
   unused garbage-can lids by the four (four!) tubas.

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