Between a facile, but not freely singing Haydn (Sonata in C Major) and a
heartfelt but restrained Schubert (Sonata in B-flat Major), Stephen Hough
brought something fascinating to his San Francisco Performances recital
tonight in Herbst Theater:

George Tsontakis' 1990 "Ghost Variations" is a huge work, much bigger than
its 30-minute length indicates.  "Unplayable" is an understatement -- Hough
played it flawlessly, in a dazzling performance -- and I can't remember
when I last heard music with so many notes.

For no particularly good reason, I kept thinking of Liszt's B Minor Sonata
when hearing "Ghost Variations" for the first time.  Liszt kept coming up,
even though the "variations" are on the third movement of Mozart's Piano
Concerto in E-flat Major.  It's Liszt in a bumpy, exaggarated manner, very
big, "virtuoso," extravagant, showy...  and not terribly "deep."

But there is also a major difference:  against the comprehensiveness, the
big arc, the integrity of Liszt, Tsontakis opens impressively and then
becomes fragmented, a pastiche of miniatures not really connected, logical
or relevant.  He is trying one thing, abandoning it quickly, taking up
something else -- but not for long.

What is it in the music of John Adams, Aaron Jay Kernis, Kelly-Marie
Murphy, and a very few others, that speaks to us comprehensively,
intelligibly, parsably, meaningfully -- while obviously talented and able
composers such as Tsontakis go from a few understandable "sentences" to
much speaking in tongues?

"Ghost Variations," especially as performed by somebody as dedicated to the
work and as brilliant a technician as Hough, is very much hearing once,
even twice.  And yet its lack of discernible "speech" would never put it in
the same category with those whose works demand to be heard again, works
that grow and deepen with repetition.

Janos Gereben/SF
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