Despite its name, the Green Room in Davies Hall is rarely used by musicians
before concerts.  So, when I walked in there tonight, both he and I were
surprised.

Yefim Bronfman looked up from the piano, smiled and nodded.  I said hello
and he did too.  He kept an eye on me: although I am half his size, I
represented the unknown and therefore a potential problem.  He smiled and
nodded again, I did likewise and finally left.

What's the point here?

During the entire exchange, Bronfman kept repeating phrases from
Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 3.  Fingers flying over the keys, every
note on the money, while he was dealing with the intruder.  Disembodied
fingers, the very best to have for this unplayable piece - Bronfman
obviously could do the whole concerto while concentrating on something
else.

It is tempting to say that this is what happened a few minutes later in
Davies itself, but it would be an obvious oversimplification.  With a large
grain of truth.

On Sunday and Monday, the Saint Petersburg Philharmonic gave two different
programs in San Francisco, and on both evenings, there was well-justified
rock-star reception for Bronfman, who put away the Rachmaninoff and, even
more spectacularly, the Devil's own - Prokofiev's Concerto No. 2 as if
cowing a pride of hungry lions with a whip.

Perhaps it is possible to play these two musical freak-show pieces faster
and louder than Bronfman, but I don't think there is anyone around to do
it.  Still, it was mostly a matter of fingers playing the piano, not an
artist producing music.  The events were amazing, however, and two sold-out
houses both tried to approximate the closing ceremonies fireworks at Salt
Lake City.

As I will prove below, I am no snob, but I wonder about the nature of music
received by bulging eyes, open mouth and a dangerously vigorous shaking of
the head - that's the proper reaction to Bronfman, produced by all,
including self.

Big Russian Sound was also in evidence, with a great deal more of
substance, on the two evenings as Yuri Temirkanov conducted Shostakovich's
Fifth Symphony and Tchaikovsky's Fourth.

The orchestra, fresh from an Episode with airline authorities who deemed
all 100 musicians unfit to continue a flight, played superbly.  Seeing
them on stage, it's difficult to imagine that they would collectively
participate in excessive consumption of those cute airline miniatures,
but apparently that' s what happened.  Here, they gave all to the music,
fingers firmly connected with the rest of body and soul.

Temirkanov, to me, is perhaps the most under-estimated great conductor of
our time.  I will never forget the six consecutive SF Opera performances of
"Onegin" under his baton - all perfect, each different.  Conducting his own
old orchestra, he exhibits both total control (using the tiniest motions)
and a trust in his musicians that they will do the right thing.

Besides the concerto fireworks and the grand sweep of the symphonies,
Temirkanov brought a small, quiet piece to each evening, and these "easy,"
small-scale novelties became "less is more" highlights.

Liadov's "Baba-Yaga," a charming, high-spirited miniature, is a kind of
Temirkanov trademark.  No one can come near to the masterful, easy elegance
of his performance.  The other small work is where I claim my slumming bona
fides.

Giya Kancheli's "Ergo" is a ridiculously, gloriously accessible, fun
piece of music, but it is, I claim, music, more than the Bronfman's
thunder.  With its simplicity, religious undertones and audience
involvement, Kancheli's music is rightly related (in Michael Steinberg's
program notes) to Part, Gorecki, Tavener, but there is something unique
in the Georgian's works: warmth and sympathy, both in sadness and in
a riotous sense of Rossini-like humor (disavowed by the composer) and
an uncanny ability to make the audience breathe with the music.

As in the works of those "neo-mystical" composers above, there are many
pauses in Kancheli, silence being an equal partner to sound.  Kancheli has
said that what matters to him is how the audience listens, with what kind
of silence.  On Sunday, 2,800 in the hall contributed the kind of listening
Kancheli prefers: "attention, expectation."

"Ergo" is only a year old and few orchestras are likely to take it on, so
it's not an easy work to get to know.  I think it's well worth the effort
to find it.

Janos Gereben/SF
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