Confession: What happens when you sit in the "wrong" place

The day after Janos Gereben attended the San Francisco Symphony ("Gilbert
at 37 ..."), I sat in the Side Terrace of Davies Symphony Hall to hear
the final performance of the program.  Where I sat, behind the basses,
conductor Gilbert blocked my view of pianist Gutierrez, but the orchestra
spread out below my feet offered a splendid prospect.

The consequence of this perspective was that orchestration seemed to
emerge as the be-all and end-all of my musical experience that night.
The pedestrian orchestration (to put it mildly) of Chopin's first piano
concerto became a painful trial, especially since I couldn't see Gutierrez
or hear him well.  The novel orchestration of Anders Hillborg's new
composition, on the other hand, electrified me as I could see into its
innards almost as well as if I had a score.

The result of all this was a wildly slanted review, focused solely on
Chopin and Hillborg.  I gave little credit to Gutierrez and Gilbert and
didn't even mention that Scriabin (no slouch as an orchestrator) concluded
the program ("Poem of Ecstasy").

I attach the review as an object lesson in how dangerous modern music
can be if experience too intimately.  Please stay safely in the 3-B
temples, or at least away from the stage where you belong, or this might
happen to you!

   I was so astounded by a concerto for orchestra by Anders
   Hillborg that I am ready to do violence to its predecessor
   on the San Francisco Symphony program.

   The only less-than-perfect thing about Hillborg's work is its
   title, "Exquisite Corpse." It is descriptive of the work, but
   it really applies to all of Hillborg's recent work, not just
   the piece so named.  The term originated as an effect from a
   parlor game marketed as "Mad Libs" in this country where
   random words are juxtaposed into a narrative.  "Exquisite
   "and "corpse" were two such in a French version in the 1920s;
   these became bywords for the surrealist movement.

   Juxtaposition is the name of Hillborg's game, but there is
   nothing mad or random about it.  By some miracle, he has
   managed to make a series of drastically contrasting sections
   fit together like stones in Machu Picchu, the whole a monument
   of sound structural principle.  Part of this genius must come
   from his mastery of electronic music, where transitions are
   crucial and can make or break a piece.  And what orchestration!
   Hillborg has evidently benefited from the Spectral Music
   movement in Europe, which entails analysis of instrumental
   sounds by frequency and deliberately highlighting selected
   component frequencies to create new sounds.

   A flute drone begins the journey.  Better than a THX
   demonstration, washes of sounds migrate through the orchestra,
   at one point punctuated by high string slashes reminiscent
   of Bernard Hermann's music for "Psycho," but in even more
   striking combination.  At the climax, the huge percussion
   section takes up an inexorable thumping revealing Hillborg's
   rock-influenced past.  The tension dissipates as the work
   concludes with an organ-like, massed- stringed benediction.
   Sustained bravos greeted the composer and conductor Alan
   Gilbert over multiple curtain calls.

   And how was I left by the experience?  Less with joy at the
   achievement by Hillborg, but more with anger at the thought
   of the forty-minute agony that I had to endure to get to it.
   Namely, the preceding work on the program, Chopin's E-minor
   piano concerto.  Its pianism, revolutionary for its time and
   ably presented by Horacio Gutierrez, now seemed to have as
   much import as an Andrew-Jackson-for-President poster.  Its
   length and melodies, heavenly as fans Schubert's Great C Major
   have insisted, seemed as quaint as the fake leftover spider
   webs on last night's Halloween homes.  Worst of all, the
   faulty orchestration, best defended as a ruse to make the
   soloist shine, came off as a pathetic make-work exercise for
   non-entities.  One lame bassoon solo is all Chopin offers
   besides some main-theme tuttis, the rest a few pizzicatos and
   quiet sawings.

   No, now thoroughly indoctrinated by Hillborg's music of the
   future, bursting from my cocoon of complacency (like the
   shockingly huge B-major chord in the middle of Hillborg's
   clarinet concerto--a mandatory purchase!), I urge all composers
   out there willing to call themselves au currant to set upon
   with all zeal the exquisite corpse of Chopin's concerto.  It
   is out of copyright, nothing to fear.  Cut its forty minutes
   down to 18.  Give it an orchestra with something to say to
   the pianist besides "Yes, Mommy." LikeHillborg has done in
   his works with references to Sibelius, Puccini and Stravinsky,
   highlight Chopin's subsequent influence by throwing in some
   Postmodernist Rachmaninoff, Scriabin and Saint-Saens quotes.
   Give us a work worthy of the interest of the next generation,
   which is in danger of forsaking classical music altogether.
   Give us the Chopiniana Concerto a la Breve!  After all, Smetana
   could eschew surplusage with his brilliant Bartered Bride
   Overture, also on the program.  Not a wasted note!

   Cut, cut, cut!  Pullout Chopin's heart, stick it into a new
   body, and awe little girls and the world.  And recognize
   Hillborg as a master for our age.

Jeff Dunn
[log in to unmask]
Alameda, CA