Dispatches from Cyberspace

Because I was going up for the evening anyway, I added to my schedule the afternoon Peninsula Symphony concert in San Mateo. I learned that long-term (40+ years!) m.d. Mitchell Sardou Klein is retiring at the end of next season. Perhaps it's time, because it seemed to me the orchestra has deteriorated since I last heard them two years ago.

The concert opened with Wagner's Flying Dutchman Overture. This was energetic and perky enough, but the Wagnerism of it was in full cry and it was consequently very tedious. Then, the Viola Concerto of the early-20C modernist Rebecca Clarke. Clarke didn't actually write a viola concerto; in 1919 she wrote a sonata for viola and piano, and this was orchestrated about 20 years ago to be used as a concerto for an instrument in desperate need of more repertoire. Soloist was Pearl de la Motte, a Juilliard student who won the string player competition here two years ago, prize of which is customarily playing a concerto with the Pen Sym. Her tone was a rich viola tone, distinct from both violin and cello, satisfying to hear despite the fact that the music itself seemed to wander meaninglessly, rather in the mode of one of the concertos that Elgar was writing at the same time.

Lastly, Brahms's Second Symphony, played in a blatty style reminiscent of the SFS in the bad old days of the 1970s. The horns were particularly coarse, the colors from other instruments blared out in an un-Brahmsian fashion, and interpretive oddities of strange emphases and pauses, especially in the first movement, didn't help. Well, I'll be hearing the BA Rainbow Symphony in the Third next month, and maybe that'll wipe out the memory of this one.

Then, off to the Freight in Berkeley for another Terry Riley 90th birthday celebration. The Bang on a Can All-Stars, a 6-member touring ensemble, have been going around playing a Riley celebration, and this was their Berkeley stop. They played two long pieces by him. First was A Rainbow in Curved Air, but it didn't sound much like the version on overdubbed electric organs that Riley improvised for a record in 1969. For one thing only one of the performers was on electric organ (also covering as an electric piano), the others being clarinet/sax, electric guitar, cello, string bass, and drums/percussion. That turned the minimalist noodling background into more of a muddle. The tunes coating this on the other instruments seemed original and not copies of Riley's, and at times, especially in the long string bass pizzicato solo, the rest of the ensemble pretty much dropped out to enable it to be heard.

After that, the performers were joined by 4 or 5 (hard to see how many were onstage) local musicians, one of them a vocalist, for a full performance of Riley's minimalist classic, In C. This was enchanting as every live performance I've heard of it has been. The pulse rhythm was played on xylophone. The other players took full advantage of Riley's permission to drop out occasionally, and hushes to only one or two players besides the pulse were frequent. But also they'd build up to tremendous climaxes at other times. This sounded coordinated, but I didn't see any signals as a leader gave for switches during Rainbow. The whole lasted 47 minutes, a typical length for this work. We were out at 9:30, early for a Freight concert, but I was thoroughly satisfied with my evening.

A typical symphony concert has three works, two of them fairly long. This potpourri of a concert had eight works, all of them pretty short. The unifying gimmick was that they were all in some way referents to time. The keynote work of the program, probably the longest selection, and definitely the best-played, was Ponchielli's "Dance of the Hours." I also enjoyed a piece by frequent South Bay contributor Ron Miller, "Overture to a Summer Afternoon," a rondo featuring a bustling American modernist recurring theme. Miller is not usually this good. Mussorgsky's "Night on Bald Mountain" was played OK, but somewhat clunkier, and "Sunrise" from Grofé's "Grand Canyon Suite" was squeaky. The grinding conclusion to the program was a suite from the music to the Back to the Future films, which meant nothing to me as I've completely forgotten the first one and never saw any of the others. Less imitation John Williams than imitation Elmer Bernstein, it was loud, crass, and extremely repetitious. B. who plays viola in this orchestra was not happy with this mixed bag program and especially not with this piece.

From a 1974 essay, "Harvesting the Sea," by James Tiptree Jr. (only later revealed as Alice B. Sheldon), reprinted in the collection Meet Me at Infinity (Tor, 2000), p. 265:

The main thing I've been into is a serious study of Tolkien's Ring and reading H.G. Wells for the first time. I will spare you my conclusions beyond saying I take both very seriously indeed. One of the aspects which they share is that they are both strategies for handling almost unbearable grief. In Wells's Days of the Comet, the fantastic, gut-tearing paean of hope reveals the wound beneath; it is the blinded crying for light. In Tolkien the held-back cry of bitter loss becomes lacerating; it is interesting to read that his first memories were of the ravaging of his childhood lands by the devastations of the railroad, and that in his youth, by 1918, all but one of his close friends had been killed in the war. His prescription is go on, go on; it stinks, it hurts, but go on. Somehow go on. Wells goes on, too; both men are, well, sturdy. Brave, one might have said in a simpler age. Both tremble toward sentimentality, are saved at each last moment by their brilliantly observing eyes, their regard for what is, no matter how dismaying. And of course with Tolkien, the rich airy landscape of words, his almost magical grasp.

I don't recall this unusual, interesting, and observant comment being quoted in the Tolkien literature before; so here it is.

Monday's the day I finally saw the periodontist about my fractured tooth. He said it needed to come out, soon, but he wanted an endodontist to have a look first, especially to confirm the neighboring teeth were secure. Fortunately I was able to get to the endodontist (I had to look up all these dental specialties) on Tuesday. He said the neighboring teeth were fine, but the fractured tooth needed to come out right away. He'd do it, right then, and I wouldn't have to wait for the periodontist to schedule an appointment.

So I said OK, and he did. It was uncomfortable but not painful; it's the aftermath which is more difficult, involving some pain, a lot of gauze to staunch the bleeding, and severe restrictions on eating. There's also the cost, since apparently my insurance covered none of this, but I have the money. What I don't have so much of is agreeableness over the physical effects.

The other exciting part is that both appointments required consultation with my physicians over whether there'd be any medical complications to this. Reaching them is challenging, especially as there's three of them, only two have direct office phone numbers, and one is away right now though someone is covering. That required an hour's wait on both days, and a quick visit by me to one of the offices when phone contact proved insufficient.