Friday Photo 2025/43

 

Shattuck Avenue, Berkeley California

San Francisco Performances: Conrad Tao

I was back at Herbst Theater last Friday, as San Francisco Performances was presenting pianist Conrad Tao, & before I fanboy about the concert I'm going to describe what he wore.

Tao came out in a black suit & white shirt. But the trousers were elegantly baggy. And the white shirt was a fitted tanktop. I could tell it was a tanktop because his black jacket had large lozenges cut out beneath the armpits, flashing a bit of flesh. This struck me as ingenious as well as bold: less constriction in the shoulders / upper arms, as well as ventilation (Tao is a very physical player). He wore black shoes & a necklace of relatively large beads, which sometimes looked tan in the light & sometimes olive green.

So why do I mention his outfit? First, because it's rare & refreshing to see a male performer wearing something so unexpected (why should Yuja Wang get all the pianist fashion coverage?). Second, it's because the outfit struck me as an apt metaphor for the concert: outwardly standard, but . . . with a twist.

The "standard" part was Rachmaninoff, & I left the concert feeling that the composer was more interesting than I had given him credit for. The concept, as Tao explained to us – he spoke from the stage frequently, & for once I found it enlightening rather than irritating – was "The Rachmaninoff songbook": an exploration of the connections between the Russian exile & the American pop music of his day (which would be jazz, Broadway, tinpan alley): how they influenced him, & how he influenced them. The rich, melodic, moody music of Rachmaninoff plays well with the elusive moods & bittersweet turns of American pop (back before it turned into the corporate-run sludge machine it is now – only my opinion, of course).

Tao began with three Rachmaninoff preludes (in C major, Opus 32, #1; in A flat Major, Opus 23, #8; in G Major, Opus 32 #5), played with both architectural strength & emotional resilience, followed by Billy Strayhorn's celebrated Take the A Train. As mentioned, Tao is a very physical player; he rises up off the stool, sometimes hums along, taps his feet (even apart from working the pedals or tapping the iPad to change the electronic page). After this first group Tao thanked us for being there & explained the concept of the evening. Then, as he was about to start the second set, he said he had forgotten to tell us that though the pieces were often going to flow into each other, we should feel free to applaud whenever we felt like it. I braced myself, but the audience, as a pleasant surprise, though it did applaud whenever, had the good sense & good taste for once not to trample on the music with intrusive applause.

The second set opened with In Buddy's Eyes from Sondheim's Follies (this was the most recent piece performed, though its setting, a reunion of aging Follies girls, long after both their youth & the Follies have disappeared, fit right into the period, as did its ambivalent emotional message). That was followed by Auf einer Burg (instrumental only) from Schumann's Liederkreis, which I had heard from Mark Padmore & Paul Lewis just a few weeks ago (write-up here).  This is the song about an old knight, a stone knight, silently watching the quiet, rain-washed valley below; a wedding party is sailing by down on the Rhine; the musicians play merrily, but the bride is weeping. A quiet, stately song, with a wistful pang at the end. The set closed with Rachmaninoff's Étude-Tableau in A minor, Opus 39, #2. A twilit set of emotional ambiguity, played with clarity & emotional force by Tao.

Perhaps the talk from the stage worked better (for me) this time because it was clearly built into the program, not some sort of obligatory outreach foisted on someone who'd rather communicate through music. In fact "Artist Discussion" was built into the program as listed in the program book.

The next set opened with Irving Berlin's All by Myself, a surprisingly energetic & jaunty piece for such sad lyrics (denial? delusion? smiling through the tears? a plucky American refusal to give in to life's sorrows?). Tao had clued us into the lyrics, which was useful, as no one hearing the bright, ragtime-ish tune would guess it was a lament. This was followed by Tao's muscular improvisation on Rachmaninoff's famous Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Variation 15. (Tao is a composer as well as pianist.) Tao plays with strength, but also poetry & finesse, as exemplified in the delicate filigree of the next piece, Harold Arlen's Over the Rainbow as transcribed by Tao from a 1953 recording by Art Tatum. The poignancy of the original came through the elegant dissonances of this version. That was followed by Variation 18 of the Paganini Rhapsody, & the set closed with Strayhorn's poignant Lush Life, & here was a surprise: Tao sang it as well as played it. His voice is strong & expressive. I'd call it a cabaret voice, & if Tao decides to add cabaret artist to his achievements as pianist, composer, & fashion plate, I will follow along. Given the number of songs played without their lyrics, from Schumann to Sondheim, it was interesting for the artist to choose this song as the one that needed its lyrics for full effect. Perhaps it's something about the fleetingness of life  the sense of love followed hard on by loss, & still enjoying the beauty of it all that made it resonate in the context of the evening.

The first half closed with Daisies, a song by Rachmaninoff, Strayhorn's Daydream, & Rachmaninoff's Étude-Tableau in C minor, Opus 33, #3. I guess I've been thinking of Rachmaninoff as one of those composers glommed onto by people who resist any whiff of the 20th century (even now, well into the 21st). This concert convinced me I have been foolish in my opinion, & I need to go into the CD collection & start listening again, with cleansed ears.

All of that was the first half! Which ended with many in the audience already standing to applaud. The second half was a single piece, Rachmaninoff's Symphonic Dances, Opus 45, as arranged for solo piano by Inon Barnatan. It's a compelling piece (if I've heard it, it was too long ago for me to bring any thoughts or let me say preconceptions to this performance), in three movements, originally intended as a ballet score. Though the original section titles (Noon, Twilight, & Midnight) were dropped by the composer, you could, if you were so inclined, & had read the information in the program book, see some reflections of the jettisoned titles in the music.

There was one encore, after Tao gracious thanked us once again for staying & for being there for what he described as a "long evening" (I did not feel it was too long!): we were given the song Full Moon and Empty Arms, which was set to music lifted directly from Rachmaninoff. Once again, Tao sang the piece, which expresses the wistful, wishful mood of much of the evening's music, as well as perfectly showing the connections between the classical composer & his fellow musicians in adjacent fields. It was an excellent choice as closer, & rounded off the concert beautifully.

Museum Monday 2025/42

 

detail of Landscape at Beaulieu by Pierre-Auguste Renoir, now at the Legion of Honor

Friday Photo 2025/42

 

pumpkins

San Francisco Performances: Jeffrey & Gabriel Kahane

Last Friday I was back at Herbst Theater for a dual concert with the Kahanes, père & fils, presented by San Francisco Performances. It was actually their season-opening gala (sort of, as it was preceded by a couple of other concerts), though I was there only for the concert (there was a dinner which was a separate ticket). In fact when I bought my ticket last spring I'm not sure I realized it was part of a gala. I just like the Kahanes.

Gabriel emceed with his usual genially askew humor. He started by saying he was surprised when the gala was suggested to him, as he didn't think he had that level of glamorous renown (my phrasing, not his), until he realized that maybe if you put him together with his father the combination was enough to qualify as a gala host. And indeed most "galas" feature big star performers, usually in something light &, this is important, short. That's one reason I generally avoid galas. But having the Kahanes host is offbeat enough to say good things about San Francisco Performances, & their attitude, both serious & playful, to what they do: expect musical surprises & artistic pleasures, not boldfaced names & fancy attire (actually, a lot of the audience was more dressed up than the performers, who wore basically black jeans & long-sleeved t-shirts, which is what I was wearing, so I did not feel out of place).

The program was mostly announced from the stage. As the concert slipped into the "past performances" archive on SFP's website, it was not updated with the playlist, as I had thought it might be, so I'm going  by memory here. They opened with three "composed folk" songs, sung by Gabriel to piano accompaniment by Jeffrey (& I apologize for the obnoxious use of first names, but it seems like the easiest way to distinguish them under the circumstances). The first was by Bob Dylan. I didn't recognize that, or the others, though I liked them.

Gabriel referenced the current insanity under which we live with some musical settings of the words of Robert F Kennedy Jr. He prefaced these by quoting the latest bit of wacky WTFery from that source: that autism (which the Secretary seems a bit obsessed with) is caused by circumcision. (Which is why all Jewish men & many of us gentiles are autistic – my joke, not Kahane's –sorry if it's in bad taste, but it's difficult to know how to react in face of the firehose of free-associative madness we're sprayed with daily.) Gabriel has a bit of a specialty in these witty & appealing settings of found texts, as witness his celebrated Craigslistlieder & his Fleischlieder. This set lived up to their predecessors. One was a parody of the much-parodied William Carlos Williams poem apologizing for eating the plums in the icebox (so I guess not quite a found text in this case) & another was a setting of RFK Jr's admission or boast about having a brainworm. It was epic.

Jeffrey played several short pieces on piano. There was a Mendelssohn "song without words" (which could describe a lot of the piano pieces; both the classical & the folk-ish fit in beautifully with each other). I think there was also a Schumann piece? We had what Gabriel referred to as the lightning round, in which the two men traded off piano solos, segueing seamlessly from one to the other, fortunately without intrusive applause (the audience was attentive & appreciative, which also set this apart from other "galas"). I think it was right before or after this that Jeffrey told Gabriel that his iPad (Gabriel's, which his father was using) had locked out & all the passwords he guessed (birthdates, &c) had failed. I couldn't tell at first if this was an entertaining bit of business or, you know, reality. It turns out it was the latter. In a bold move, Gabriel gave his father the password out loud on stage. I forgot it immediately (I'm not a numbers guy), so if any of you happen to end up with Gabriel Kahane's iPad, you're on your own breaking the code.

There was a long song to a text by Matthew Zapruder. Very appealing, though it was dense & long enough so that it was difficult to take it all in on first listen (this is far from a criticism, by the way). I think then Jeffrey played one of the Schubert Impromptus.  Then came the only officially announced portion of the program: the world premiere for two pianos of one of the movements of Heirloom, a piano concerto Gabriel had written for Jeffrey. There was a funny & charming story attached to the movement's title: during the pandemic, Gabriel's very young daughter would only eat chicken, & she used to play in a pretend vehicle her mother had made out of a big cardboard box. So the movement, which was bright & sprightly as well as funny & charming, was named Vera's chicken-powered transit machine. (The original piece has been released by Nonesuch records so you can hear the whole thing, & let's support our artists by buying their art!)

There was one encore; Gabriel announced he would leave us with some Joni Mitchell. She is loved by many whose opinions I respect (including, apparently, the Kahanes) but I do not hear what they're hearing in her. I decided I would try to listen with neutral ears, as if I had not heard the name. I don't know if I succeeded in that or not, as I found it the weakest piece of the evening. No harm done, as it had been an engaging & interesting 90 minutes. The respect & love between father & son was palpable & it was a pleasure sharing in their music-making.

Museum Monday 2025/41

 

detail of Landscape with Pan and Syrinx by Paul Bril, now at the Legion of Honor

Friday Photo 2025/41

 

detail of a mosaic at the Castro Valley Marketplace (the mosaics are the work of artist Rita Soyfertis)

Museum Monday 2025/40

 

detail of Rain Garden Zag IV by Louise Nevelson, now at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (SFMOMA)

Friday Photo 2025/40

 

geraniums

San Francisco Symphony: Runnicles conducts Berg & Mahler

Last Saturday I was at the second of three performances of Alban Berg's Seven Early Songs & the Mahler 1, with Donald Runnicles leading the San Francisco Symphony. It was a magnificent performance of an excellent program (such are starting to stand out on the Symphony schedule, crowded as it is with attempts to turn these superb musicians into a back-up band for pop groups or soundtrack-suppliers for recent movie hits that already come with perfectly fine soundtracks), & a welcome return to this area for Runnicles, fondly remembered by many (including me) for his work across the street at the Opera House.

The program opened, as you might expect, with the Berg songs, with mezzo-soprano Irene Roberts as soloist. She swept out looking exceedingly glam in her broad-hemmed pink gown. I don't know why the pink surprised me (pleasantly), but it did. Perhaps at some level I was expecting something more somber, for no particular reason. Roberts was in splendid voice, rich & intimate in these crepuscular & shifting songs. As anyone who has been in Davies knows, it is what is kindly called a barn: a vast, not very attractive space with notoriously iffy acoustics. The miracle of this performance was the intimacy Roberts & Runnicles with the orchestra created, the almost hushed immediacy of a direct, heart-to-heart communication, drawing in even those rows back from the stage. I always love the works of the Second Viennese School, but this was really a performance to cherish.

After the intermission we had the Mahler 1, sometimes still known as the Titan, though it's a nickname the composer jettisoned. The familiar music unfolded magnificently, implanting itself newly into my memory (I've been replaying parts of it in my mind for days). What struck me most about the whole thing was the flow & the timing: it never seemed too fast, too slow, too hurried, stretched out, but all perfectly balanced. I loved it, but I have to say, I preferred the Berg. Perhaps the triumphant overcoming of obstacles at the symphony's end, however inspiring to listen to & even theatrically thrilling to see (when the horn players stand), – the "Titan"-esque romantic heroness of it – that doesn't quite resonate with me, especially in this moment, so grim politically as well as in other ways. It is the questing, inclusive, neurotic Mahler that I respond to more, at least these days, & these are qualities found with greater strength, I think, in Mahler's other works.

My anxieties aside, I was deeply grateful to have heard this performance. And of course the subtext here is "the San Francisco Symphony is not doomed" (or maybe, "the San Francisco Symphony is not doomed – yet"); its current administration will forever be branded as the ones who didn't bother to keep Esa-Pekka Salonen,  & it remains to be seen where they'll steer this ship, but in the meantime, we are given this generous & triumphant performance.