lies like truth

It's official: Monday is the new Saturday and last night's escapades in San Francisco are proof of this fact.

The evening kicked off with some delicious Brazilian food and then a concert at the Conservatory of Music dedicated to celebrating the new official "sister school" link between the San Francisco Conservatory and The Shanghai Conservatory.

The concert itself was, to be honest, a bit of a yawnfest. Besides a luminous rendition of Jake Heggie's schmaltzy but gorgeous song "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed" by mezzo-soprano Zheng Cao, cellist Emil Miland and Pianist Mack McCray, the event  proceeded in a very monotonous mood. The compositions that made up most of the program - by faculty and students of the Shanghai Conservatory - were all incredibly samey. It seems that the Shanghai Conservatory has a very particular view of how a piece of chamber music should be written. The style can be distilled down to monochrome textures in meandering roughly atonal keys with occasional non-commital flutterings from wind and string instruments and a bit of pitch-bending. Melody was completely absent and there was very little rhythmic drive to any of the pieces on the program.

What a striking (and welcome) contrast it was, then, to head off in the Monday evening drizzle to a nearby venue located under the 101 freeway exit to experience "Live City Revue", a club night at The Coda Lounge run by local hip-hop mavericks Felonious. The event, which started a few weeks ago and happens every Monday night, featured some of the most uplifting and core-rumbling music I've heard live in a while.

Over a couple of hours, I heard Felonious performing several beatbox-infused, intelligent-worded, spiraling numbers, the sounds of a burgeoning beatboxer, Cornbread, a completely enrapturing cover of the John Legend / Andre 3000 R&B hit "Green Light" performed by beatboxer/MC Carlos Aguirre and Joshua Torrez (the star of The Magic Theatre's current production of Oedipus el Rey and a wonderful guitarist/vocalist -- his falsetto left me swooning) and an amazing set by a Frencophile African band whose members played guitar, cora and marimba and sang. The jam session between the band and Felonious was the highlight of the evening. Hip-hop, jazz, folk and African sounds merged effortlessly as the musicians got more and more into the zone of their playing.

I left the Coda Lounge on a vast high. It was of the best Monday nights in memory. What I live city I live in.

Why are arts organizations so obsessed with anniversaries? Every day it seems, some museum, presenter, dance troupe, alternative arts space or theater company is celebrating a milestone birthday, be it 25, 50 or 75 years with a retrospective or special series of events of somesuch. But to what extent are anniversaries really worth observing from an artistic perspective? Or are they merely crutches for programming, pegs to attract media coverage or excuses for amping up fundraising efforts?

In a sense, an anniversary is definitely something to make a fuss about, especially in this country. Arts organizations often have to weather extreme hardship from a financial perspective every few years and face competition from the endless new forms of entertainment that can have the effect of distracting audiences. There's little about the current cultural climate that favors longevity, so to make it through even five years without going under deserves some form of recognition.

But all too often it seems to me that anniversaries and the hooplah that organizations make around them are artificial constructs. Is it enough that an organization is turning 30 to merit an exhibition of photographs covering its years of existence? Why should we all be as excited that a museum is turning 75 as the museum is itself?

Some organizations, such as the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, seem to have put a lot of thought into their anniversaries. The museum is at least as concerned with looking backwards through its history as it is in thinking about the next 75 years of its future. The anniversary tagline "75 years of looking forward" is well met by balancing exhibitions that highlight the organization's legacy eg "The Anniversary Show" with activities like commissioning local artists from a variety of different disciplines to create audio tour material.

But not all organizations come up with anniversary celebrations that are as well-thought-out. Perhaps it's time for arts institutions to move beyond marking time, either by finding more organic ways of celebrating key milestones rather than bland "let's raid the attic"-style retrospectives. I love an excuse for a party as much as the next culture fan. But really there's nothing wrong with letting a jubilee pass quietly by once in a while without a fanfare.

The world is full of madcap ideas that don't come to fruition. But thankfully there's always a place to talk about them, even if they end up not getting realized.

Here's a concept for an art installation which I came up with to accompany The Berkeley Symphony Orchestra's upcoming concert next Thursday of works by Paul Dresher (Cornucopia), Esa-Pekka Salonen (Five Images After Sappho) and Beethoven (Symphony No. 3, "Eroica").

The orchestra's music director, Joana Carneiro, asked me to think of a way to help contextualize Salonen's work for audiences. The idea turned out to be far too ambitious to realize in the limited amount of time we had. But, hey, a girl's gotta dream.

Concept for an installation to accompany Esa-Pekka Salonen's Five Images After Sappho by Chloe Veltman:

Historical Background:

The idea for the installation stems from an account in Margaret Reynolds book The Sappho Companion of an excavation that took place in Egypt at the end of the 19th century. The findings greatly changed our level of understanding of Sappho. Reynold's account describes an archaeological dig by British scholars Bernard Grenfell and Arthur Hunt who set out for Egypt in 1895 in the wake of news that Egyptian farmers had turned up pieces of papyrus as they ploughed new fields. Reynolds writes:

"They settled on a site at a small town about 120 miles south of Cairo, Oxyrhynchus (now called Bahnasa). On the outskirts of the town was a group of low mounds. Almost as soon as they began to dig, Grenfell and Hunt realized that it was the huge rubbish dump of a once-thriving town dating from the period of Hellenistic Egypt. The rubbish had been thrown out in about the 5th century AD, but quite a lot of it was much older, often dating the from the 2nd to 3rd centuries AD."

Among the scraps was a tiny fragment of dating to the 3rd century AD -- a copy of Sappho's poem, then previously unknown, named "To the Nereids". Gradually, more Sappho Fragments showed up in the rubbish pile, scraps of which had been shipped back to Oxford by Grenfell and Hunt in biscuit tins. 213 Fragments have surfaced from the dig to date.

Musical Background:

Fragmentation is one of the central ideas in Salonen's Five Images After Sappho. In the program notes for the 1999 world premiere of his work, the composer wrote:

"If we imagine the history of art as some kind of Darwinian survival game, Sappho stands out as a genetic miracle. No (almost no) whole organism (poem) has survived; instead we have a couple of dozen pages' worth of fragments. Some of them are almost complete little poems, most of them are isolated groups of words or single words far apart. 

Almost every generation of poets has tried to translate these scattered messages from a woman of whom we know very little. As always, interpretation tells more about the interpreter, and his time and culture, than the work itself...It is the fragmentary nature of the material, and therefore an almost open form, that makes Sappho so fascinating to set to music.

Using tiny fragments of Sappho's poetry, Salonen captures the multi-faceted, interpretatively-open nature of Sappho's legacy. In the Images, we come to understand the poet as boasting many identities - wife, lover, mother, sage, debutante, poet, suicide, heretic, devotee...

The Installation:

The installation seeks to bring together these historical and musical components of Sappho's legacy by marrying a visual representation of Grenfell and Hunt's rubbish heap with writings, images and sound/music excerpts from the cannon of artistic works inspired by Sappho.

The Experience:

A huge rubbish pile made of tiny scraps of papyrus* will greet concertgoers when they enter the lobby of Zellerbach Hall for the concert. The bigger the heap, the more awe-inspiring. Each bit of visible papyrus will have text on it e.g. lines of Sappho's poetry, lines from poems/plays/novels/non-fiction works etc. by other poets through the ages inspired by Sappho. Visual depictions of Sappho by artists through the ages (paintings, etchings etc) will also be added to the pile. Some of these texts and images will look like they're flying from / falling off the pile, by being suspended from wires above and to the side of the heap. A soundscape of musical and poetic works inspired by Sappho as well as voicings of translations of Sappho's poetry will be piped through speakers into the lobby to add to the atmosphere. The cumulative effect should be one of infinite interpretation and fragmentation.

In addition, a papyrus scrap bearing a small piece of Sappho's poetry could be included inside every concertgoer's program.

*The papyrus pieces can be made from bits of tea-stained white sheeting. Foam, papier-mache or some other lightweight, bulky material can be used to make the base of the sculpture.

Do classic plays always lend themselves to adaptation into different cultural idioms? What makes a certain story resonate in particular with a particular setting? Luis Alfaro's Oedipus el Rey, currently receiving its world premiere production at the Magic Theatre in San Francisco in a production directed by Loretta Greco, made me ponder these questions.

After about ten minutes of sitting their with a slightly furrowed brow as I watched a bunch of tough-looking guys doing the cliched prison inmate posturing thing, I found myself completely immersed in Alfaro's transposition of the great Sophoclean tragedy Oedipus Rex into a contemporary Latino barrio landscape. The ensemble cast moved with lightness around the bare stage. They acted the scenes like they meant them without resorting to histrionics more than on a couple of occasions. The text snapped along with its musical combination of English and Spanish (though I could have done with a little less of the "madre dios"-style sturm-and-drang exclamations.) The emptiness of the set reflected the blindness of Tiresias and eventually Oedipus himself, while the bold use of naked lightbulbs throughout the taut one and a half hour long, intermissionless drama suggested the light within. All in all I think The Magic gives us a well-thought-out production of a compellingly adapted narrative.

Yet there's nothing intrinsic about the Oedipus story that lends itself to adaptation into the Latin idiom really. To say that "the narrative works because Latino culture is passionate and tragic and therefore lends itself to this kind of overwrought soap opera of a story" is to make a superficial generalization. And yet the translation succeeds with the same amount of drive and vigor as Sondheim-Laurents-Bernstein's adaptation of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet to 1950s barrio New York.

In less capable hands, I suppose Oedipus el Rey would probably make me cringe. The commitment and talent of the production team is responsible for the work's ability to communicate. I don't suppose the play would stand on its own as powerfully as something like Westside Story,though. The barrio does not always great theatre make. Campo Santo's adaptation of Hamletinto a contemporary barrio setting in Oakland a few years ago at Intersection for the Arts left me completely cold. Part of the reason for this was that the connection between the story and the setting seemed completely arbitrary to me, perhaps because the staging didn't rise beyond cliche.

When I was growing up, I used to think it strange that the mother of a close friend of mine had empty antique picture frames covering almost every spare bit of wall in the entrance hall of her Victorian townhouse. The walls above the stairs were also covered in frames, making the surfaces of the house look like they were adorned with the whites of eyes.

I couldn't understand why my friend's mother liked empty frames so much. I had grown up in a home where my mother sometimes made picture frames, but always filled them up with art of some kind. But now when I visit my friend's mother's house, I think of the empty frames as being rather beautiful.

We have, as a culture, lost interest in the art of framing pictures. The artworks that hang in my apartment don't have frames. If I come across frames in other people's homes, they are often cursory wooden squares from IKEA. If you want to see a beautiful frame these days, you have to go to an art museum. Even picture frame stores don't sell lovely frames anymore. The one around the corner from me has a decidedly ugly collection which it is currently flogging off for as little as $10 a pop. I don't think many people are buying them though -- the same frames have been gathering dust in the window since last summer when I moved into the neighborhood.

I can understand why frames have fallen out of fashion -- they're heavy, nice ones are expensive, and they "hem" work in, rather than giving it a more expansive feeling and connection with the environment around which the art hangs. But there's so much craftsmanship that goes into making a beautiful picture frame. In some museums, like the ones in Moscow I visited a few years ago, the frames are sometimes more enticing than the paintings they contain.

The National Portrait Gallery in London is one institution that is working to preserve the art of the picture frame. Back in 1996-1997, the museum held an exhibition about frames and then developed a website devoted to developing research and interest in the subject. The organization continues to update the site regularly.

Maybe someday picture frames will make a comeback. In the meantime, I might start trawling thrift stores and art galleries for interesting specimens.

PS This blog post has elicited some wonderful responses over the past few days. One of my favorites is from Kary Schulman, director of Grants for the Arts in San Francisco, who wrote to say that the post reminded her of a scene in the Steve Martin comedy, Picasso at the Lapin Agile:

As one character, the art dealer Sagot shows off his Matisse, he points to the frame as its most important feature. He says, "Otherwise, anything goes. You want to see a soccer game where the players can run up into the stands with the ball and order a beer? No. They've got to stay within the boundaries to make it interesting. In the right hands, this little space is as fertile as Eden."

The British TV show, Popstar to Operastar, has been taking a lot of heat from critics who think that the series is inane and demeaning. The critics are not wrong. The show is really just good old fashioned gladiator stuff: put a bunch of pop singers in the ring with Mozart and Puccini and see who wins. It's really a fait accompli though the panel of judges - which includes the celebrated Mexican tenor Rolando Villazon (pictured) act as if the stakes are high.

But as dumb as Popstar to Operastar might be, it performs a serious function: In showing that you cannot train a pop singer to pull off an opera aria in a few weeks, the program demonstrates that learning to be an opera singer is extremely hard work and requires a large amount of time and talent. It also might get people who don't normally pay attention to opera to get out and see a few productions or maybe listen to some recordings by great singers.

I would be curious to see the ITV network do a reality series which operates in the opposite direction: I wonder if a bunch of trained opera singers could pull off fronting a rock band convincingly with only a few weeks of coaching? My guess is that the journey from "Operastar to Popstar" might be easier to manage than the other way around. But I don't suppose that it would make such compelling viewing.

One opera, two concerts, and a drag review. Just your average San Francisco weekend.

1. Pearls Over Shanghai at the Hypnodrome: San Francisco's current obsession with all things to do with Shanghai in light of the city's twin-city relationship with the Chinese port town and the upcoming Shanghai Expo this summer in which San Francisco will feature prominently, finds its antidote with the Thrillpeddlers' zany, gender-bending homage to misplaced Chinoiserie. There's nothing politically correct about Pearls over Shanghai, a show which originally premiered in 1970 under the auspices of the legendary drag performance group The Cockettes. Just a lot of drag kings and queens wearing glitter and singing about opium. This latest version even features some original members of the Cockettes troupe. The show has just been extended as is well worth catching.

2. Sharon Knight at the Noe Valley Ministry: I would have liked to stay at the Glass House music event on Saturday evening to catch Voicestra alumni Dave Worm's Sovoso ensemble performing. But I had to get to a friend's party so only caught the singer Sharon Knight performing a bunch of Celtic, pirate and other bits of folk music. I love this repertoire, but I didn't feel very inspired by Knight's performance. She and her guitarist were out of tune for the first song and I generally found the musical arrangements to be lacking in originality.

3. Wozzeck at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts: Ensemble Parallele's production of John Rea's chamber orchestration of Alban Berg's hard-hitting opera based on a real-life murder is packed with vivid visual images and rich singing. Baritone Bojan Knezevic brings the perfect combination of manly softness to the title role. And I love Rea's orchestration. Its intimacy increases the compact tension of Wozzack fraught work.

4. Monteverdi's Vespers of 1610 at St. Mark's Lutheran Church: American Bach Soloists assembled a remarkable trio of soloists (tenor Derek Chester and sopranos Jennifer Ellis and Abigail Haynes Lennox) for this crisp, dancing and warm performance of Monteverdi's great work. The venue was sold out. Apparently all four of ABS' concerts are also at capacity, which is well-deserved.