In Seattle, a "Salome" of Biblical Proportions

Brenda Rae, as Salome, in the Seattle Opera production of Richard Strauss’s Salome.

REVIEW

Salome, Seattle Opera, McCaw Hall, Seattle Center

ERICA MINER

Poster for 1910 production of Salome.

Richard Strauss’s biblical epic, Salome, is a guaranteed thrill for any audience. Filled with fascinating characters, shocking scenes, and outrageously difficult demands on its singers, this drama keeps viewers on the edge of their seats for every moment of its relatively short length and is considered by many to be the true musical beginning of the 20th century. Seattle Opera’s Oct. 17 opening night performance was a stunner.

Strauss created his own libretto, inspired by Hedwig Lachmann’s German translation of the 1892 play by renowned Irish playwright Oscar Wilde, originally written in French. The opera, which instantly sparked fierce controversy and censorship and sent shockwaves throughout Dresden at its 1905 premiere, was nonetheless a huge success. The financial windfall from the opera’s success gained the composer enough cash to build a magnificent villa in the countryside. The opera then was banned in Vienna, and the Metropolitan Opera premiere in 1907, starring the astonishing Olive Fremstad, so effectively scandalized the public it closed after one performance.

Richard Strauss in 1904.

Seattle Opera delivered every detail of Strauss’s exhilaration and shock inherent in this production, originally from Irish National Opera, which plays up the most decadent, morbid aspects of the play on which it’s based. The Seattle cast and creative team, which included eight company debuts, proved themselves admirably capable of demonstrating their skills. But lead soprano Brenda Rae, in her role debut, stole the show from the first moment to the last.

As Salome, Rae returned to Seattle Opera for the first time since her debut in the company’s 2015 Semele. She has become known for her versatility, performing roles from Mozart to Strauss to Berg. Salome may not be her usual repertoire, but in this rendering, she exceeded all expectations, vocally and dramatically.

Brenda Rae performs the Dance of the Seven Veils.

Rae’s interpretation was fearless; her characterization wrathful, widely varied, and appropriately terrifying. She made no effort at making Salome likeable but played up the male/ female dichotomy within Salome’s personality. Her character arc, from spoiled child to outrageous harridan, was distinct from beginning to end.

The soprano’s power in the upper register cut with ease through the immense orchestration. Brenda Rae performed the Dance of the Seven Veils so convincingly, with such élan and grace, that one would think she had been born to it. She took on the demanding final scene, a feat that has taxed many a soprano, with astonishing defiance, nailing every physical and vocal challenge and increasing her power exponentially to her final note. The words tour de force doesn’t begin to describe her overall display of artistic proficiency.

Michael Kupfer-Radecky (Jochanaan) and
Brenda Rae (Salome).

Making his Seattle Opera debut as Jochanaan/John the Baptist, German baritone Michael Kupfer-Radecky was a fitting sounding board for Rae’s hysteria, spewing out his religious declamations in an appropriately exaggerated manner. His voice was superb and calm, sonorous and beautiful, but with an appealing edge. The interplay between him and Brenda Rae was mesmerizing.

Tenor Chad Shelton gave an impressive debut as the debaucher Herod. From his first entrance, he dominated the stage, with a voice that was more aesthetically pleasing than most tenors in the role, and a captivating juxtaposition of dramatic and comic touches. He and Rae made a compelling partnership in their all-important interactions, setting the stage for the inevitable tragedy to come.

Jennifer Johnson Cano (Herodias).

Well known to Metropolitan Opera audiences, mezzo Jennifer Johnson Cano brought a stylistic uniqueness to her portrayal of Salome’s mother, Herodias. Her voice was solid, projecting easily over the orchestra, and her high notes were Wagnerian in their power. She delivered her cleverly written lines with an irony that was at once amusing and gruesome. A most entertaining performer.

As Narraboth, debuting tenor Joseph Tancredi’s pleasing voice nicely fulfilled the vocal demands of the role, and his character rendering was poignant without being overdone. The extensive supporting cast included several debuting artists: mezzo-soprano Hannah Ludwig (Page of Herodias), bass Scott Conner (First Nazarene/First Soldier), tenor Robert Stahley (First Jew), tenor Zhengyi Baias (Fourth Jew), and soprano Alexa Jarvis (An Attendant).

They were consistently strong, as were returning artists baritone Michael J. Hawk (Second Nazarene/A Cappadocian), tenor Martin Bakari (Second Jew), tenor John Marzano (Third Jew), and bass-baritone Nathan Stark (Fifth Jew/Second Soldier).

Benjamin Manis directs Salome.

Having become known in numerous US companies, debuting conductor Benjamin Manis led the 81 Seattle Symphony members in a richly conceived reading of the score. He was in complete command of the volume level, which is always a challenge in Strauss operas, and knew exactly when to allow the orchestra to let loose in the prominent orchestral moments.

In his SO debut, British stage director Bruno Ravella, who premiered the 2024 Irish National Opera production in Dublin, plumbed the depths of depravity and played up the many contrasts intrinsic to the story, from dreamlike to stark and ghoulish. Other productions have been more shocking in their sexual explicitness (the 2022 Paris National Opera being a prime example), but Ravella captured the atmosphere of dissoluteness and degeneracy without descending into vulgarity.

Ravella’s character portrayals were fascinating: e.g., the juxtaposition of Herod’s decadence with the purity of St. John. The final scene was earth-shattering. The director mined the most captivating qualities of his players, especially in the relationship between Salome and Herod. The latter’s locking out the other characters, thus forcing Salome to dance only for him, was especially effective.

Brenda Rae (Salome) dances for Herod (Chad Shelton).

The lighting designs by Malcolm Rippeth were arresting, especially the shadow play during Salome’s dance, where the changing colors morphing into a ghastly blood-red heightened the scene’s repulsiveness. The fire erupting at the drama’s climax, symbolizing the characters’ coming to their eventual hellish end, left a stunning impression.

The sets by Scenery & Costume Designer Leslie Travers made the most of the contrast between the colorful garden and the morose, modern set in dull grey and white, whose bulkhead door gave it the look of a submarine interior. Both created a spare environment in which to direct one’s attention to the action and high drama coupled with the disturbing music. Though symbolic of Jochanaan’s baptism practice, the water feature device was overused.

Set design by Leslie Travers.

Salome kisses the severed head
of Jochanaan at the climax
of the opera.

But the costumes made some bold statements. The choice of Herod’s and the other men’s tuxes seemed contradictory in a biblical setting, though it highlighted the difference between their garb and Kupfer-Zadecky’s homeless person threads. However, Herod’s removal of Salome’s virginal yellow dress revealing the clingy white chemise underneath, at a pivotal moment in the Dance of the Seven Veils, made a major impact.

Salome’s dance is a highlight of any production, and in her SO debut Liz Roche’s sinewy choreography brilliantly played up Rae’s best qualities. Lustful, endlessly erotic, the scene was mesmerizing. Ashlee Naegle’s wigs and makeup were appropriately stark and added to the grim, decadent character portrayals. In some cases, these were extremely effective: for example, Cano was virtually unrecognizable in her transformation as Herodias.

If you’re seeking but one theatre production in Seattle in the near future, Salome is not to be missed. Performances continue October 28, ending appropriately for this spooky production on October 31, Halloween night.

---ooo---

McCaw Hall, 321 Mercer Street, Seattle Center, Seattle, WA 98109, 7:30 p.m., Saturday, October 17, 2026.

Images: Strauss, Salome poster: Wikimedia Commons; Production photos: Sunny Martini.

Alexander Shelley Conducts Mahler’s "Resurrection"

The Pacific Symphony Orchestra and Pacific Chorale in Mahler's Resurrection Symphony. 

REVIEW

Pacific Symphony Orchestra, Renée and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall, Costa Mesa

DAVID J BROWN

Gustav Mahler in 1892, during the composition
 of his Symphony No. 2.

Are we now at the point where there is simply too much Mahler in concert programs? For anyone who values, above all, variety and the unearthing and exploration of unfamiliar music in their listening, the clear answer is—and has been for some years—a resounding “Yes!” Whenever one of his gargantuan symphonies is included in a concert, that takes care of most or all of its running time, and there’s a vast quantity of other music—under-appreciated, little known, or simply unknown—waiting to fill that space.

But—and it’s a very big “BUT”—there are always going to be audience members encountering Mahler’s work for the first time, and of those who brought innocent ears to Costa Mesa's Segerstrom Concert Hall on the first Thursday in October for what was a cogent and often thrilling performance of his Symphony No.2 in C minor “Resurrection” GMW 30 (1888-1894) under the baton of the Pacific Symphony’s new Artistic and Music Director Alexander Shelley, the ones who were thus uplifted and thrilled surely far outnumbered any who felt twinges of boredom at Mahler’s lengthy progress to the Empyrean.

Alexander Shelley.

As Mr. Shelley noted in a pre-concert interview with KUSC’s Alan Chapman, Mahler took no fewer than six years to arrive at this symphony’s final form. From that long process, it’s fortunate that the first version of the opening movement has survived as a quasi-standalone tone poem entitled Totenfeier (Funeral rites), completed in 1888. This was already an impressively powerful creation, but in 1894 the still-young composer molded it into the far more dramatic and cogent final version by increasing its instrumental forces, reworking the orchestration, inserting many more expressive markings, and tightening the development and recapitulation.

At the very outset Mahler also made a crucial change of marking from Maestoso to Allegro maestoso and, not content with this, underlined his intent with the qualifier Mit durchaus ernstem und feierlichem Ausdruck (With complete gravity and solemnity of expression throughout). A few weeks ago, we attended a performance (reviewed here) of an equally great but very different symphony, Dvořák’s Seventh, whose first movement is also headed Allegro maestoso. However, while there the challenge is to balance and honor both those instructions in a subdued pianissimo for violas and cellos, Mahler asks for the utmost in trenchant savagery, with a fff 16th-note motif, marked wild, in the cellos and basses against a fortissimo tremolando, rapidly shrinking to piano, from the rest of the strings.

Mahler's first composing hut, at 
Steinbach, where he completed
his Second Symphony in 1894.

From the Pacific Symphony’s lower strings really digging into that opening motif, through the violins’ and violas’ exquisitely silky delivery of the aspiring second subject, to the implacable downward charge of woodwind, horns and strings with which Mahler slams the coffin-lid on this titanic funeral march, Maestro Shelley’s meticulous observation of the innumerable dynamic, tempo, and expressive markings with which the score is laden, and his orchestra’s faithful fulfillment of them, made this performance already an impressive achievement.

Unrealistically, Mahler asks a for pause of more than five minutes before the second movement. Here it was no more than the usual minute or so, but still enough to trigger a ripple of applause from those unfazed by the finality of the carefully graded string pizzicati, mezzoforte and then pianissimo, which follow that downward charge. This second movement is often characterized as a lightweight interlude, contrasting with the tragic power of the first. It is marked Andante moderato, qualified by Sehr gemächlich (Very leisurely) and further by Nie eilen (Never rush), with grazioso underlining the opening Ländler theme.

While there was no lack of grace, Shelley’s interpretation of this movement had more weight and seriousness than usual, with the many measures of pizzicato triplets from all the strings—admirably unanimous—having a cumulative power, even ominousness, so that the central turn to darkness felt less unmotivated than it can do, with the whole movement more aligned than usual with its predecessor’s dark and weighty expressive arc.

Though not marked as such in the score, Shelley proceeded attacca to the third movement, its opening timpani thwack causing a noticeable start from some audience members. By now this performance’s characteristics were clear—meticulous observance of Mahler’s detailed markings and well-rehearsed and willing responses by the orchestra, all bodied forth in the Segerstrom Hall’s marvelous acoustic so that time and again instrumental details often lost in other performances made themselves heard.

The brief fourth movement, Urlicht (Primeval light), brought Dame Sarah Connolly (left) to the front of the platform, her rich mezzo-soprano’s heartfelt delivery of the inserted Knaben Wunderhorn setting testifying to her long familiarity with Mahler’s idiom. In her briefer role towards the end of the finale, soprano Miah Persson (below) was equally fine, though in the case of both soloists, now placed next to the harps, where the score indicates that they double quiet choral lines, they did not in some places do so. Different edition from my venerable UE score? Interpretative decision for this performance?

When their moment finally arrived towards the end of the finale, the 140-strong Pacific Chorale were as heart-catching in their first ppp entry on Auferstehn (the strings’ quiet underpinning here clearly audible for once) as they were seismically powerful for the final chorus, thrillingly underpinned by the Segerstrom’s magnificent William J. Gillespie organ. It was a testament to their preparation by Artistic Director Robert Istad (and, one imagines, all relishing a less taxing assignment than in that other festival go-to choral symphony, Beethoven’s Ninth).

Throughout, the 100+ members of the Pacific Symphony Orchestra covered themselves in glory (as indeed they did in the same work under Carl St. Clair, nearly a decade ago, and reviewed here—a rather more spacious performance overall at around 90 minutes compared to Shelley's c.84). As then, this time around there were so many noteworthy moments from individuals, sections, and the whole tutti that it would be invidious to single out any one such. But as I’ve noticed before in this hall, for all the combination of richness and clarity in the auditorium itself, the offstage brass passages, though immaculately cued and played, lacked the atmospheric remoteness that you get in, say, London’s Royal Albert Hall. Maybe the backstage topography at the Segerstrom simply prevents this.

As ever, this performance convinced me no more than any other that the finale of Mahler's Resurrection Symphony doesn’t have at least one too many piled-up orchestral climax-plus-collapses before its choral apotheosis finally arrives (heresy to the faithful, I know!), though as delivered by the Pacific Symphony’s massed forces, these explosions were all as thrillingly impactful as anyone could desire. In sum, this account of the work was as fine an augury for Maestro Shelley’s tenure with the Pacific Symphony as one could hope for, and fully deserved its prolonged standing ovation. 

---ooo---

Pacific Symphony Orchestra, Segerstrom Center for the Arts, Costa Mesa, Thursday, October 1, 2026, 8 p.m.

Images: The performance: Doug Gifford; Mahler, Stinbach composing hut: Wikimedia Commons.

If you found this review enjoyable, interesting, or informative, please feel free to Buy Me A Coffee!

“Voices of Strength” from the Santa Monica Symphony

Music Director Pola Benke recognizing the Santa Monica Symphony's long-serving members.

REVIEW

Santa Monica Symphony Orchestra, JAMS Performing Arts Center, Santa Monica

DAVID J BROWN

Pola Benke.

Having missed Pola Benke’s first season as the Santa Monica Symphony’s new Music Director (“Scenes from Life,” 2025-2026), it was more than time to head north for the opening concert of her second, at the comfortable, attractive, and acoustically fine 750-seat auditorium of the John Adams Middle School Performing Arts Center. This season’s theme is “Voices,” and the “Voices of Strength” on the bill were Nordic, Slavic, and Bohemian in turn, in a program that almost, but not quite, adhered to the time-honored overture/concerto/symphony layout.

The almost-overture was one of Sibelius’s many small-scale celebratory pieces, his Andante festivo JS34b, commissioned in 1922 by the management of the Finnish Säynätsalo sawmill to mark its 25th anniversary. In 1929 he expanded the string quartet original for performance at a niece’s wedding, and nine years later—acceding to a proposal that he conduct one of his own works for a live transatlantic broadcast to the New York World’s Fair—directed the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra in the piece, newly rescored for string orchestra and timpani. This was Sibelius’s last appearance on an orchestra podium and the only performance by him that seems to have survived.

Jean Sibelius in 1939.

To judge by her account—paced judiciously between spaciousness and onward flow—the Andante festivo is close to Pola Benke’s heart, and her rapport with the SMSO strings showed in their unanimity throughout and careful observance of the work’s slow dynamic shifts. As ever, Sibelius’s genius withholding of the timpani until the final four measures imparted its thrilling frisson of unanticipated extra sonority.

The evening’s concerto was no over-played Romantic warhorse. If—to quote Ms. Benke’s own eloquent program note—the Andante festivo’s “strength comes from simplicity, dignity, and calm,” that of Shostakovich’s Cello Concerto No. 1 in E-flat major, Op. 107 (1959) lay in his resilience and “remarkable ability to preserve his own artistic voice.” Though written well into the post-Stalin “Khrushchev thaw” the concerto is a haunted, emotionally ambivalent work, pivoting between teeth-clenched jauntiness in its outer movements and stillness in the Moderato second movement.

Dmitri Shostakovich in 1959.

In the more than capable hands of Polish-born cellist Marek Szpakiewicz, the obsessive repetition of the opening four-note motif (a kind of variant on Shostakovich’s personal DSCH motto) felt emblematic of constraint or even entrapment, with the astringent rhythmic responses crisply cued by Ms. Benke’s baton and punched out by the SMSO winds—the piccolo’s upward skirls especially prominent—taking that motif by the scruff of the neck and relentlessly propelling it onward (for anyone regarding Shostakovich as a prolix composer the snappy brevity of this first movement is the perfect corrective!).

Marek Szpakiewicz.

Mr. Szpakiewicz’s almost-continuous cello line in the slow movement had all the espressivo that the composer repeatedly demands, and the numerous duets between soloist and other players were immaculately cued and executed. Almost uniquely, this concerto’s cadenza comprises an entire, independent movement, exploratory rather than virtuosic, and here Mr. Szpakiewicz sounded all its emotional resonances before the increasingly animated solo line triggered the finale.

The Allegro con moto finale revisits the first movement’s agitated substance, with in this performance particularly arresting contributions from shrill clarinet and clamant single horn (another aspect of Shostakovich’s economy in this concerto is its modest forces). Though the finale effectively ties thematic knots back to the first movement, it offers no real catharsis, which can make Shostakovich’s First Cello Concerto a difficult work to bring off successfully in concert. Here, however, the wholehearted applause signalled the fine achievement of soloist, conductor, and orchestra alike.

Mr. Szpakiewicz returned for an encore, a rapt account of Ennio Morricone’s main theme from Once Upon a Time in the West that towards the end included a pause so daringly protracted that some may have wondered whether he had in fact finished.

Pola Benke opened the second half with tributes to and acknowledgments of the SMSO’s most long-serving members, and then proceeded to its one work, the Symphony No. 7 in D minor, Op. 70, B. 141 (1884-85) by Antonin Dvořák. Though by measure count it’s the shortest of his nine, as well as the most economically scored, the Seventh is—as host Rich Capparela noted in some introductory remarks—generally held by Dvořák aficionados to be the greatest of them, and Ms. Benke’s powerfully integrated performance certainly underlined the claim.

Antonin Dvořák in 1882.

The first movement marking, Allegro maestoso, is an immediate conductorial challenge—too fast, and you compromise the majesty; too slow, and momentum is lost—but to these ears Ms. Benke got it just right, with the opening theme on violas and cellos over a soft timpani roll and tremolando basses, rising and falling back on itself within its limited pitch range, purposeful yet imbued with foreboding. The movement proceeded with authority and surety of aim towards the tragic power of the recapitulation’s climax and then its dramatic collapse back into the dark mood of the opening, and the drawn-out pp conclusion.

The Poco adagio slow movement unfolded just as coherently, with some noble solo horn contributions, and if the Scherzo could have benefited from just a little more driven inexorability, the finale didn’t drop a stitch. It accumulated expressive weight and intensity so that the overwhelmingly tragic coda felt fully earned, Ms. Benke and her fine orchestra drawing on yet more reserves of power to deliver it as molto maestoso as Dvořák could have desired. Bravo!

---ooo---

Santa Monica Symphony Orchestra, JAMS Performing Arts Center, 1630 Pearl St, Santa Monica, Saturday, September 19, 2026, 7.00 p.m.

Images: The performance: author; Pola Benke: Courtesy Long Beach Symphony; Sibelius, Shostakovich, Dvořák: Wikimedia Commons; Marek Szpakiewicz: Azusa Pacific University; Once Upon a Time in the West poster: www.themagnificent60s.com.

If you found this review to be useful, interesting, or informative, please feel free to Buy Me A Coffee!

Seattle’s Shining Stars Open New Symphony Season

Pianist Yefim Bronfman with the Seattle Symphony under Music Director Xian Zhang perform Rachmaninoff's Third Piano Concerto in the opening night of the SSO's 2026-2027 season.

REVIEW

Seattle Symphony Orchestra, Benaroya Hall, Seattle

ERICA MINER

Maestra Xian Zhang,

Music Director Xian Zhang and piano phenomenon Yefim Bronfman took center stage for Seattle Symphony’s glittering season opener on Saturday, September 19. The evening featured two 20th century Russian works: Prokofiev’s symphonic suite version of Lieutenant Kijé Op. 60, originally written for the film of the same name; and Rachmaninoff’s famously challenging Piano Concerto No. 3 in D minor, Op. 30. Both works displayed the conductor and soloist’s star qualities to the maximum.

Sergei Prokofiev: portrait by
 Pyotr Konchalovsky, 1934.

Now in her second season as SSO Music Director, Xian Zhang starts off buoyed by a hugely successful first season. Having fostered a close and mutually respectful relationship with the orchestra’s musicians since she first started working with them in 2008, she created an atmosphere of both ease and excitement from the opening downbeat throughout the entire program. Her high energy and enthusiasm, combined with the comfort of a maestro well-established in her role, greatly enhanced the enjoyment of the audience.

Poster for the Soviet film
comedy, Lieutenant Kijé.

Prokofiev was commissioned to write Lieutenant Kijé for the 1934 Leningrad-produced film version of the story. The five-movement Suite premiered the same year. As the composer sought to revamp his often dissonant and experimental style into something more accessible in keeping with the official Soviet concept of art, he believed the sharp but gentle satire of Kijé written in his own classical style to be the perfect solution. Its charm and ingenuousness proved to have wide and immediate appeal, influencing films as far away as Hollywood, e.g., Woody Allen’s 1975 Love and Death.

Zhang brought out both the composer’s melodiousness and engaging simplicity. The pompousness woven into the piece, such as in Kijé's Wedding, came off as spirited but also elegant. The cornet solos, which virtually amounted to a concerto in their prominence throughout the piece, were well played. Solos by the tenor saxophone (inspired by Prokofiev’s admiration of Ravel’s use of the instrument), flute, and a string trio of double bass, viola and cello, were tastefully done. The Troika was pensive then lively, moving along at an exhilarating pace. The nostalgia and charm of Romance and the sweet and poignant final movement, The Burial of Kijé, primed the audience for the monumental solo work that followed.

Yefim Bronfman in action.

2010 Avery Fisher Prize winner Yefim Bronfman, whose name is instantly recognizable among the world’s foremost piano virtuosi, was an ideal last-minute replacement for the ailing Yuja Wang. Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 3, with its supremely challenging technical demands, served as the perfect showcase for Bronfman’s abundant musical talents. From the outset, the pianist displayed a winning combination of the crisp precision and abundant lyricism that makes him one of today’s most sought-after soloists on the concert stage. He performed the piece with the reverence and expertise of an artist in whom the music has lived for many years.

At the beginning of the first movement, Allegro ma non troppo, Bronfman kept his finger movements minimal and close to the keys, leaving room for the immense buildup to follow. He showed evidence of his extraordinary versatility in melodic passages that were crisp and even, and paved the way for the more expansive, inspired lyricism of the second theme. As the relentless intricacies of the first movement progressed through the infamously difficult development, Bronfman was unstoppable, gaining momentum in the execution of the passagework requiring the technical mastery and power for which he is famous.

Rachmaninoff in 1909,
by Robert Sterl.

The second movement, Intermezzo: Adagio, gave Bronfman the opportunity to combine his astonishingly light touch with effortless dexterity in the melancholic passages and to emote to the max in the appassionato sections. He languished indulgently and played up the sheer romanticism while delighting in the rapid, spirited passages.

In the ensuing Finale: Alla breve, Bronfman took off like a rocket and never stopped, escalating the excitement all the way to the end. The sheer immensity of his massive strength and astonishing command of the cascades of notes, which must number in the tens of thousands, led to a climax that was received with such fervor from the audience that the only possible remedy was an encore. He delivered one that delighted the crowd: Franz Liszt’s transcription of the Violin Caprice No. 17 in E-flat major by Nicolò Paganini, the second of Liszt's six Grandes Études de Paganini, S 141 (1838, rev 1851).

Daguerreotype of Liszt, 1843.

Though it hardly seems possible, the Liszt was in some ways even more impressive in its technical scope than the Rachmaninoff, alternating between a light touch and a huge demonstration of a sheer virtuosity that was transformative. Known as one of the most demanding works in the piano repertoire, the piece features interlocking octaves and requires nearly impossible stretches and precise hand-crossing. Bronfman delivered all of these, seemingly effortlessly. Also interesting were the knowing looks of the orchestra’s violinists as they watched and listened to a piece with which they perhaps were all too familiar. All in all, Bronfman is a technical wizard and mesmerizing performer.

In the Rachmaninoff accompaniment, the musicians responded beautifully to Zhang’s urgings to let loose in the tutti passages, producing a jubilant, uninhibited sound. In the solo sections, she kept the orchestra well-controlled but not to the point of being restrictive. The orchestra’s wind section, highlighted prominently in the score, delivered impressively. Zhang exercised her usual excellent control throughout each movement, handling the highly detailed score and interplay between soloist and orchestra with a deftness and skill characteristic of the most admired and respected music directors. This dazzling expertly executed program with its magnificent scores provided an intriguing foretaste of what is sure to be an exhilarating season to come.

---ooo---

Benaroya Hall, 200 University St, Seattle, WA 98101, Saturday, September 19, 7.30 p. m. 

Images: The performance: James Holt; Prokofiev, Lieutenant Kijé poster, Rachmaninoff, Liszt: Wikimedia Commons.

Partchworld: The Life, Music, and Legacy of Harry Partch: Part Two

REDISCOVERY AND RENEWAL

1. The Bewitched • REDCAT, 27 June 2026 (Photo: Felix Salazar).

JOHN SCHNEIDER

John Schneider is a Grammy® Award winning and four-time Grammy® nominated guitarist, composer, author and broadcaster. He holds a Ph.D. in Physics & Music from U.C. Cardiff (UK), music degrees from the University of California and the Royal College of Music (London), and is past-President of the Guitar Foundation of America. Schneider is a specialist in contemporary music, and his The Contemporary Guitar has become the standard text in the field. He hosts Global Village on Thursdays, 11am-1pm (Pacific Time), on KPFK FM, Los Angeles.

2. Harry Partch with Adapted Guitar I, 1941.

In Part One of this article I outlined the unique career of California-born Harry Partch (1901-1974): composer, deviser of a new personal musical syntax, and inventor of an extraordinary array of instruments without which it is impossible to play his equally remarkable works.

I also discussed my own growing fascination with and exploration of the full range of his creative output, which brought me to the point in 1999—after hearing his own ensemble in San Francisco—of needing to perform his works myself.

3. Author's copy of Adapted Guitar II.

This meant one thing: I had to recreate the instruments. With that in mind, I and an extraordinary team of various artisans have spent the last 25 years doing exactly that.

Thus LA’s PARTCH Ensemble began in the 1990s as the trio “Just Strings” (4. below) playing guitar, harp, and percussion in the pure-intervals just intonation favored by Partch and his colleagues Lou Harrison (1917-2003) and James Tenney (1934-2006). The only authentic instrument we possessed was a copy of Partch's Adapted Guitar I (2. above right), though I arranged some of his music for retuned harps to mimic his Harmonic Canons.

4. "Just Strings", 2001 (Photo: Robert Hale).

By 2001, with the addition of my new Adapted Guitar II (3. above left) and a copy of Partch's Diamond Marimba, together with the gracious loan of his Kithara I from the Harry Partch Foundation, we were finally able to perform a concert consisting entirely of the composer’s early works. That program concluded the 12-hour Harry Partch Centennial Celebration that I produced at UCLA’s Schoenberg Hall, which featured scholarly presentations, panel discussions, the composer’s own films, and even an instrument “petting zoo.”

5. © Los Angeles Times.

For the next two decades, we produced new replicas of these marvelous musical machines almost one per year, as evidenced by our annual performances at the REDCAT (Roy and Edna Disney CalArts Theater) contemporary performing arts center inside downtown LA's Walt Disney Hall complex:

6. REDCAT 2005 (Photo: John Schneider).

7. REDCAT 2013 (Photo: Erin Schneider).

8. REDCAT 2025 (Photo: Felix Salazar).

We have had the great pleasure of sharing Partch’s music with audiences on both coasts of the US, in Mexico, and even gave the first Asian performances at South Korea’s Tongyeong International Music Festival (2023). We have also commissioned new works, either for the instruments themselves or in collaboration with other ensembles (Del Sol String Quartet, the Prism Saxophone Quartet, and The Hutchins Consort), including the new chamber opera LSD: Huxley’s Last Trip by Anne LeBaron (b.1953).

In 2011, Bridge Records began to release our recordings in their Music of Harry Partch series (9-12. below) which have so far garnered a Grammy® Award and three Grammy® nominations, and we have also made videos of our yearly REDCAT concerts that can be found here.

9.-12. The Music of Harry Partch, Vols. 1-4 (© copyright Bridge Records).

In 2023, the California Festival commissioned a two-hour audio portrait of Partch for its Excursions series: “A journey through California’s innovative sonic landscape. Discover the visionary figures and hidden pathways that have helped shape the Golden State’s storied continuum of contemporary music.” This takes you on a chronological survey of this unforgettable repertoire, where you can hear Partch himself both playing and talking about his music.

However, as we all know, music is always best served LIVE—so come say hello to LA’s very own PARTCH Ensemble every June at REDCAT. After all, where else can you pet a Zymo-Xyl or a Cloud Chamber Bowl?

---ooo---

Partchworld: The Life, Music, and Legacy of Harry Partch: Part One

CREATOR OF SOUNDWORLDS

1. Harry Partch in 1972. (Image from Harry Beglan papers, 1926-1997 (series 12/9/25), Sousa Archives and Center for American Music, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.)

JOHN SCHNEIDER

John Schneider is a Grammy® Award winning and four-time Grammy® nominated guitarist, composer, author and broadcaster. He holds a Ph.D. in Physics & Music from U.C. Cardiff (UK), music degrees from the University of California and the Royal College of Music (London), and is past-President of the Guitar Foundation of America. Schneider is a specialist in contemporary music, and his The Contemporary Guitar has become the standard text in the field. He hosts Global Village on Thursdays, 11am-1pm (Pacific Time), on KPFK FM, Los Angeles.

1. BloBoy.

California’s Harry Partch (1901-1974) was surely one of America's most colorful composers. Though trained as a concert pianist, his dissatisfaction with the scales and instruments of Western music inspired him to design and build, between 1929 and 1970, an orchestra of over two dozen handcrafted “microtonal” instruments that were tuned to a scale of 43 pitches per octave. With names like Cloud Chamber Bowls, Chromelodeon, Zymo-Xyl (Zi-mock-sil), Gourd Tree and BloBoy (1. right), these fantastic musical creations would not be out of place in a Dr. Seuss book.

From 1931 to 1972, he created one of the most amazing bodies of sensually alluring and emotionally powerful music of the 20th century, writing music drama, dance theater, and multi-media extravaganzas, as well as intimate vocal and chamber music. In today's parlance, Harry Partch is known as an “American Maverick,” a loner whose itinerant wanderings as a hobo and “railroad bum” during the Great Depression are the stuff of legend. His wildly original scores influenced several generations of composers from Karlheinz Stockhausen (1928-2007) and György Ligeti (1923-2006) to Tom Waits, David Bowie, and Paul Simon, and still manages to shock, amuse, and amaze.

3. University of Wisconsin
Press, 1949.

He was also a great innovator, being one of the first concert composers to use overdubbing as a composition tool, as well as creating his own indie label in the 1950s, and training his own eponymous ensemble decades before Steve Reich and Philip Glass. He was also the first to use the electric guitar in concert music, and the first to use a fretless instrument.

4. Da Capo Press, 1974.

It long seemed that once Partch died, so would his music. After all, what better way to absolutely guarantee a music’s obsolescence than to compose for a single set of entirely unique instruments in an opaque notation—mostly tablatures—that takes ages to learn, and has no precedence? And yet, against all odds, quite the opposite has happened: Partch’s reputation has only grown since his passing in 1974, becoming what could only be termed as legendary. His work is consistently listed as inspiration for ensuing generations of musicians of all styles, from rock and roll, to punk, to classical.

Luckily, he also painstakingly documented his musical development in recordings, films, writings, and a volume called Genesis of a Music, initially in 1949 then in an expanded and enlarged edition in 1974 (3. & 4. above). During his lifetime, the composer felt compelled to convince other musicians that his vision of a music that was emotionally compelling and acoustically in tune, would offer new sounds, new means of expression, and new possibilities for the future, but to his bitter disappointment, most couldn’t care less.

In the end, it was his performances, films, and the handful of recordings that he so carefully produced and distributed in his own lifetime that won the case for Partch. What a surprise! In what was an era of increasingly abstract music, here was modern music that was corporeal, and actually spoke to people! With rare exceptions, the audiences were far more receptive to the music than the professional musicians of his time. Luckily, those films and recordings are now almost completely available, only increasing the hunger for this unusual music.

5. Harry Partch, 1952.
(Wikimedia Commons). 

But what of performances? Live performances? Nothing, I repeat, nothing replaces being in the room with these wonderful instruments. The music is meant to be experienced, and not just by the ears: “In the right room acoustically, the Marimba Eroica is felt through the feet, against the belly, and, if one sits on the floor, it ripples through his bottom. H. P.” But with only one set of instruments, then residing on the east coast of North America, the chances of having one’s bottom rippled were rather remote.

To fall in love with a piece of music is to want to possess it—to feel it under one’s fingers, to breathe life into it with one’s own breath, or bow, or mallet… that is the musician’s way. I made the mistake of falling in love with Partch’s music with no possible way of consummating my affection. There was nowhere to go to rent or buy the appropriate instruments, no available music, no teachers from whom to learn the scales, techniques and repertoire, nowhere to touch and feel the music except through the loudspeakers of my stereo. 

6. The World of Harry Partch,
Columbia LP album cover.  

It was as if I had heard a recording of J. S. Bach’s Goldberg Variations and—having sworn to learn it—had to build my own harpsichord, teach myself how to read music and the keyboard technique to perform it, let alone the interpretational skills to bring it to life. So I turned to what you might call the “book of Genesis." Partch’s only published volume is not only a history book (telling of the development of intonation and scales since the times of the ancient Greeks), a music theory book (explaining the notation and structure of finely tuned intervals), and an autobiography… it is also a cookbook!

When read closely, Partch’s descriptions of his wonderful instruments include dimensions, materials, and tunings, almost enough information to reproduce them exactly. And so I began with the piece I loved most, on the instrument I knew best: Barstow: Eight Hitchhikers’ Inscriptions (1941) for baritone voice and Adapted Guitar. I had the great fortune to meet Danlee Mitchell, Partch’s longtime assistant and keeper of the instruments at San Diego State University. He gave me a copy of the unpublished manuscript of the piece which I had only known in its last 1968 incarnation for full ensemble, as found on the 1969 Columbia LP album The World of Harry Partch. 

 The music, however, looked like an algebra problem filled with fractions:

It turns out that the composer used the exact ratios of what is known as just intonation to tune pitches exactly. That phrase translates to this (6):

And down the rabbit hole I went. The crazy thing was that back in the early 1990s, no one really knew what the fingerboard of his guitar looked like, and he had never recorded this version of the piece, so I really had no choice but to reverse engineer the fretting using only the notes found in the piece and no others. Years later, it turned out I was right:

7. (above) Adapted Guitar I, 1941 (Barstow, Carmel Pine Cone, Sept 26, 1941, photographer unknown). 8. (above right) Author's copy (photo: Felix Salazar).

He eventually gave up on frets and created his Adapted Guitar II from a Hawaiian style slide guitar, adding four strings, with pitches determined by a lead-weighted plastic rod guided by color-coded triangles painted on the neck:

9. (above) Adapted Guitar II, 1945 (photographer unknown, private collection).
10. (above right) Author’s copy, 2000 (photo: Cat Beers).

By 1941, Partch had also created his own version of the ancient Greek kithara though his was harmonic instead of melodic. Like the modern harp, the original handheld kithara (11. below left) featured a row of single strings tuned from low to high, but Partch’s much larger instrument used 72 strings configured in 12 parallel sets of six strings, each “hexad” tuned to an open chord, almost like a dozen guitars standing in a row, but without their necks.

11-13. The Kithara, Carmel Pine Cone, Sept 19, 1941. (11. Source unknown; 12. Photographer unknown, private collection, 13. Photo: Fred Lyon, used by permission).

15. New Kithara I (1972).

14. Kithara II (1954)
(Photographer unknown,
private collection).

The two hexads at either end rested on thin Pyrex rods that could slide up and down to play chords between the other 10 permanently tuned hexads (13. above right). 

This was the first of the three kitharas that Partch designed, with the later models featuring two more sliding rods either on the outside of the instrument (Kithara II, 1954) or on the middle two sets (New Kithara I, 1972).

Partch retuned many old-fashioned reed organs to his 43-notes-to-the-octave scale, and called these Chromelodeons. The keys were also color-coded to make the fractions (ratios) more immediately recognizable, the final two having 159 pitches (Chromelodeon I, 1949 (16. below left)) while the largest was an 88-key piano case instrument with 244 and three banks of reeds (Chromelodeon II, 1959 (17. below right).

16. Chromelodeon I, 1949.                                           17. Chromelodeon II, 1959.

He also created a new family of marimbas. Two were terraced and chordal (Diamond Marimba (1946 (18. below left)), and Quadrangularis (1965 (19. below right)), while the two Bass Marimbas (1950 (20. bottom left)) and 1954 (21. bottom right)) used single notes from low to high, the latter with resonators so tall that the player must perch on a special stand to reach the gigantic keys.

18. Diamond Marimba.                                           19. Quadrangularis Reversum.

20. Bass Marimba.                                                                21. Marimba Eroica.

22. Zymo-Xyl.

He eventually made six 44-string box zithers called canons, two more guitars, and an amazing array of percussion instruments constructed from bamboo, light bulbs, oversize Pyrex bottles, liquor bottles, hubcaps, artillery shells, with some mixing those elements on a single instrument (Zymo-Xyl (1963 (22. right)) and Spoils of War (1950-65 (23. below left).

23. Spoils of War.

But make no mistake: yes, these are exquisite objets d’art meant to treat both eyes and ears, but most importantly they are the essential tools to create Partch's exquisitely singular music. You simply cannot reproduce his revolutionary vision without them, their inimitable “klang” being the very bedrock of his magnificent musical creations.

After finally hearing the ensemble in San Francisco in 1999, I was hooked—I just had to be able to play this music. Part Two of this article will outline my 25-year odyssey and what became LA's PARTCH Ensemble to achieve just that.

---ooo---