MUSIC REVIEW : Sylvano Bussotti at LACMA

Chutzpah has always been a major element of the avant-garde. The assertion that a product of self-indulgence is art merely because it’s the artist’s product--”It’s art because I said it’s art”--is a peculiar manifestation of it. See Warhol, Cage, the later Dali, etc.

“Voliera” (The Aviary) by Sylvano Bussotti--composed 1986-89 according to completely inadequate program information--is a series of pieces, most with titles of various birds, “for a differentiated group of soloists.” What apparently took place at the latest Monday Evening Concert at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art--according to a reliable museum source--was a performance of these 11 “Voliera” pieces simultaneously . This was Bussotti’s unannounced decision.

With the 60-year-old Italian composer, long a major name in European avant-garde circles, at the piano, “Voliera” proceeded from soft and insinuating keyboard chords through soloistic noodling from the other 11 instrumentalists to full-blown cacophony, with everything in between. The musicians were variously cued, cajoled, encouraged and grouped by Bussotti-the-conductor in seemingly improvisatory fashion.

The double bass plucked, the viola scratched, the flute fluttered, the trombone growled, sometimes alone, sometimes tutti, sometimes soft, sometimes not. A boy violinist stood up every now and then to play little tunes, often singing along. Another pianist entered and poked at the insides of the piano. Three woodwinds turned to each other and chirped in a menage.

There were moments of spontaneous beauty in its 20-plus minutes, and occasional bits of theatrical effectiveness. But mostly “The Aviary” was tedious. And old hat as well.

Earlier, the first half of the concert in Bing Theater consisted of scarcely 15 minutes of Bussotti’s music, four pieces in all.

“Un Poema del Tasso” (1957), in its version for bass and piano, unwinds prettily, a gently arching, atonal vocal line supported by soft dissonances from the piano. The “Assolo di Racine” from the opera “Fadra” (1988), for bass alone, is also mostly soft, consisting of short, disjunct phrases separated by silence. “Olaf Palme” (1986), for piano, combines tone clusters and bangy bluster with bursts of jazzy energy and ethereal sostenuto. “Il suicidio di Seneca” (1991), proves to be a fairly straightforward transcription for bass and piano--the accompaniment in the low register--of a scene from Monteverdi’s “L’Incoronazione di Poppea.”

Mauro Castellano (piano) and Aurio Tomicich (bass) offered poised, unhurried readings. No texts were provided. All in all, a ho-hum, albeit brief evening. So much for chutzpah.