The Los Angeles Times from Los Angeles, California • 73

Cos Anodes Stmcs MUSIC REVIEW Henze Premiere at Bing Theater i BT MARTIN BEBNHETMER V- PART IV OCTOBER 8, 1975 JACK SMITH Do as They Do Times Music Critic The 38th season of Monday Evenirg Concerts opened' this week at the Leo S. Bing Theater with the American; premiere of Hans Werner Henze's "Voicw." It is, I think, a-masterpiece. Written in 1973 and first performed in London in January, 1974, "Voices" reveals its composer as a master craftsman, a fervent polemicist, an outrageous and a songwriter of remarkable wit and sensitivity. "Voices" is not like any other song cycle we know. It' lasts well over two hours, embraces 22 poems of brazen' disparity, straddles four languages, flirts with stylistic impulses as widely separated as Oriental modes and cabaret tinsel and, to accompany the ingenious vocal lines, enlists; 16 virtuosos who perform on 68 instruments some conventional, and some as exotic as lotos flute, cacavella, me tallophone, rugby whistle and Jew's harp.

Utilizes Resources The description makes "Voices" sound gimmicky, like compositional nose-thumbings of an aging; enfant terrible. But the score is none of these things Henze has somehow managed to utilize his vast unortho- dox resources in an always coherent and often poignant; manner. He creates wondrously purposeful collages. never confuses means with ends. He irrevocably fuses: philosophy with music, invariably engages in the intellect while assaulting the emotions.

He knows what he is doing. In earlier stages of his vicissitudinous career, Henze pro duced neoromantic symphonies, strictly cerebral exper-C iments, defiantly dissonant explorations and obligatory se-; rial exercises. Now, nearing 50, he seems to have gotten most of that out of his supercreative system. He is free-v to write in a language that is at once accessible, provoca tive and (for him) politically useful. Henze has become an activist, a musical Marxist, if yoif will.

His visions of universal pain and injustice are clear and he projects them with fine artistic honesty tinged with fury. He makes the impact of his judgments tran- scend specifics of time and dace because his tools are Li J3l iwJ MANAGERS AND MISSIONARIES-Julie Toy- zeal for detail to "4-Thought," a money-man-lor, left, and Linda Hecht of Bel-Air bring their oging business which they began at home. Times photo by Harry Chase WOMEN WHO MAKE ENDS MEET Solvency Over a Bel-Air Teapot BT BETTY LTDDICK Times Staff Writer As the language of American politics sinks into a mess of homogenized gobbledygook, we should be ever more thankful to those few dedicated journalists who have taken care to preserve some of the great moments from the age of rough-hewn individualism and the self-made man. The current vogue for the words of Harry Truman as entertainment is obviously a symptom of our nostalgia for a language whose point was always clear, however misbegotten its imagery and syntax. The other day, thanks to the fidelity of a reporter on the Portland Oregonian, we enjoyed a sampling of the dauntless epigrams and metaphors of Anthony Branden-thaler, a self-made lumberman who came out of the sawmills to run Oregon's centennial celebration some years ago.

A man with a similar gift was the late James McSheehy of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, whose inimitable coinages have been reverently collected for posterity by such San Francisco newspapermen as Michael Harris, Dick Chase and Charles McCabe. In a story written on the 100th anniversary of McShee-hy's birth, Harris recalled some of the spontaneous locutions with which the supervisor routinely galvanized constituents and colleagues alike. "Ladies," -he once said to a group of housewives, speaking as the chairman of the finance committee, "I have here some figures which I want you to take home in your heads; which I know are concrete." Speaking out against an ill-conceived construction project, McSheehy warned his fellows: 'This has all the earmarks of an eyesore." Facing up to a melancholy problem that municipalities have had to deal with since the earliest times, McSheehy asked: "Where will we get the money to bury the indignant dead?" Always the financial watchdog, McSheehy opposed a particular budget request with the opinion, "They don't need that much money for the next physical year." And of another dubious project he declared, "It would be like carrying coals to Mahommed." Whatever his weaknesses, it could not be said that McSheehy was afraid to speak his mind. "Let's call a shovel a shovel," he would say, "no matter who we hit." McSheehy had a gift not only for expressing practical ideas, but also for philosophical flight. He could soar.

"Let vs put our shoulder to the wheel," he once exhorted, "and help the Ship of State to sail down Market St." As "the most splendid McSheehyisra of them all," col- umnist Charles McCabe nominated an apothegm which, as he pointed out, incorporated all the essentials of public life: "You can't straddle the fence and still keep your ear to the ground." My own favorite is a remark McSheehy interje'cted into an hour-long debate on whether the city should buy six gondolas, to be imported from Italy at a cost of several thousand dollars, for a lake in Golden Gate Park. "Gentleman," suggested the always penurious McSheehy, "why spend all that money? Why not just buy two of them and let nature take its course?" those of a poet, not a mere propagandist. I The tools in "Voices" include jazz, aleatoric flights, music-theater flourishes, snatches of folk song, unabashed lyricism and a few nods in the direction of Schoenberg and friends. Henze borrows the black humor of Kurt Weill when it serves his needs, yet the effect here is far more morbid than ft was in his cyanide-coated television operetta, "Rachel, la Cubana." Sustains Interest Despite some repetition of mood and idea, Henze deftly manages to sustain interest throughout the generous length of the cycle. His secret: a constant, subtle alternation of parody and pathos, coupled with an equally constant shift in expressive gears.

There is Mahlerian cantabile in an antiwar (Vietnam) song, "Cuban Poets Do Not Sleep Anymore," set to a poem by Heberto Padilla. This gives way to "Sprechstimme" with a far Eastern accent in Ho Chi Minn's "Prison Song." Bert Brecht's "Keiner Oder Alle takes us back to the Berlin cabarets, from which Henze flies to a satirical view of American pop culture in the agonized lament of "The Electric Cop," a poem by Victor Hernandez Cruz from "Black Voices of the Seventies." And so it goes, with nods to Heine with a macabre waltz with a sad salute to the Italian Resistance (Gino de Sanctis' A point of re- down to a freshly brewed pot of tea the other day in Taylor's living room. They had solid backgrounds going for them in addition to the garage sale that netted $900. Hecht, 34, with a BS in business and specialty in accounting from UCLA, had worked as a systems engineer at IBM before her marriage to a financial consultant. (She's no relation to the writer Hecht.) Taylor, 33, had attended business college in England and been a secretary and administrative assistant.

The women by then partners in business pulled the budgets they devised into a packet to sell mail-order. "Control your money," they wrote in a headline. "Don't let your money control you." They put an ad in the Sunday paper and waited. And waited. Not one person wrote to them.

"Where do we go from here?" they asked each other. Time for more planning, more tea. They talked with an attorney friend one night at dinner. "We have all these figures and we don't know how to sell them," Taylor said. Why not apply them to me? the attorney asked.

'Take over my money." That's how Taylor and Hecht launched "4-Thought," a financial service in which they are part money-managers, part missionaries, part moms and total shrinks. The women analyze clients' styles of living, set up a budget, get Please Turn to Page 8, Col. 1 They tried to figure it out the other day how many cups of tea they've shared over the eight years they've known each other. Hundreds? Thousands? The two young women would sit over their teacups, the leafy glades of Bel-Air outside their kitchen windows, and they'd plan a garage sale or a play group for their children or new classes to take at UCLA. Friends told them how organized they were.

Real detail people. Linda Hecht and Julie Taylor marveled at that, plus their ability to work together. Over the years, as their children grew, they talked about extending their talents into a real business, but lack of money and mobility always slowed them. Finally, last summer, they hit on the idea: a financial service run from their homes. Taylor already had begun research on how she spent her money.

She and her husband, who is in marketing, had separated and she faced a reduced standard of living. (Alas, there are budgets and canned-soup dinners, even in Bel-Air.) The women continued the financial research together, scouring books and government publications, and growing increasingly dismayed. "We'd find budgets that would say, "Spend 5-7 on this, 10-20 on Taylor said, "but we wanted figures." They had to develop them themselvesithey said, sitting Please Turn to Page 17, GoL 1 IIP i MmMM MOVIE REVIEW A Rustling Match iltiiifiillBil MiiliifiiiiiSillw lpiiiwii In Meanwhile, according to political columnist Neil Lewis, the tradition of winged oratory still lives in the New Jersey State Legislature, where a state senator, Anthony Im-periale, is keeping McSheehy's gonfalon afloat. Like McSheehy, Imperiale watches pennies in behalf of his constituents. "They're fed up," he told his colleagues, "with exuberant taxes." And in advocating passage of a tax reform bill, he promised: "It will go a long way toward nipping the bull by the horns." Occasionally Imperiale brings off a truly stupefying comment.

One of this magnitude came out in debate on a proposed code of ethics. The senator asked whether the code would speed construction of Newark Airport, a question whose relevance his colleagues did not immediately grasp. Was there not, the senator reminded them, a dispute over how many minority workers should be hired on the airport job? Then did it not follow that "this code of ethnics might solve the Back in the 1960s, when the San Francisco supervisors were debating whether to spend $55,000 for a wind study of Candlestick Park, columnist McCabe proposed that the money be spent on a wind study, but not at Candlestick. "I am frankly worried about the decline of political oratory," he said "Our supervisors are about as eloquent as Calvin Coolidge in a shower So let's have that wind study. But in the right place.

Candlestick is hopeless. Maybe we can reclaim the supervisors. Some of the $55,000 could be diverted to an award of the annual McSheehy Medallion for Oratory." 1 A fine idea. Perhaps we could have a national hall of 'fame for the likes of McSheehy, Brandenthaler, Imperiale land our own late Frank Bonelli; a place where their words could be graved in stone, and as McSheehy himself once said, "their roosters could come home to hatch." JSiLl LEE REMICK portrays Jennie Churchill JENNIE CHURCHILL AND SON WINSTON photographed in 1876. TELEVISION REVIEW 'Jennie' a Smashing Dame BY CHARLES CHAMPLIN Timet Entertainment Editor The movie that works well appears to have a life of its own, loping along with inevitable logic from start to finish and never letting you get too aware of the craft and the calculations.

It's when you see all too clearly that you're being taken by the hand, when you spot the manipulations and feel the nudges in the ribs and realize the surefire elements are laid out like the meat in a display case that you begin usually to suspect that the movie is in some kind of trouble. The surprising thing about Frank Perry's "Rancho Deluxe" is that it has the courage of its concoctions, and gets aw jy with them. Despite the authenticity of its Montana locations, the movie bears approximately the same relation to reality as an Agatha Christie mystery, a Georges Feydeau farce or Mandrake the Magician. But accepted on its own terms as a high energy, low concern diversion, "Rancho Deluxe" works fine. Its ingredients remain a little too identifiable one by one (pointed at in a "These are the jokes" way) for the stew to qualify as a total success, but still "Rancho" makes a bright, raunchy evening.

The principal charm is a sporty and original script by Thomas McGuane, full of sharp dialogue (not least within it, a diatribe against the pickup truck) and fine inventions, one of which is a long conversation that takes place hind the plinking, bonking screen of one of those electronic Ping-Pong games. Back to Palship We are back to palship again, this time with Jeff Bridges and Sam Waterston as a pair of small-time rustlers, content to take one head at a time, as much for excitement as for gain. They cross trails with Clifton James, whose facade as a rugged right-wing rancher conceals a hair-raising past in Schenectady. Elizabeth Ashley is his sex-hungry wife and Harry Dean Stanton and Richard Bright are the ranch hands, cowed by both the bosses. Slim Pickens is the lame stock detective imported, with his wide-eyed, wide-chested daughter (Charlene Dallas), to wrestle with the rustlers.

Patti D'arbanville and Maggie Wellman are as near as we get to a love interest, sexy sisters who lighten the bur-. dens of our heroes. (We are also back to women as mostly reactive objects, and in a picture to be taken more seriously the eniinists would find grounds for rightful exasperation.) There are momenta when you suspect the movie had heavier overtones than those that survive, as when the lads go home to visit: Bridges to see his rich parents and his ex-wife, who enrages him for no evident reason; Waterston, an Indian, to see his father and talk about reservation days. With a little squinting, you can read in comments on the taming and trivializing of the West, with boredom a larger threat than hoof and mouth disease. A light cynicism is the prevailing tone and in a ster-Please Turn to Page 15, Col.

1 BY CECIL SMITH Times Television Critic THE VIEWS INSIDE Thames Television on the British ITV commercial network a year ago. The. play makes its American debut tonight via PBS (Channel 28 at 9, each episode repeated Saturday nights at 8:30 and Sundays at noon). It's part of the Great Performances series underwritten by Exxon, which is usually concerned with classical music and ballet. Remick's performance is little short of sensational, judging by the strong-willed young teenager she plays in tonight's episode and by the vacious grande dame in the final episode of the series.

We were in the Teddington studios of Thames TV where under the direction of that gifted Welshman James Cellan Jones, a ball was being held in celebration of the end of World War I and the beginning of the new freedom of what Scott Fitzgerald called the Jazz Age. Remick was playing Jennie Jerome at 64, a little heavier and a little shopworn but still full of bounce. So much so that she plunged into the middle of the floor and did a wild jazz dance called the Boston Trot while her son Winston, then-Please Turn lo Page 18, Col. 1 "My memory of my mother was in a riding habit, fitting like the skin and often beautifully spotted with mud, She and my father hunted continually on their large horses, and sometimes there were great scares when one or the other did not come back for many hours after they were expected. My mother alway seemed to me a fairy princess, a radiant being possessed of limitless riches and power.

I loved her dearly but at a distance Winston Churchill Jennie Jerome, the American mother of Winston Churchill, was no fairy princess, not the way Lee Remick plays her. She was all too real, too earthy radiant, yes, but woman, every inch of her, filled to bursting with the joy of living. "God, what a smashing dame she was!" Lee Remick said last year in London where they were filming the seven-part drama, "Jennie." That was the one quality she wanted to get onto the screen what a great dame this lady was. London critics seemed to feel she achieved it to a great extent and voted Remick their highest honors when the seven-part play was offered by BOOKS: Kenneth Gross' "The Alice Crimmins Case" by Robert Kirsch on Page 6. "A Pain In the A-" by Kevin Thomas on Page 12.

"Hard Times" by Charles Chomplin on Page 14. MUSIG Camerata Orchestra at Wilshire Ebell Theater by Albert Goldberg on Page 15. Organist Marsha Foxgrover at Occidental College by Walter Arlen on Page 13. Craig Hundley at the Times by Leonard Feather on Page 17. "TELEVISION.

ABC Afterschoo! Special "It Must Be Love 1 (Cause I Feel So Dumb)" by Cecil Smith on Page 20. AND OTHER FEATURES Dear Abby Page 9 Joyce Haber Page 10 Bridge Page 7 Jody Jacobs Page 2 Call Sheet Page 11 Television Pages 18, 20 Comics Page 19 Things Page 3.