Adrian Spence describes Camerata Pacifica’s March slate as “an ultra-romantic program: two huge masterworks, with an interlude of transcribed starlight.”

That is to say, the fortunate ticket-holders will hear Arnold Schoenberg’s “‘Verklärte Nacht’ for String Sextet, from Richard Dehmel’s 1896 poem of the same name, Opus 4” (1900); Arvo Pärt’s “Spiegel im Spiegel” (1978); and Johannes Brahms’ “Piano Quintet in f-minor, Opus 34” (1864), performed by Abigél Králik and Jason Uyeyama, violins; Brian Chen and Meredith Crawford, violas; Ani Aznavoorian and Coleman Itzkoff, cellos; and Gilles Vonsattel, piano.

It is picquant that the three most-often-played works of Schoenberg— “Verklärte Nacht,” “Pelleas und Melisande, Symphonic poem after Maeterlinck, Opus 5 (1902),” and the “‘Gurrelieder,’ oratorio (1901-1911)” — are among his earliest published compositions, and though he never renounced them (as W.H. Auden renounced his greatest poem, “September 1, 1939,” for reasons he never quite made clear), they had, within five years, utterly ceased to reflect his musical ideas and ambitions.

An even more retro work, the “String Quartet in D-Major” (1897), which sounds as if Dvořák could have written it, and was pronounced “admirable” by Schoenberg’s hero Brahms, would I think be even more popular, if it hadn’t had to wait for publication until 1966, 16 years after the composer’s death.

The most attractive of the standard three, the “Gurrelieder,” is also much the most expensive to perform, requiring a huge orchestra, several choruses, and eight vocal soloists.

The least attractive, “Pelleas,” a symphony inspired by Maeterlinck’s moody drama — the basis, also, of Debussy’s only opera (1893-1902), and of two gorgeous sets of instrumental music, by Fauré (1898) and Sibelius (1905) — also requires a large orchestra.

For chamber ensembles, that leaves “Verklärte Nacht,” which also exists in a version for string orchestra, often performed by orchestras who want the credit for performing Schoenberg without alienating too large a percentage of their audience.

(I am not, by the way, suggesting the Camerata, which has gleefully performed — to great applause — contemporary works wild enough to make Schoenberg’s most avant garde pieces seem reactionary in contrast, has any such bait-and-switch in mind by programming this work. They are not pulling any “Schoenberg for people who hate Schoenberg” nonsense.)

The string orchestra version, however, tends to smear a thick dark cloud over the exquisite structure of the piece. The strolling lovers of Dehmel poem are enveloped in dense fog; they can’t see each other, let alone the moon.

This is only to say that I often listen to the sextet, never listen to the orchestra version. That’s my feeling as a music lover.

Musicians tend to take a different, arguably more practical, view. When the late, eternally lamented, Anacapa String Quartet was going to perform “Verklärte Nacht” with guests, I expressed this opinion to violinist Emma Rubinstein. “Oh,” she said, “But the musicians are terribly exposed in the sextet!”

The problem is, neither “Verklärte Nacht,” “Pelleas und Melisande,” nor the “‘Gurrelieder” have proven to be “gateway” compositions. People listen to them, generally like them (or, at least, don’t hate them), and that’s the end of it. Few will say to themselves, “Hmm! That’s pretty neat! I wonder what else he wrote?”

Albeit his name is associated with all that traditional music lovers don’t like about “modern” music, Schoenberg’s influence has been incalculable. He was the only great composer — and I consider him very great indeed — to found, from scratch, a school of composition, and whose followers became as famous as their teacher.

His greatest disciple, Alban Berg (1885-1935), has long since secured a modest place in the standard repetoire with his operas, “Wozzeck” and “Lulu,” his violin concerto, and his “Lyric Suite” for String Quartet. (Heifetz never recorded Berg’s violin concerto, though Isaac Stern and Arthur Grumiaux both did, but until Zvi Zeitlin made his superb recording, Israel Baker was the only fiddler to go on the record with Schoenberg’s elegant concerto.)

Schoenberg’s other famous pupil, Anton Webern (1883-1945), has been embraced by the champions of contemporary music and he, not Schoenberg, has become the frame of reference for most avant-garde musicians.

Schoenberg outlived both of his famous pupils, but has yet to surpass them in audience acceptance. Indeed, as the Camerata all but admits, his name on a program, if it is not to suppress ticket sales, still requires some kind of justification, if the potential ticket-buyers are not to start wondering what else might be happening that night, elsewhere.

I admit that Schoenberg takes persistence, but the rewards are great.

“Schoenberg was small in stature,” said Stravinsky. “I am five feet, three inches and weigh 120 pounds. These measurements were exactly the same fifty years ago, but Schoenberg was shorter than I am.

“He was bald, too, with a wreath of black hair around the rim of his white cranium, like a Japanese actor’s mask,” Stravinsky said. “He had large ears and a soft, deep voice — not so basso as mine — with a mellow, Viennese accent.

“His eyes were protuberant and explosive, and the whole force of the man was in them. I did not know then what I know now, which is that in the three years prior to ‘Pierrot,’ Schoenberg had written the ‘Five Pieces for Orchestra,’ ‘Erwartung,’ and ‘Die Glückliche Hand,’ a body of works we now recognize as the epicenter of the development of our musical language. (By ‘we’ I mean a small group still, for most composers are still bumping into each other in the dark.)”
 
Living in Los Angeles in the 1930s, Schoenberg used to play tennis regularly with George Gershwin on the court at the latter’s Beverly Hills estate. As he tended to do when he met other great composers, Gershwin pestered Schoenberg to give him composition lessons.

“But that would only turn you into bad Schoenberg,” said the Viennese master. “Whereas, you are such a very good George Gershwin.”
 
Adrian’s “transcribed starlight” is an unimprovable description of Arvo Pärt’s “Spiegel im Spiegel” — not to mention a fair percentage of Pärt’s entire oeuvre.
 
The Cameratans will perform this program at 7:30 p.m. Tuesday, March 12, at The Huntington, San Marino; Thursday, March 14, in the Colburn School, Los Angeles (“The Warner Henry Family Chamber Music Series at Zipper Hall”); and 7:30 p.m. Friday, March 15, at the Music Academy, Santa Barbara.
 
Admission to all venues is $75 and $35. For tickets and other information, show up at the box office, call the Camerata Pacifica at 805-884-8410, email tickets@cameratapacifica.org, or visit www.cameratapacifica.org.