Music
Back to Basics
In the liner notes to the John Adams Earbox, 10 compact discs
of works, primarily orchestral, by John Adams '69, A.M. '72, the
composer recounts how minimalism--a musical style that features
simple harmonies and repetitive motifs--came to influence his
compositions: "It is difficult to describe to a person who
is not himself or herself a creator how one can be stimulated
by another's discovery. Minimalism was a profound breath of fresh
air in a world of increasingly contentious, theory-bound, abstract
rationalization, and at that moment it seemed to me like the only
way out of a stylistic rigor mortis that had gripped the whole
world of contemporary music."
The other liner notes are similarly assertive. The president
of Nonesuch, Robert Hurwitz, takes a potshot at Elliott Carter
'30, A.M. '32, D.Mus. '70, one of those "theory-bound"
composers. Hurwitz wrote the liner notes for the debut of Carter's
third string quartet but confesses, "Since the day I finished
the essay, I have not had any interest in hearing this piece again."
Le Monde critic Renaud Machart assesses Adams's reputation from
Europe, theorizing that detractors there "cannot bear the
idea that music be entertaining or that feelings be expressed."
Director Peter Sellars '80, who collaborated on Adams's stage
works--Nixon in China, The Death of Klinghoffer, and I Was Looking
at the Ceiling and Then I Saw the Sky--contributes a breathless
blurb that compares Adams to Verdi. The spin has a posthumous
feel: hagiography of this kind is usually reserved for the freshly
dead.
It's understandable why Adams and his supporters are prickly
about his reputation. Minimalism, as practiced by its disciples
Philip Glass, Steve Reich, and Terry Riley, takes its cue more
often from non-Western music--like Indian classical folk music,
African drumming, and the Southeast Asian gamelan--than the average
listener may be used to. A typical minimalist piece, if there
is one, uses instruments percussively rather than melodically;
the emphasis is on rhythmic repetition and the accumulation of
timbres to achieve what is most commonly referred to as a "hypnotic"
effect. (One friend, not a fan of this music, colorfully compared
its appeal to the allure of a drug experience: "dead from
the neck up," as he's fond of saying.) In some ways a reactionary
movement, minimalism returned to the basic elements of rhythm
and tonality after they had been cast aside by Schoenberg and
his minions: an attempt to rescue the baby from the bathwater.
Adams, though, is doubly controversial, because he also tints
his works with jazz, pop, Broadway, Latin, bluegrass, and cartoon
music. But his restless, omnivorous musical appetite should be
celebrated. His compositions are rhythmically vital; unearth new
orchestral colors; can be amusing, touching, grand, melodramatic,
or naïve. They adopt minimalist procedures, but in dramatic
ways, and express a unique, attractive sensibility, alternately
whimsical and grandiloquent. What's not to like?
Except for the debuts of Slonimsky's Earbox and Lollapalooza
and a new version of the early piece Harmonium, all the works
included in the boxed set, about half conducted by Adams himself,
have been previously issued by Nonesuch. They are fine interpretations,
and for the most part the only ones available, with two exceptions
worth noting. Despite his effusive liner notes, if I were Adams
I'd be unsatisfied with Gidon Kremer's performance of the Violin
Concerto, especially the furious "Toccare," which is
invariably harsh and, to my ears, so sloppy that it sounds cynical,
as if Kremer doesn't believe that audiences think the notes in
contemporary music really matter. Compare this to Telarc's version
issued last August by soloist Robert McDuffie, with Christoph
Eschenbach conducting the Houston Symphony: it's much more precise
and caring in its coloration. The concerto, a winner of the 1995
Grawemeyer Prize (an honor akin to the Pulitzer), is a great piece
that deserves as much attention to detail as possible. I also
prefer Simon Rattle's performance of Short Ride in a Fast Machine
and Harmonielehre on EMI. The parts are more articulated, and
even though the orchestral balances are less polished, the effects
Rattle achieves are striking. He brings out the goofy side of
Short Ride, making the woodwinds and strings warble and gobble,
like turkeys hopped up on speed.
A retrospective like the John Adams Earbox begs for a summing
up. Personally, I enjoy Adams's comedy more than his tragedy.
(One favorite is The Chairman Dances, adapted from Nixon in China:
at first, it's a mincing foxtrot, but in its middle, suddenly
takes on the unctuous swing of a lounge lizard--like a big band
with multiple-personality disorder). But overall, the best thing
about John Adams's work is how passionate and fearless his compositional
search has been. It's distracting that Adams and his record company
feel they have to make the point so bluntly. The music speaks
for itself, and more eloquently.
~Daniel Delgado
After four years at Harvard Magazine
,
Daniel Delgado is leaving to pursue his muse: he will write about
music full time.
