By Steve Weinstein
By Bryan Bierman
By Lindsey Rhoades
By Chaz Kangas
By Ben Westhoff and Sarah Purkrabek
By Jena Ardell
By Jesse Sendejas Jr.
By Katherine Turman
This massive CD set is not going to clear things up. Put on Disc 1, you'll hear the shimmering tremolos of Shaker Loops (1978): Adams was the first composer to separate minimalism's textures from its logic and sculpt them capriciously, though smoothly enough to not quite sound arbitrary. Jump to disc 8, and the Western-pastoral consonance of the much later Hoodoo Zephyr sounds like a plausible MIDI-electronics continuation. In between, though, we hear the bittersweet romanticism of The Wound Dresser, located somewhere between Berg and Barber. Disc 9, meanwhile, gives us a Sondheimish musical about an earthquake, I Was Looking at the Ceiling and Then I Saw the Sky, whose settings of tough street talk are a little self-conscious. And on and on, aesthetic whiplash between each band and the next.
Adams has acknowledged a schizophrenic split in his music between his "dark, introspective, 'serious' " works on one side, and the other evoking what he calls "the Trickster, the garish, ironic wild card." That Jekyll and Hyde division still doesn't do justice to the variety of strategies here. There is, however, an identifiable stream in his output that I call his "busy" music, heard in Lollapalooza, Slonimsky's Earbox, the Chamber Symphony, Gnarly Buttons, the Violin Concerto. These pieces, mostly recent, seem obsessed with details of a consistent musical language and devoid of themes, repetitions, rhythmic grooves, or memorable images. Lots of academic pitch-set jugglers have written music fitting that non-description, of course, but Adams is the first to do so from a standpoint of accessibility and tonality. The busily jerky counterpoint of these pieces, in fact, sounds remarkably like tonal Schoenberg, and in some cases (the Violin Concerto, notably), like Schoenberg, period.
On the other hand, Horatio, other and mostly earlier pieces, like Christian Zeal and Activity, Harmonium, El Dorado, and Grand Pianola Music, value stillness enough to remind you that Adams found his original direction when his parents gave him a copy of John Cage's book Silence. If there's no common thread here, one can at least trace a circuitous path. Adams seems, quite justifiably, loathe to have remained an epigone of Reich and Glass; paraphrasing Picasso, he wanted to be a composer, not a minimalist. Once the commissions started rolling in, though, it's as though he got into the habit of composing for composing's sake, without anything of his own to say. The technique is unimpeachable, but the results are sicklied o'er with a pale cast of thought.
Having heard all these discs, do I like Adams's music? I can't think of another composer for whom that question is so difficult to answer, which may be enough to admire about him. This monument is hardly his tombstone; his Naive and Sentimental Music, which I heard premiered in Los Angeles in February, is not included here, and I thought that his best piece since Harmonielehre, reminding me much of the Copland Third Symphony. My favorite moment in his output remains the big, Beethovenian theme in the final movement of Grand Pianola Music BA DUM DA DEE DUM a work that every other commentator has dismissed as ironic, satirical. But for one stunning moment, Hamlet suddenly knew what was in his heart and said it boldly, unflinching and unashamed.