Reading Philip Glass's memoir Words Without Music, recently, I realized that I didn't have a recording of his seminal Music in Twelve Parts, a work Glass composed between 1971 and 1974. This music was written in a style similar to that of much of Einstein on the Beach, which is the Philip Glass music I like best (along with his solo piano pieces). So I bought the 2006 live recording that Glass made for his own label, Orange Mountain Music. (Amazon.com, Amazon UK) This set is on four discs, and runs for 3:24.
When Glass wrote this work, it was just the first part, and the title referred to the twelve lines of counterpoint in the piece. But someone he played it for asked him where the other eleven parts were, and he decided to writ them. Glass has said, about this work, "It was a breakthrough for me and contains many of the structural and harmonic ideas that would be fleshed out in my later works. It is a modular work, one of the first such compositions, with twelve distinct parts which can be performed separately, in one long sequence, or in any combination or variation."
The piece is scored for three electric organs, two flutes, four saxophones (two soprano, one alto, one tenor) and one female voice. Only the organ is heard throughout; each "part" uses a different combination of instruments, with seven musicians playing, and one engineer doing the live sound mix.
It's a fascinating work, which shows the range of what Glass's minimalism was like in the early 1970s. Each of the parts is different, yet they share the same rhythm. Like all of this music, it's not for everyone; and you might find that some of the parts aren't to your liking. When I listen to Einstein on the Beach, there are parts I don't care for, and skip: the ones with the really loud, harsh organ. There's not much of that here, but there are a couple of parts with a similar sound.
In any case, if you like minimalist music, and aren't familiar with this work, it's one to hear.
Composer Philip Glass has written a memoir, Words Without Music. (Amazon.com, Amazon UK) In this book, Glass tells about his life growing up in Baltimore, his experiences as a 15-year old at college, his life in downtown New York, and his music. Glass has had an interesting life, but, unfortunately, he’s no writer.
This book is the story of a musician, a well-known and successful composer, as he makes his own path with a new style of music. Glass takes a fair amount off time to describe his life growing up in Baltimore, and his experiences as a very young college student. But then, when he talks about his time in Paris, and his years in downtown New York, it seems like he’s just name-dropping, as the pages are full of lists of all the famous people he knew and met.
He gets into travel writing, describing in too much detail some of his trips to India and other places, but Glass is no travel writer; these sections are uninteresting. Finally, about two-thirds of the way through the book, he starts talking about the music. It’s around then that Einstein on the Beach, the work that catapulted him to fame, shows up. It was interesting to read about how Einstein was created and produced, and the oddity of Glass going back to driving a cab, after a long tour of Europe and two sold-out performances at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City.
But, then, he describes the rest of his musical career briefly and succinctly, as if for liner notes, giving little attention to the rest of the music he wrote. There are longish sections about some of his major works – Satyagraha, Akhnatan, Koyaanisqatsi, and others – but he curiously ignores his symphonies (other than to liken himself to Bruckner), gives no insight into the other music he’s written, such as his solo piano music, string quartets, etc.
I found this book to be dry and distant, as though Glass really didn’t want to write it. And he’s not a good writer; whoever was supposed to edit the book clearly wasn’t allowed to make many changes. There are clunky sentences throughout, and the book skips back and forth in time in a jarring manner.
If you’re a Philip Glass fan, you’ll want to read this book. But if not, you won’t find much of interest in it. This is a man who has certainly had an interesting life, and who should be the subject of a biography. He’s just not the person who should write it.
I’ve just started reading Philip Glass’s memoir, Words Without Music. (Amazon.com, Amazon UK) It’s quite timely that Google has posted a video of him giving a talk at Google about the book, and his life. So far, the book is interesting, but Glass is not a very good writer, and the prose is a bit turgid. But he’s got lots of interesting tales to tell.
Note: I originally wrote this post in October, 2007, and having an urge to listen to Einstein on the Beach today, I decided to update it and tweak it a bit.
Philip Glass’s opera Einstein on the Beach is one of the seminal works of minimalist music. (This genre of music is characterized by repetitive motives and rhythmic structures.) Described as the “first in a Glass Trilogy of operas about men who changed the world through the power of their ideas,” Einstein, first performed in 1976 with staging by Robert Wilson, was so full of new ideas that it rocked the music world. The combination of spoken parts and singing, the tight integration of set design and dance, and the use of minimalist music in such a large scale work, mark Einstein as one of the defining works of minimalist music. Whether you like minimalism or not – and I can understand those who find it boring, even though I don’t – it is hard to deny the importance of this work.
An extensive quote from the notes to the Nonesuch recording, while slightly hubristic, gives a summary of its importance. “It is the first, longest, and most famous of the composer’s operas, yet it is in almost every way unrepresentative of them. Einstein was, by design, a glorious “one-shot” – a work that invented its context, form and language, and then explored them so exhaustively that further development would have been redundant. But, by its own radical example, Einstein prepared the way – it gave permission – for much of what has happened in music theater since its premiere.”
In 1984, I was fortunate to see the revival of the work at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, in New York, and was marked by the audacity of the music and the staging. Ten years later, when Nonesuch released a “new” recording of the work, I bought it immediately. (The original, and shorter, Sony recording, originally issued on Tomato records (which I actually still have somewhere on LPs) was later re-released on CD.) Unfortunately, neither of these are available on CD any more, though you can purchase them by download. It’s quite a shame that this opera is out of print on CD.
While I have listened to it several times over the years, it languished on my shelves until a recent query on a classical music newsgroup reminded me that I hadn’t listened to it in several years. So, how does Einstein stand up after all this time? Does it still sound as important? Does it sound dated? Einstein is clearly a product of the 1970s, both musically (Glass’s music has evolved since then, but not to the point of rupture) and culturally (there are many cultural references to the times). The work consists of the following:
As you can see above, there are several long sections, which provide the “meat” of the work – ranging from ten to twenty minutes, or grouped into scenes lasting about twenty minutes each – and there are also what Glass and Wilson called knee plays, “brief interludes that also provided time for scenery changes,” with spoken text containing numbers, solfege syllables and poems. These five knee plays provide musical anchors for the work, using the same motives throughout, and the other long sections the “meat” of the narrative.
Some of the sections, such as the first long part, Train 1, or the later Dance 1, are raucous examples of Glass’s signature style, replete with organ and fast rhythmic motives, while others, such as the knee plays, the Entrance movement, and Mr. Bojangles, are more subtle and relaxed. Others, such as Night Train, fit somewhere in the middle. Throughout the work, there is a tension between the speed and intensity of the different sections, providing enough variety – within the relatively strict framework of minimalism – to keep the listener interested. (Though one loses all of the visual effects, which, as I recall, were quite striking; enough so to keep me interested throughout the nearly five-hour performance.) This said, the faster movements seem to me to be the weakest sections of the work, at least musically. They seem to belong to a different era of Glass’s music–similar, for example, to his Music in Twelve Parts, in their “radical minimalism”.
Glass’s music is gradual, but not in the same way as, say, Steve Reich, the other major minimalist composer of the period. Glass seems to focus more, at least in Einstein, on atmosphere, whereas Reich’s music is more about process. One of the most emblematic sections, “Mr. Bojangles”, which features a speaker reciting what may be seen as simply a nonsense text, a chorus, and obligato violin, and what could pass for a minimalist continuo, is a modern version of a Bach cantata. Musically, this section is one of the strongest in the entire work. Visually, if my memory serves, it was also stunning, and I seem to recall that the violinist was sitting on-stage as he performed his part. (And the seductive melodies and motives of that obligato violin return throughout the work, providing coherence, and beautiful music.)
There is no plot to this opera, and it is not even entirely about Einstein. The music, while fitting together, could be listened to separately. In fact, as the notes to this recording point out, “some of the music in Einstein had been originally written for a long series of concert pieces.” For those who cannot sit through the 3:20 of the entire work, there is therefore nothing wrong in listening to it in bits and pieces. After all, this is not an opera in the usual sense of the word. It is more like a series of set-pieces that fit together because of their similarity, motives and atmosphere.
To respond to one of the questions I asked above, Is it dated?, I must answer emphatically that it is not. Minimalism has been integrated into much modern music, both “classical” and electronic music, as well as other genres. Glass and Reich can both be seen as groundbreaking precursors, and, while Einstein may have shocked the first people who saw it performed in July, 1976, at the Festival d’Avignon, little of its music or staging would be seen as unorthodox today. Musically, a few of the sections may sound a bit clichéd, but, for the most part, this music has aged well, and, after nearly thirty years, belongs to the canon of classical music.
While some of this music will annoy anyone who feels that minimalism is not “real” music, other sections of the work are brilliant examples of musical atmosphere and structure. I am pleased to have brought this work back into my listening rotation, even though I won’t be listening to the work in its entirety each time – I’ll listen to a handful of sections, perhaps, or one disc at a time. (With iTunes or an iPod, making a playlist of my favorite sections would be interesting as well.) But I would also like to see a DVD of a performance of Einstein. I don’t know whether any of the performances were filmed, but, if not, it certainly is time for a revival in order to do so. Much more so than many classical operas, this work depends greatly on its visuals and staging, and the time is right for it to come back into the zeitgeist.