ADAMS AT DISNEY 

I consider John Adams to be the preeminent living American composer. So when a program is billed by the Los Angeles Philharmonic as “John Adams Conducts”, say no more, I wanna be there. It turns out Adams holds the position Creative Chair of the LA Phils. That meant this night he was more curator than conductor.

A world premiere set to open the program was cancelled due to performer illness. The Los Angeles Percussion Quartet filled in. Their selection, “Aura” played on a large ensemble of percussion instruments was performed in the dark. No really, the house lights were turned off and the players wore LED lights on their hands. It was less of a spectacle than what you might expect and for a percussion piece unexpectedly subdued.

Adams came to the stand for the second piece, yet another world premiere. Scored for brass, piano, harp and percussion, Anthony McIntosh’s “Shasta” proved to be more academic than engaging.

After intermission Adams came on stage microphone in hand to introduce the concluding two pieces. Both works he said were by composers he’d known and worked with during his early days in San Francisco. I’d read his delightful autobiography, “Hallelujah Junction” so I had a pretty good idea of what to expect.

First up, Julius Eastman’s minimalist “Evil Nigger” scored for four pianos. Notes reiterated, themes appeared and disappeared, all the while sonority rolled along. Intriguing though prolonged.

And then the finale, Salvatore Martirano’s “L.’s G. A. for Gas Masked Politico, Helium Bomb and Two-Channel Tape”. In which L is for Lincoln, G.A. is for Gettysburg Address and in which a gas masked narrator recites portions of Lincoln’s text while hitting on nitrous oxide and prowling the stage backed by a rudimentary psychedelic film and prepared tape. Silly? Perhaps. Then again, it's a preserved artifact of another time when the potential of creativity seemed infinite, at least so it seemed in 60’s San Francisco.

In all an evening more interesting than enthralling. I would way have preferred a full philharmonic orchestra filling this beautiful place with John Adams compositions. At least it was a return visit to the Frank Gehry architectural masterpiece that is Disney Hall.

 

 

Time in the Apple - Pt 2 - The Met and then the Met

We dawdle, typically, getting out the door in the morning. We’ve only a short cab ride to our destination, The Metropolitan Museum. Note to self: in the future try to factor in national holidays. It’s Veteran’s Day and the big parade is scheduled to start. 5^th Avenue is closed and the reams of traffic that roll down that major artery most days have got to go elsewhere. And since you can’t cross 5^th you can’t go east or west without first going north or south. Get anywhere quick? Not today.

Even after we get there we’re not there yet. We’ve come for the Cubism show but it soon seems like we’ll never get to it. We wander through the maze that is the Met. So many treasures from so many different ages and cultures. It’s not hard to be diverted.

We do locate the Cubism exhibit eventually. Entering we learn this is not the Met’s collection…not yet, anyway. It’s on loan from a Lauder heir.  Inveighed early on by Daniel-Henry Kahlweiler, agent to and

champion of the Cubists, to purchase a painting by the young Picasso, Kahlweiler so liked it that he decided to collect ‘em all. Not just Picasso, but Leger, Braque, Gris all made it in to his extensive collection covering decades of these artists’ work. Lauder will eventually donate the entire collection to the Met.

I found myself lingering over the pre-WW I paintings. It’s the era in which Frank Lloyd Wright designed the Darwin Martin house. In the tour I conduct there a point comes in which I must distinguish between the immutable universe of the Victorians and the Modern Age which seceded it. The new age is typified by the opening up of structure. These paintings from that period so exemplify that. They’ll make it into my tour.

And I’m reminded of George and me climbing Montmartre in the drizzling rain to find the studio where in those earliest days, the young impoverished Picasso and Braque would meet every evening to confer and, I would guess, commiserate.

A late lunch in the café, a visit to some exquisite porcelain from fin de siècle France and England, then back to our hotel. Traffic is still a mess. The cabbie leaves us off at Grand  Central Station suggesting that we will get to hotel faster by walking there than by staying in his cab.

Evening arrives and we venture out again. This time we’re headed to the Metropolitan Opera to attend the performance this whole trip has been built around, “The Death of Klinghoffer” by John Adams. I’m prepared to like it. I’m a great fan of Adams. The opera exceeds all my expectations. The beauty of so much of the music, the powerful performances, the outstanding stagecraft, the gripping narrative…it’s all so compelling. I had no idea of the depth of the work. It has so much to reveal that I know I must attend again if and when another opportunity arises somewhere, sometime.

Afterward it’s a quick walk across Broadway to Bar Boulud for a late meal. After the wretched excess of the night before I opt for the baked halibut and a coupla glasses of Tisot. Duck breast and more of that fine French champagne for Shelley

More tomorrow.