December 20, 2009: Is minimalism still minimal? (Was it ever?)

An interesting phenomenon of the twentieth century was the formation of specific groups around the initial intention of performing a single composition.  The best known example (at least in the United States) is the Tashi Quartet, formed in 1973, which consisted of violinist Ida Kavafian, pianist Peter Serkin, cellist Fred Sherry and clarinetist Richard Stoltzman, which happens to the instrumentation for Olivier Messiaen's Quartet for the End of Time.  Less known in this country is Hoketus, which was founded by the Dutch composer Louis Andriessen explicitly for the performance of his 1976 composition of the same name.  This was a larger ensemble than the Tashi Quartet;  and, because Andriessen's "Hoketus" composition was based on two musical "voices," each filling in the rests of the other's line (as in the hocket of medieval music), the group consisted of two equal groups of instruments:  two pianos, two Fender Rhodes electric pianos, two sets of panpipes, two saxophones, two electric bass guitars, and two percussionists.  While Tashi reunited in 2008 to perform Messiaen's quartet in celebration of the centenary of his birth, Hoketus disbanded in 1987.

However, Andriessen had formed an earlier group in 1972;  and this ensemble is still performing.  It is the Dutch Orkest De Volharding;  and it was also first assembled to perform a composition of the same name, "De Volharding," which is Dutch for "perseverance."  One wonders if Andriessen may have picked up John Cage's interest in the I Ching, in the course of which he had encountered a frequently recurring piece of advice:  "Perseverance furthers."  The Orkest De Volharding is certainly persevering better than Hoketus did;  and the American label Mode has now released a 2-CD set of their performances under the general title The Minimalists.

What about minimalism itself?  Is it persevering?  For that matter just what do we mean when we invoke "minimalism" as a genre label?  Needless to say, Wikipedia has an entry for it with the following introductory summary:

Minimalist music is an originally American genre of experimental or Downtown music named in the 1960s based mostly in consonant harmony, steady pulse (if not immobile drones), stasis and slow transformation, and often reiteration of musical phrases or smaller units such as figures, motifs, and cells. Starting in the early 1960s as a scruffy underground scene in San Francisco alternative spaces and New York lofts, minimalism spread to become the most popular experimental music style of the late 20th century. The movement originally involved dozens of composers, although only four—Terry Riley, Steve Reich, Philip Glass, and, less visibly if more seminally, La Monte Young—emerged to become publicly associated with it in America. In Europe, its chief exponents were Louis Andriessen, Karel Goeyvaerts, Michael Nyman, Gavin Bryars, Steve Martland, Henryk Górecki, Arvo Pärt, and John Tavener. The term "minimalist music" was derived around 1970 by Michael Nyman from the concept of minimalism, which was earlier applied to the visual arts.[2] For some of the music, especially that which transforms itself according to strict rules, the term "process music" has also been used.

This is relatively consistent with the characterization attributed to Riley in the booklet of notes provided with the Orkest de Volharding CDs:  "music based on layered, simple patterns and a clear pulse, in which gradual, systematic changes (not 'development' in the serial sense) happen over a long period of time."  Note the way in which the parenthesis characterizes minimalism as a reaction against the "neurotic" (as Riley put it) obsessions that academics had with serialism.  Of course, if you really wanted to "get minimal," it would be hard to beat John Cage's 4'33", whose title specified a period of silence that constituted the composition;  but Cage actually did beat out 4'33" with 0'00", which basically imposes no constraints on any number of musicians.  (Yes, it has a score.  Yes, I saw it.  Yes, I have attended a performance of it.)  On the other hand Glass has taken to distancing himself from the "minimalist" label, preferring instead "music with repetitive structures."

So what does The Minimalists have to offer the curious listener?  From a historical point of view, it includes the composition that many (at least those who prefer to disregard Cage and Young) claim started it all, Riley's "In C," which was composed in 1964.  This was a score so "minimal" that it fit on the jacket of the original vinyl recording and now has its own Web page.  Like 4'33" it can be performed by any number of people performing any assortment of instruments;  and the score consists of 53 separate melodic fragments.  As the Orkest de Volharding booklet states:

The performers decide individually when to move from one motive to the next.

The fragments need to be played in numerical order.  Each one may be repeated any number of times, and the performer may rest for any period of time before moving on to the next fragment.

The original album became one of the icons of Sixties permissiveness.  You were not hip if you did not have a copy;  and for many it was the music of choice for experimenting with mind-altering substances.  Much to my surprise, I never encountered a party where everyone gathered around to play along with the recording (which was certainly easy to do, except when you had to flip to the other side).  These days with CD technology, we no longer have to worry about that flip;  and a recent check of Amazon.com turned up over a dozen recordings, including the New Albion "25th Anniversary Concert," recorded by an "all-star cast" on January 14, 1990.

The problem is that the concept behind "In C" tends to persevere far better than the music itself.  It is a bit like the old Japanese proverb, which states that there are two kinds of fools: the man (accepting the cultural bias of the language of the time and culture) who has never climbed Mount Fuji, and the man who climbs Mount Fuji twice.  Every serious listener ought to include a performance of "In C," preferably in a concert setting, as part of a "portfolio" of listening experiences;  but little is gained by having that experience a second time, even with different performers.  There is only so much that "In C" has to say;  and, once you get it, you've got it.  So, while its inclusion in The Minimalists is historically significant, there are probably better ways one could spend the 51'29" of its duration.

The only composer represented in this collection that is not American is the "founding father of the group," Andriessen.  He is represented by "Workers Union," described in the booklet as a "hooligan" version of "In C."  What this means is that none of the pitches are strictly specified, but the rhythm is exactly fixed.  In other words performance requires the same strict discipline of rhythmic performance that "Hoketus" demands;  and coordination is aggravatingly difficult, "just like the organizing and carrying out of any political action," as Andriessen puts it.  At 17'15" the performance is somewhat shorter than that of "Hoketus;"  but it is a major challenge for the listener.  In this case, however, listening multiple times may be more rewarding as one begins to develop an ear for the full scope of invention in Andriessen's rhythmic patterns.

In addition to Riley, the Americans represented on The Minimalists are (in temporal order of their compositions), John Adams ("Short Ride on a Fast Machine," 1986), David Lang ("Street," 1993), Steve Reich ("City Life," 1995), and Kyle Gann ("Sunken City (in Memoriam New Orleans)," 2005).  The Adams and Reich compositions were arranged for the instrumental membership of Orkest de Volharding (flute, three saxophones, three trumpets, three trombones, horn, piano, and bass, with occasional additions) by Artistic Manager Anthony Fiumara.  Most interesting is the coupling of Reich and Gann, since the sampled sounds of "City Life" include speech samples from firemen on the site of the 1993 bombing of the parking garage of the World Trade Center.  Needless to say, these sounds acquired an entirely new layer of meaning after September 11, 2001 and provide a chilling complement to Gann's meditation on the aftermath of Katrina.

On the other hand Adams, Reich, and Gann are clearly thinking beyond the "roots" of minimalism in the compositions that represent them in this collection.  As one might guess, those works are the most interesting in the package.  Personally, I think Glass has the right idea.  If you must talk about what you are doing (and I really do not think any composer should feel obliged to do so), it is always better to resort to language more specific than that of a label that was already beginning to wear out when it was first applied.