Reveling in Contradiction

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Many observers, myself included, tend to put Philip Glass in an uncomfortable box: He writes repetitive drones, he’s been writing the same thing over and over for more than 35 years, he can’t compose a melody worth a hill of beans, what was revolutionary in his earlier music now seems dated, and so on. Critical reaction to the October 5 San Francisco Opera premiere of his latest opera, Appomattox, has been divided, with one reviewer calling the score the best thing in the opera, and another decrying it as “unremitting … two hours of minor chord progressions, throbbing and tunneling into our brains like a migraine, as unforgiving as war.” (See the comprehensive list of Appomattox reviews, compiled by SFCV critic Lisa Hirsch.)

As if to confound conventional wisdom, Glass’ latest song cycle, Book of Longing, provides striking evidence of his ability to reinvent himself. In 100 intermissionless minutes, premiered on Tuesday at Stanford Lively Arts, the composer has managed to write a host of genuine melodies that brilliantly accompany Leonard Cohen’s evocative poetry and images.

Part of the success of the work stems from the complementary worldviews of the two Jewish septuagenarians. Cohen spent nearly five years (1994-1999) as a resident of a Zen retreat atop Mt. Baldy in Southern California, where he was ordained a Zen monk with the Dharma name of Jikan (Silent One). Perhaps meditation helped him come to terms with his inner demons, but it clearly did not silence his obsessions.

Sex, women, desire, and passion still dominate his recent artwork and his 2006 poetry collection, Book of Longing. As Cohen writes in “Epilogue – Merely a Prayer,” the last of the 22 poems that Glass has set, “I was looking through my dreams when I saw myself looking through my dreams looking though my dreams and so on and so forth … I did this for 30 years but I kept coming back to let you know how bad it felt.” Although Glass’ cycle ends with a suggestion that “the ashes have fallen away at last exactly as they’re supposed to do,” I wouldn’t bet on it.

Spare Music, Born of Social Conscience

Glass, who turned 70 on Jan. 31, has frequently composed works that reflect his deep concern about the direction humanity is headed. In an interview published in S.F. Opera’s program for Appomattox, Glass tells Thomas May, “I’m in a different place from where I was 30 years ago. I’ve moved away from the kind of idealism you see in my early works … I probably couldn’t write a piece like Satyagraha today … When I wrote Satyagraha in the late 1970s it was because I thought there was an urgent need to have a public conversation about nonviolence. Little did I — or any of us — know the directions that we were racing toward 30 years later — far, far worse than we ever imagined it could be.”

In short, both Cohen and Glass are contemporaries deeply troubled by internal and external forces they cannot control. Out of their common search for meaning amidst chaos has arisen a wonderful work of art.

Book of Longing is performed by amplified four-part vocal quartet and eight instrumentalists, and is accompanied by projections of Cohen’s art. Conductor Michael Riesman, playing keyboard, introduced Book of Longing with a purely instrumental prelude marked by Glass’ characteristically steady, Eastern-influenced pulse. In short order the curtain rose on a stage filled with eight musicians arrayed in front of a patchwork backdrop of Cohen’s black and white images. The images soon began to change as four singers, entering at different times, began to intone the lyrics in various configurations (solo, duet, trio, and quartet). Sometimes Cohen’s voice was heard between songs, speaking such lines as “Life is a day that stops working” in somewhat deadpan fashion.

Singers Blend Gamut of Styles

Performances by Wendy Sutter on cello, the arresting mezzo-sopranoTara Hugos, and tenor Will Erat’s were particularly impressive. The singers, who all have experience in both Broadway and opera, employed a modern, showbiz form of expression that, especially in Hugo’s case, transcended Broadway superficiality to reach to the heart of Cohen’s koans and conundrums. They weren’t always on pitch, but they still managed to get the message across.

Sometimes there was ironic humor: “You go your way / I’ll go your way too” and “Anyone who says I’m not a Jew is not a Jew / I’m very sorry but this decision is final,” the latter accompanied by a plaintive clarinet solo, are two examples. Occasionally the background changed color (first to red, then to beige) to match words and music. Whatever was going on, the music’s frequently depressive, perpetual churning unfailingly illuminated the perpetual churning within Cohen’s skull.

“I’m good at love / I’m good at hate / It’s in between I freeze,” writes Cohen in the longest poem in the book. It’s the spaces between Cohen’s words, which Glass filled with feelings unspoken, where his music proved most masterful.

Jason Victor Serinus writes about music for such publications as Opera News, American Record Guide, Stereophile, San Francisco Magazine, East Bay Express, and Bay Area Reporter.