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Do you feel obligated to program American composers?
I suppose I do, but even if I didn't, I'd be hard pressed
not to take an interest, because there are so many incredible
personalities and distinctive styles.
Particularly in the last 50 years, it has been and continues
to be the Americans who push the boundaries, who set
off the stylistic chain reactions that ripple across
the globe. It was Americans, in particular John Cage,
who had the antidote to the serial problem -- that strict,
mathematical, ars nova, out-of-touch-with-humanity musical
thinking that dominated academic musical circles for
some 20 years. [Serialism is a highly cerebral compositional
technique that evolved out of Europe in the mid-twentieth
century.]
The first minimalists -- Terry Riley, La Monte Young,
and Steve Reich - were Americans. Everybody reacted
to minimalism [which originated in the '60s] on some
level, in the same way that everybody reacted to Wagner.
You either loved it or you hated it. Composers all over
the world have reacted either by utilizing it for their
own purposes, or by rejecting it completely, combating
it with everything in their arsenal -- which has been
the post-minimalist phenomenon.
What about American music today?
There is so much going on, so many languages. It's an
embarrassment of musical riches. As a performer it's
enriching because I can move into the world of Steve
Reich and engage in that language, or into the world
of Osvaldo Golijov [whose "Last Round" is
programmed Sept. 26-28], who incorporates world music
- African chant, Cuban drumming, samba, flamenco, the
music of Astor Piazzolla - and mixes the ingredients
in his own, unique language.
And there are no rules. The problem for any composer
today, and it's a great one to have, is this freedom.
Any creative process means creating boundaries, setting
limits. So every composer must ask him or herself, "What
language am I going to speak? What am I connected to?
What is important to me, personally?" It involves
tremendous self-scrutiny.
Who are some of the American voices featured in the
coming season?
Jennifer Higdon [whose new work premieres Nov. 14-17]
writes in a staunchly tonal language. Not in an 18th-
or 19th-century way, but in a very fresh way. She's
not afraid of triads, not afraid of consonance, providing
a different approach to sonorities we thought we knew
and putting them together in a way we don't recognize.
Aaron Kernis [Elmar Oliveira performs his "Lament
and Pray" Nov. 7-9] similarly puts familiar sonorities
into fresh perspective.
And then there's John Adams, the consummate polymath.
[Adams' "El Niño" will close the 2002-'03
subscription season, May 29-31.] He is constantly learning
new languages, constantly assimilating. We throw him
into the minimalist pot and yet that's not quite accurate.
"Harmonielehre" [1984-'85], which we did last
year, is a great example of Adams having combined minimalism,
as an experiment, with good, old-fashioned 19th- century
symphonic thought and harmony. The title gives it away.
He himself describes his Chamber Symphony as "Schoenberg
meets Bugs Bunny," which is so American. Multiculturalism
is John's great gift. "El Niño" is
the pinnacle (so far!) of his multiculturalism. He wanted
to write a modern "Messiah" from the perspective
of a Latin American mother. Who thinks about the birth
of Christ that way?
I would call David del Tredici [whose Interlude and
"Ecstatic Alice" from "Child Alice"
(1977-'81) are performed April 10-12] an experimental
tonalist, like Jennifer [Higdon] and Aaron [Kernis].
He embraces the European tradition of tonality wholeheartedly
then speaks in his own voice, expanding its inherent
vocabulary. Of course, David was doing this long before
it was allowed. So was John Corigliano. They were outsiders
to the academic musical establishment. But they didn't
care; they pursued what they were hearing and now they've
become iconic. If David wrote "Alice" today,
everybody would flip.
Samuel Barber [Midori performs his Violin Concerto Sept.
19-21] was that kind of outsider, too. He never bought
into the American academic establishment. I've always
loved Barber because he trusted his own voice. He knew
he had these glorious melodies to write and he knew
that his thinking gravitated toward expansive, harmonic
unfolding on a symphonic scale.
So each of these composers represents a distinct,
yet American voice…
The beauty of democracy is that it allows for the plurality
of voices, the protection of the minority. You have
a voice, and whether or not everybody wants to hear
it, it has value. This season affords us the opportunity
to hear many of America's most important and beautiful
voices.
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