On Impossibilities

Surely the only thing harder than achieving an impossible task is to critique another’s performance of one. Impossibility breeds expectations; evaluation of the results breeds strong emotions on both sides of the spectrum. A transcendent experience that defies all criticism and a piece of hackwork that exploits its audience are the end points on a continuum of possibilities.

The impossible task at hand was the commission given to American composer John Adams for a major work commemorating the first anniversary of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001. Premiered in 2002 by the New York Philharmonic under Lorin Maazel, On the Transmigration of Souls is scored for large orchestra, four-part chorus, and children’s chorus, with the evocative addition of a piano tuned ¼ tone flat. The evocation, of course, is of Charles Ives, the iconoclastic American composer who also receives a direct quotation in Adams’ piece. Yet neither the piano nor the orchestra is heard at the beginning, but an aural cityscape, over which a young boy repeats the word “missing.” The key idea here is not just the reading of names which follows but Adams’ use of texts and their repetition. Repetition, after all, is one of the hallmarks of this composer’s style and school, the Minimalist dedication to doing more with less. Thus the choir spends its time at the beginning locked in open fifths (D-A, B-F#) and vocalizing wordlessly. The orchestra sneaks in almost unnoticed, confined to elemental rumblings in the bass and ethereal chimes in the treble.

But it is the texts I wish to focus on for now, as the orchestra is mostly confined to this chthonic susurration for the 30-minute duration of the music. The texts are what audience members connect with immediately and where the composer is most likely to fall into trouble. I believe John Adams does fall into trouble during the course of On the Transmigration of Souls, but also that he finds his way out of it, a useful skill for any musician. The intense nature of both the event and its documentation naturally lead to more impossible expectations: Adams expressly wished to use what would be in other circumstances called original source material: words and phrases from missing persons’ posters and transcripts from telephone calls and interviews. These are sung, chanted, and intoned by the chorus and children’s chorus with often powerful effect: witness the agonizing climax built on the repetition of the phrase, “I wanted to dig him out. I know just where he is!” Yet the first word the adult chorus sings – and sings, and sings, and sings – is “Remember! Re-mem-ber! Re-mem-ber! Re-mem-ber!” I do not think this particular point needs to be made at all and certainly not a dozen times in a row. One of the goals John Adams had for this commission was to create a “memory space” for the audience, a goal that has already been met by the creation and performance of the music. Moreover, if in some terrible future the world did forget and On the Transmigration of Souls was never be heard again, any exhortation included inside the piece will not be doing anyone any good.

On the other hand, the use of the voices to bring to life Charles Ives’ “Perennial Question of Existence” – a direct quotation by the trumpet from Ives’ original The Unanswered Question – reinforced my belief that Adams’ conception is sound. In an interview with Dutch television, the composer stated that he wanted to emphasize “what really happened during [the] tragedy,” that is, the devastatingly personal loss of loved ones. This is surely highlighted by the matching of such texts as “We will miss you” and “We all love you” with the musical phrases of Ives’ existential question.

As the music whispered to its close, my final evaluation is that On the Transmigration of Souls achieves its impossible task as well as can be expected. The other textual misgivings I felt – why are the Hispanic names separated from the Anglo? Why not begin them intermixed? Why are more races not included? – were likewise slowly pushed aside by the sweep of the music. The creation of a static, stable texture by the combination of many smaller frantically dynamic textures allows Adams to be true to both his own style and that of his selected model Ives. The settings of primary source texts are both respectful and powerful and nothing is as false as forced multiculturalism. John Adams has indeed succeeded in the creation of a “memory space.” Let us hope that we succeed in its periodic recreation.