Chamber Concerto 2017

Program Note by Christopher Stark

The title of Samuel Adams’ Chamber Concerto is perhaps more provocative than it might appear at first glance. The piece presents itself on stage as a violin concerto, which has been the standard naming convention for a piece of this type for the past, say, two hundred years. But the decision to remove the soloist’s distinction from the title both reflects Adams’ desire to engage with music history—the chamber concerto (Concerto da camera) was a common genre during the Baroque period, one in which the division between soloist(s) and ensemble is much less distinct than, say, the concerti of L.V. Beethoven and Johannes Brahms—and also his desire to gently reevaluate the concerto’s subsequent evolution into a portrayal of hierarchical division with the soloist typically representing an isolated hero that struggles against their accompanists. This intriguing interpretation is musically borne out in myriad ways throughout this expansive thirty-minute work, and the expression of an equal and symbiotic relationship between the soloist and the ensemble makes Chamber Concerto distinct and contemporary.

Adams’ musical language can also be viewed through the lens of his title’s provocation, and in this work, he presents many co-existing influences and styles that combine in a balanced and interdependent dialogue. Adams actively participates in many distinct yet overlapping musical communities—jazz, classical, electronic; and because of this, his language is exceptionally diverse and layered, and it defies easy categorization. Attempting to distill these influences feels like a slightly reductive task, but it can be illuminating. There are several touchstones that frequently bubble to the surface: a syncopated rhythmic vitality and bluesy melodic inflection that reflects a composer with a significant background in jazz; a sense of incredible patience and undulating spaciousness that reveals the influence of ambient electronic music and West Coast minimalism; and lastly, the presence of western European musical techniques that point towards both the early twentieth century scales, patterns, and pointillistic effects of Olivier Messiaen, Anton Webern, and Igor Stravinsky, but also to older pre-Romantic era influences—as the title suggests—displayed most clearly by the elegant formal design whereby each movement’s individual sections are distinctly delineated and often recur in a balanced and classical way. This varied palette exhibits a composer who listens generously, internalizes completely, and incorporates thoughtfully. All this is to say, Adams is at home when engaging in a musical dialogue, whether that be historical, social, contemporary, or even, in his case, familial.

The middle three movements of Chamber Concerto exhibit the standard fast-slow-fast design of a traditional concerto, and the bookends—the prelude and the postlude—have the effect of gradually winding up and winding down. The piece begins with a lonely and plaintive melody in the violin that uses the resonant open strings of the instrument as its scaffolding, and as this melody gradually becomes more ornate, it begins to reverberate throughout the ensemble creating a striking atmospheric halo. This is the first notable instance of the symbiosis between the soloist and the ensemble, and there is a sense of tender encouragement from the accompanying musicians as this doleful and isolated tune begins to feel healed when joined by the community on stage. This gives rise to increasingly acrobatic passages in the violin that culminate in an airy coda punctuated by an abrupt “tripped breaker” ending. Lines (after J) immediately surges with nimble and percussive energy that instantly recalls the music of Adams’ father—as the movement title perhaps suggests. The spritely hocketing between the instruments gives the impression of a playground game, and these kaleidoscopic and minimalist sonorities are juxtaposed throughout by buoyant harmonic sequences that fall somewhere between bebop and baroque and perhaps point to other notable J’s: J.S. Bach, John Coltrane, and Keith Jarrett. The load-bearing columns of this electric movement are the twice-recurring quotations of John Adams’ pioneering orchestral work, Harmonielehre, but here they are viewed through the refracted lens of reduced instrumentation, which gives the effect of great fun and ironic wit but also of filtered distance and contemporary transformation. From these heights of intensity, a very beautiful and gradual unfolding takes shape concluding with an achingly lonely cadenza, the violinist softly resigning, that sets the tone for the haunting and mystical Slow Movements. There is an evocation of eternity in the center of this concerto that rivals Olivier Messiaen’s Quartet for the End of Time, and the long-arching sustained melodies and gliding dissonant tones in the violin express a deep yearning, while the ensemble creates a placid and meditative environment akin to ripples on the surface of a reflecting pool. Much like the abrupt ending of the prelude, On/Off begins with a similar “tripped-breaker” technique, analogous to an electronic gate, whereby instrumental tones are mechanically turned on and off as if from a switchboard. The result is an animated and fragmented rhythmic display that has a wonderfully stippled and pointillistic quality. This highly extroverted movement features some of the most virtuosic writing for the entire ensemble, and the raucous on-the-string/off-the-string violin part climaxes with a dramatic sustained tone in the highest stratosphere of the instrument that lingers over into the postlude. A gently rolling harp-like accompaniment attempts to ease the soloist’s inevitable descent and leads us through several broadening waves of diffusion that end with a brief return to the opening melody, which has the feeling of a re-centering exercise. The music abruptly ends with a brief unison, offering a powerful reminder of Chamber Concerto’s central tenant: that we are all in this together, now.

-Christopher Stark

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