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JOHN ADAMS
INTERVIEW

2001
by Ken Ueno




John Adams (b. WORCESTER , MA , 1947) is one of America’s most frequently performed composers. His distinctive style combines minimalism with classical orchestral tradition. His works such as Nixon in China, Death of Klinghoffer, and I Was Looking at the Ceiling and Then I Saw the Sky, are some of the most successful operas in recent history, and are groundbreaking in their use of contemporary subjects.

KEN UENO:
Latin American culture has made a resurgence of late. Not only are Latin American artists more visible and active in the United States, but also Latin American culture seems to be influencing our most important non-Latin American artists such as you. I would like to start our discussion by talking about your latest orchestral piece, the Nativity Oratorio El Niño that exemplifies this synergy between multiple cultures. You did your own translations. Do you speak Spanish? How well do you speak it?

JOHN ADAMS:

I'm not entirely fluent, but I have a comfortable reading knowledge and my spoken Spanish is improving by the day. It is easier to learn Spanish here in California than in Massachusetts. I always wanted to become comfortable with Spanish—especially living in California. It’s a very logical language and it’s a very vowel-oriented Latin language, like Italian, and I found it just tremendously satisfying to work with.

KU:

Were there intrinsic qualities of language that made working with Spanish appealing? How did you adapt the rhythms and qualities of the language to fit your musical style, or vice-versa?

JA:
It was a lot easier to set Spanish than it was to set the English texts in El Niño. When I set a language, I really want to get a feeling of the spoken flow. I’ve set a lot of English and still find it hard because the rhythms of the language, particularly the rhythms of American spoken English, which are so bumpy and tend not to fall into a kind of cadential rhythm.

KU:
How did you go about transcribing the natural flow of the rhythms inherent in the Spanish language when you are not a native speaker?

JA:
First, I taped a native speaker reading some of the Rosario Castellanos poems, because I have a more authentic sense of the flow.

KU:
In composing a work in Spanish for an international audience, were you concerned that Americans in particular might associate the title El Niño with a meteorological phenomenon rather than the Nativity?

JA:
I did initially hesitate for that very reason. But then I realized that El Niño was an expression of enormous natural power and energy and would therefore to be a good metaphor for the story. Usually when we think of the nativity story it’s almost like a fairy tale—a naïve and very sweet story. I wanted to emphasize not only that angelic quality but also its more serious and potentially violent aspects.

KU:
The more violent aspects are certainly evident in the largest single section of the piece, which recounts the Slaughter of the Innocents. The text use you here is the Castellano in which she memorializes the slaughter of students during the 1968 revolt in Tlatelolco Square. The contemporary image of police violence updates, as you said, the violent aspects in the Nativity.

JA:
In the United States, we read in newspapers about children being killed in Iraq and attacked in Jerusalem and Kosovo or wherever, many people have a strange disconnection to violence, which I think comes from overexposure to the news. To read the story of Herod demanding that all the male babies under the age of three be slaughtered seems so unreal that it doesn’t have an impact. If I tried to make it explicitly relevant to current news, with scenes of Kosovo or Gaza for example, it probably would have been off-putting. I thought that this particular event, the massacre of students in 1968, would have a resonance to Americans because it’s very much like Kent State, only far worse. It’s the only reference to a truly contemporary event. Everything else in El Niño is sort of timeless and is not so site-specific.

KU:
How did you decide on the texts for El Niño?

JA:
The Spanish text was suggested by Peter Sellars. Castellanos was completely unknown to me. So was Sor Juana. Like most Americans, I knew only certain well-known names in Latin-American literature: Carlos Fuentes, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Pablo Neruda. I didn’t know these women poets. Sor Juana is completely unknown to North Americans. She is a combination of Emily Dickinson and Hildegard von Bingen—a very spiritual figure, but her work has a truly radical intensity. I think of Olivier Messiaen when I read her poetry. It’s religious, ecstatic, and not very accessible. You have to work to reach its depth. Her work is vast. In setting only two of her poems, I felt as though I were spitting into the ocean. There are thousands of these poems. She was an extraordinary figure.

KU:
When Peter Sellars suggested some of these Spanish texts to you, did he already have ideas about the piece?

JA:
No. I came to him with the idea of a nativity. All my life I have wanted to compose one. And I think we both wanted to do something out-of-the-ordinary and which had a real intensity to it. And I certainly wanted to compose something that that involved a woman’s point of view. To speak about nativity and pregnancy and the intense emotional world surrounding them, it only seemed right to find texts by women. As soon as I read Castellanos’ poems I knew that’s exactly what I wanted.

KU:
Composers from around the world are increasingly turning to ethnographic resources and popular music, not necessarily in their own culture. What are your thoughts on this so-called “globalization of culture”? To what degree do you feel you are dealing with aspects of culture, especially now having recently completed a major work which draws upon elements from Latin American culture?

JA:
You touch on many important issues. The first is the absorption of the vernacular. Throughout my life as a composer I have had extremely strong feelings about this. Part of that goes back to what I felt was a very self-referential sterile environment of the avant-garde, when I was a student in the sixties. New compositions referred to their immediate past, whether was Schoenberg or Stravinsky or Babbitt writing about Webern and Cage writing about Satie. It seemed to be a very small world. I felt it was a world that had no fertility left in it. I grew up in a family of amateur jazz musicians and came of age during the 1960’s explosion of rock-and-roll and rock and jazz. It seemed to me that there was enormous health and fertility in this world of vernacular music and the world of avant-garde classical music seemed very dead. It seemed to have a very bleak future. So part of my move from the east coast to California was an expression of that desire to get away from that hegemony and also to embrace a more open attitude towards vernacular elements. Now thirty years later, this has come full circle in minimalism in the music of Steve Reich and John Zorn. We also have pieces like Osvaldo’s Golijov Pasión, which has an extremely raw and genuine heart-felt vernacular expression. I’ve been vindicated in my feelings. In fact, I feel almost old-fashioned now. Writing for orchestra makes me a dinosaur compared to some of the younger composers.

KU:
Do you think that Golijov’s use of Latin American rhythms and vernacular forms is culturally equivalent to your use of rock and roll references?

JA:
Yes. I’ve always felt that my birthright or pedigree as an American was THAT music. I was brought up studying Mozart and classical harmony at the same time as I was playing marching band music and listening to Benny Goodman and Miles Davis. What struck me as a complete disconnect was how someone like Babbitt speaks of his love for show tunes but writes compositions that have no relationship to this love. There is no connection between his hobby and his profession. I wanted to create a music, very much like Charles Ives, that reflected my genetic fabric and my genotype.

KU:
You have conducted a lot of Ives, often programming pieces that showcase his interest in the vernacular. Another composer you have often conducted is Zappa, who in some ways is a more contemporary Ives.

JA:
They’re both very complicated composers. I am profoundly dissatisfied in their music at the same time that I am very excited by it. Zappa wanted to be a killer rock guitarist and blow everybody off the stage, and yet at the same time, he wanted to out-Boulez Boulez by writing fiendishly difficult pieces. But he wrote things that were on the margin of unplayability. It’s easy for a composer to write in rhythms like 17/21, but I’ve seen some of the best musicians in the world struggle to execute his scores. The irony is that the end product very often is a letdown. It’s just not worth it. These feelings aside, I have to acknowledge that Zappa is an absolute American original, in the way that Mark Twain and H.L. Mencken were. He’s phenomenally successful and popular in Europe , where audiences feel that his output really expresses that aspect of American culture that is the antidote to Disney and Spielberg. I also was tremendously inspired by a career like Bernstein’s, because I thought that it was a natural expression of being an American composer to be able to work in other genres and not be buttonholed in one.

KU:
The composers who have a high profile in the United States are not always the same ones who have a high profile in Europe. What do you think is the appeal of contemporary American music in countries that has a longer tradition of listening to western classical music?

JA:
I think Europeans are looking for something that’s new—an energy and an image that did not spring out of European soil. They are less apt, for example, to take up a Donald Martino or Charles Wuorinen than Conlon Nancarrow, John Cage or Steve Reich, because they feel that the latter composers are sui generis, that they have sprouted from the American soil. But in the case of a composer who fundamentally writes serial music for classical instruments, perhaps they would assume “we do that just as well or better.” I know the Europeans love Steve Reich and they love Morton Feldman and as I mentioned, they love Zappa. Ives is an interesting case. I’ve done a lot of Ives in Europe and I’ve thought that we were all having a great time, and then I discovered that the audiences didn’t think it was all that great. They look at Ives more as a cartoon amateur. You have to work hard to explain what’s so extraordinarily inventive about Ives. Once you get past the obvious signals—the marching bands and the references to church music or hymn tunes—Ives is a very complicated composer, though also very problematic composer. I toured with Ensemble Modern a few years ago, doing Ives Fourth Symphony, and I was constantly reminded of how unsatisfying so much of it is because he never heard it. He never had a chance to realize that so much of it needed to be revised, or simply was conceptually unrealizable in the way he had written it.

KU:
Your method (or process) of composition depends upon computer technology in that you use sequencer software like Performer while composing. How dependent are you on that technology?

JA:
Well, I think dependent is not a helpful word because it suggests that I could go to AA. Or take a 12-step program to get away from it. How dependent is anyone on a word processing program? I think it’s a wonderful tool and it has revolutionized my music. I love to work in this environment. I find it very flexible. It doesn’t mean that ideas come to me any easier. And every piece is still a soap opera, I am miserable until I have it up and running. But I love working in this role, and it fits my musical personality, because my music is very much pulse-driven. If I were a composer like Takemitsu, for example, it probably would not be that much help.

KU:
Is it the empirical laboratory aspect that is helpful to you?

JA:
Yes. I can try things out and get a much clearer picture of my experiment than if I had to bang them out on the piano. I’m no virtuoso-trained pianist, but even if I were, some of my experiments with polyphony and with rhythm simply would not be realizable by sitting at the keyboard.

KU:
Are there times when you are surprised when you hear the result with the live orchestra?

JA:
There are fewer surprises, as I get older, because I’ve done this so often. Usually the surprises are bad. They’re surprises of “that’s too hard” or the balance is off or I’ve overwritten that. The great thing about being able to make sequences and sketches of my pieces is that I rarely make structural mistakes anymore. I really have a very good feel for pacing and how long something.

It would be interesting to study how working in a software environment has influenced the way one thinks creatively. Broadway composers would cut and paste, as did film composers (and I suppose Bruckner cut, if he didn’t paste), but that kind of procedure, which is so basic to this software world, was less commonplace when cut and paste meant an enormous physical effort. And here I can create structures by moving material around and I can also create kinds of harmonic relationships and contrapuntal relationships that one simply wouldn’t think of by walking in the woods or improvising at a piano.

KU:
The pieces you were writing around 1992 and 1993 like the Violin Concerto and the Chamber Symphony represented a departure from your earlier work harmonically. This new progressive harmonic language seemed to point towards a completely new direction for your music, but in your compositions immediately following those pieces, like Gnarly Buttons, you reverted to the harmonic style of your earlier music. At that time, when I asked you about this return to a more familiar style, you said that you did not believe that a contemporary composer needed to be restrained by a linear, singular strand of artistic development, that there were many strands of styles and procedures from which one should be able to choose, as necessary, from composition to composition. More time has passed since Gnarly Buttons and you still have not investigated further the potential of the harmonic language in the Violin Concerto and the Chamber Symphony. Will you ever go back to that harmonic style?

JA:
The dissonant language of the Violin Concerto is only “progressive” in relation to my own music. It’s pretty tame compared to a lot of avant-garde music. But I understand your point. The harmonic language as far back as Shaker Loops is also found in Nixon in China, and up through more recent pieces like Century Rolls. That’s essentially me. I use dissonance very much in the way that classical composers did: as an aspect but not the main event. But the early -mid 90’s was a period of exploration for me. That’s when I started seriously using the computer and software programs. The Chamber Symphony is probably the densest of all those pieces. It succeeds because it’s fundamentally insouciant and not terribly earnest. At the time I felt that was as far as I wanted to go in the direction of extreme polyphony and dissonance. I’m very satisfied with the recent pieces, particularly El Niño, because it seems blithely indifferent to style. By now, the style of my language is very natural—something I don’t worry about. And I don’t think it will change. I don’t suspect that twenty years from now I’ll have gone through the kind of life crisis that Stravinsky did, for example. Maybe that will mean that my music won’t be that interesting. What happened to Stravinsky was an extraordinary thing, but I don’t suspect at the age of sixty, I would shed my natural language and just adopt something that’s almost entirely alien to me.

KU:
Did that level of dissonance did not feel natural to you?

JA:
I just felt I didn’t want to go any further in that direction. I wasn’t interested in saying any more in that area. Naive and Sentimental Music is in certain ways a throwback to pieces like Harmonielehre, Harmonium. What interested me there was to build very large structures without resorting to stock minimalist techniques or neo-romantic gestures.

KU:
Your recent music, like Naive and Sentimental Music, has a dynamic orchestrational drama that is Mahlerian. In order to create a successful expanded time structure you depend more on extravagant contrasts in instrumental forces rather than on harmony. For example, juxtaposing the whole orchestra with passages for solo guitar.

JA:
I think we’re in a period now where when people try to get me to typify where we are right now, I sort of get out of it by a slightly cheeky response of that I think we’re in a post-stylist phase.

KU:
What do you mean by post-stylist?

JA:
I find that composers now are less obsessed with creating a highly refined highly original language. When I was brought up, the concept of originality in the arts was sacrosanct. Boulez’s essays on aesthetic had an ethics to them. He even used the term ethic or even morality in his writings about 12-tone music. Cage was the same way. Think of Cage’s essays on Jasper Johns and on Rauschenberg. What Cage admired in Johns was that if he had an idea and someone else even come close to it, he immediately threw it away. To me that’s the last phase of individualism. Individualism can go only so far. If it’s overly refined, it becomes self-referential and decreases its sphere of influence.

KU:
But there are composers working today with strong stylistic personalities. Your music has originality and a style that are definable.

JA:
I don’t actually consider myself a stylist. For example, I don’t feel that I’m as stylistically pure as Steve Reich. And I know Steve very well, and when we talk, I’m constantly aware of how extremely conscientious and precise he is that every musical idea that he has should fall within the rubric of his stylistic language. And he probably feels about me that I’m much more wanton and promiscuous.

KU:
I wonder whether an underlying trend is that people are becoming less demagogic about their stylistic agenda or identity.

JA:
Yes, I would agree. My memories of the 60s and 70s are of a stylistic warfare and a terrible orthodoxy. For me, the avant-garde and academic music was terribly reductive. And I had to include a lot of Cage. Even though Cage wrote pieces that were supposedly very embracing, there was always a didactic quality. He never really loved anything in the way someone can be obsessed with a tango, or a certain song by Miles Davis. By contrast, Feldman was obsessive. That’s what was so great about him, in his writings and when I later got to know him. Cage was like a wonderful liberal schoolmaster who would love everybody in, but didn’t want to favor one person over another.

KU:
Your music has always made references to vernacular styles, yet you have no qualms about being labeled a “classical” composer. Does that mean that you are addressing a more specialized audience for your music than the more general demographic that only listen to the vernacular styles?

JA:
It’s taken me a long time to realize that my audience is small. It will maybe grow a little bit as I grow older and after I’m no longer around. But I sometimes am envious of other composers or crossover composers or pop composers, whatever, that their record sales are in the tens or hundreds of thousands or millions, or a film director I admire, like Scorsese or Woody Allen. They are major figures in our culture and millions are conversant with their work. They aren’t with mine and they probably never will be. Part of the reason is the complexity of what I do, the result of which is that one has to bring an education to the appreciation of my work.

KU:
That is surprising to hear you say that, since you’re probably the highest profile American orchestral composer today.

JA:
I may be, but I don’t even register on the radar screen of our culture in comparison to Frank Zappa, Francis Coppola, or Barbara Kingsolver. I feel that the role of the classical composer is in American culture, and I think it has significantly less impact than it did than let’s say in the years of Copland.

KU:
Does it bother you that classical music is not as much part of our life as pop culture?

JA:
Yes, of course it bothers me. I read a lot of literature, which is my other great lone. I’ve read including both of the Margaret Kingsolver novels, which I think are among the greatest American novels. I felt very frustrated because I didn’t know of an American composer who was as good as she was and had an audience as enormous as that. I think it’s only partly an issue of language: Americans, even those well-educated, simply are not that interested in classical music. And when they do listen to classical music, they want Beethoven or the Vivaldi Four Seasons. They don’t want to listen to John Adams. Most of them don’t even want to listen to Olivier Messiaen.

KU:
Why do successful and cultured people find complexity in music difficult to accept, whereas they are more likely to accept complexity when they experience other art forms?

JA:
With a difficult piece of painting or sculpture, you can walk away from it. You can decide that’s a difficult piece and then walk away until you find another one. Feeling stuck in a concert with a difficult piece can be a very hostile experience. I also think it’s the nature of the medium, that complex music or dissonant music (music far more complex and far more dissonant than my own) is essentially very invasive and even aggressive experiences for a lot of people. But in a museum you can see a Damien Hurst cow cut in half and simply can walk away if you are revolted.

KU:
A lot of rap and heavy metal is more dissonant than most contemporary American classical music. Why is dissonance more problematic for classical music audiences than pop audiences?

JA:
It’s also just the sound of classical music. A lot of young Americans hear violins or the sound of an orchestra as simply unrelated to their own experience. But when they hear electric guitars, no matter how harsh it might be, the music relates to their world and their anima. And it doesn’t matter whether the orchestra was playing my music or Beethoven, they heard that sound and they associated it with the old days. So it’s a complicated challenge. Now I’m being very dark and pessimistic. Of course there still are relatively large audiences for classical music and a portion of them are interested in my music, but it’s still very small.







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