It seems that the more crowded our daily lives become, the more we crave space. And space is indeed central to the work of most composers who have cultivated minimalist techniques: Reich Gorecki, Kancheli, MacMillan, Bryars and Glass all employ it as an essential creative constituent, and all have in some way managed to reclaim it for our own claustrophobic imaginations.
The idea of spacious natural vistas has always been central to the work of Philip Glass. Itaipu, and The Canyon are the second and third of his ''portraits of nature'', the former being a commission from the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra and Chorus, while the latter was composed specifically for the Rotterdam Philharmonic. Itaipu is located on the Parana River, which in turn forms the border between Brazil and Paraguay. It is the location of a massive hydro-electric dam with individual generators large enough to house a full symphony orchestra. So it's little wonder that Itaipu provided Glass with instant inspiration.
The score itself is divided into four separate sections and calls on substantial orchestral and choral forces. Although consistent with Glass's other work (the pulse is more or less constant, the harmonic computations simple but telling), Itaipu has an especially dark, rugged tonal profile. The first movement combines chant-like choral writing with exotic-sounding winds, swirling string figurations and subtle percussion writing; the second has the strongest melodic appeal (especially at the very opening), bird-like woodwind arabesques, characteristically pumping low brass and a closing string sequence (9'23'') strongly reminiscent of Nielsen's Fifth Symphony. The final movement, ''To the Sea'', is the shortest and possibly the most mysterious of the four; but the hub of the work—''The Dam'' itself—is in the third movement, where from 6'05'' onwards, brass and winds abet a pounding ostinato and a series of modulations redolent of such scenically aware late-romantics as Sibelius, Bruckner and Roy Harris. It's one of the most arresting passages in Glass's output and gives a vivid impression of the dam's overwhelming physical presence.
Itaipu sets Guarani Indian texts, although Glass intended that the words support the music, rather than vice versa. The Canyon is purely orchestral, and much shorter. It's built around two basic ideas, with a jagged middle section that heats up for a powerful climax. Less heavily scored than Itaipu, The Canyon utilizes a large array of percussion, which Glass exploits with his usual ear for nuance. But Itaipu is definitely the disc's main 'event'—a patient, cumulatively powerful essay, easily assimilated and well enough crafted to repay repeated listening. Those who find certam other of Glass's works monotonous and uneventful (and I indude myself among their ranks) would do well to sample it. The recordings are cleanly balanced, the performances neat—but I hope that one day we might be granted a more forceful projection of Itaipu. Recommended, especially to those not normally 'behind Glass'.'