John Adams’s creative strategy includes a tendency to ponder passing fancies, then channel their essence into various works in progress. In the case of the concerto Century Rolls, pianolas and piano rolls were the subtext, with Emanuel Ax the catalyst (he commissioned the piece) and a whole range of influences ranging from Debussy to Fats Waller and Conlon Nancarrow. You can hear them all, darting dizzily across a hyperactive canvas that edges into earshot with Reichian chirping. Before the first minute is up, a low clarinet pumps out a gentle, fragmented bass-line and, at around 1'08'', the soloist enters with his upwardly spiralling repetitions. Halfway through the first movement, the piano declaims loud and clear above the orchestra, much as it might have done in a genuine romantic concerto. An element of kitsch makes you smile while you tap your feet.
There are jabs from the brass, flustered rhythmic computations (the sort you could hear in Adams’s brilliant Chamber Symphony) and a tranquil transition to the Satie-like second movement where odd motives float by like wax in a hot-oil ‘lava lamp’. The finale is a Nancarrow- soundalike with added ballast from the orchestra, breathless and unpredictable and a real challenge for Ax, who copes brilliantly. He’s a very big fish in a very crowded pond, gesturing wildly while the shoals about him rush hither or thither.
But does it actually work as a piece? My ears are tickled by colourful talking and yet nothing that’s said strikes me as terribly memorable. It’s like a fun excursion that won’t bear the scrutiny of two weekends on the trot. I’ve already listened to it four times, which is twice too many – at least in quick succession. Incidentally, Nonesuch flags the piece as dating from 1996, whereas Adams’s notes quote the third movement’s genesis as 1997. Small point, but worth clarifying. Dohnanyi’s Cleveland Orchestra accompaniment is neat and on the ball.
Both of the couplings are taken from the Adams ‘Earbox’ collection (1/00). Slightly inconsistent timings had me to-ing and fro-ing between one release and the other, checking to make sure I wasn’t dealing with different takes. I don’t think I am, but it’s nice to see Kent Nagano’s Halle account of the brief but contrapuntally argumentative Lollapalooza (a 40th-birthday present for Sir Simon Rattle) reappear on a single CD. Slonimsky’s Earbox bursts open like Stravinsky’s Song of the Nightingale and later calms to embrace swathes of aurally aromatic atmosphere. It’s as colourful and engaging as most recent Adams, and very nicely performed.'