What is it about Margaret Brouwer’s music that makes it different from anyone else’s? On evidence here, the answer is “nothing.” Well crafted though it is, occasionally tuneful, largely tonal but not always, and effectively written for the various forces employed, it seldom rises above a certain generic modernity that you can hear in the work of countless contemporary composers. Lament is yet another piece trendily inspired by the events of 9/11, and how I wish composers would just knock it off! It manages to sound sort of sad, and there’s no denying Brouwer’s skill at laying out the music for the unusual combination of violin, clarinet, bassoon, and percussion. Still, however sincerely felt there’s something pathetic about any attempt to gussy-up in artsy fashion anyone’s reaction to the events of that terrible day while we’re so close to them, and it doesn’t matter if the gussy-upper is Adams or Brouwer (and this only covers the first two letters of the alphabet, God help us).
Light is one of those “journey through history” type things that modern composers have been doing for decades now. It begins with a setting of a text by Hildegard of Bingen (no less), touches on the Netherlands school of Ockeghem, and winds up with an inventive finale based on atoms whizzing around. Again the scoring is characterful: soprano, harpsichord, flute, clarinet, violin, cello, and percussion, but the various influences and quotations of early music remain undigested, and the very collage concept strikes me as mightily passé–that is, until someone with genius gets their hands on it and writes a masterpiece. As for the next two pieces, Under the Summer Tree (for piano) and Skyriding (for flute, violin, cello, and piano), the most memorable thing about them is their titles.
Demeter Prelude, for string quartet, on the other hand, offers some inventive sonorities in an attractive harmonic framework, and it’s all over in a bit more than seven minutes. I know that much of this sounds harsh, particularly given the excellence of the performances and the superior recorded sound, and others may well find more in Brouwer’s work than I do. Clearly she has skill, and seems to understand the need to create some kind of personal voice. But like so many products by today’s serious music clique, it’s not reasonable to expect normal people to care about the flavor of recipes that differ only by trivial adjustments in the balance of their otherwise identical ingredients. I willingly concede that perhaps my aural palate simply isn’t sophisticated enough to enjoy this. If yours is, then don’t hesitate.
