MUSIC REVIEW : Miller Introduces Trendy Minimalist Twaddle by Lentz

The official hype for Daniel Lentz’s “An American in L.A.,” which was given its world premiere Thursday by David Alan Miller and the Los Angeles Philharmonic, optimistically likened the 46-year-old composer to such “iconoclasts” as Charles Ives, John Cage, Elliott Carter and Steve Reich.

“In the style of the true maverick,” we were told, “Lentz is almost gleefully anticipating disapproval from the local academics.”

This observer doesn’t happen to think of himself as an academic. Still, not wanting to discourage any glee in a generally glum world, he will withhold no disapproval.

“An American in L.A.” doesn’t invoke much Gershwin for these decaying ears. For this fossilized mind, however, it does suggest at least the nominative spirit of Mozart. Lentz, after all, has given us “Eine kleine Junk musik.”

This is splashy, trendy, superficial, soporific, sophomoric, easily digested, easily rejected, all-too-easily cheered twaddle that must appeal to the lowest common denominator in a symphonic audience. The sparse congregation at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion included a small but ultra-supportive, ultra-demonstrative coterie of non-academicians. At least a dozen of them afforded the “American” a standing ovation.

In 20 kitschy minutes, Lentz cranks out a generous, three-part series of instant jazzy-pop cliches. He does so without managing to give the cliches the benefit of much coherence or illumination.

Electronic keyboards, manned virtuosically by Bradford Ellis, threaten to transform the massive Philharmonic into a mighty Wurlitzer. Although there is virtually no melodic content in this thickened symphonic soup, the caloric content is high. So is the decibel count.

The first movement, cutely labeled “Freeway Estampie,” offers a heavy if not heady, multi-textured patchwork of minimalist swatches. The second, “Beach Pavane,” luxuriates busily in lazy lushness. The grand finale, “Smog Vamp,” seems to aspire to hoedown funk without the fun.

Miller, young enough to appreciate this sort of thing, conducted with apparent enthusiasm. The orchestra, old enough to know better, performed with stoic professionalism.

The best news of the concert involved a remarkably subtle performance of Bartok’s Third Piano Concerto. Stephen Hough played the intricate, mildly percussive solos with equal sensitivity and flair. Miller and the orchestra provided attentive, nicely nuanced support.

After intermission they turned to the conventional rigors of Beethoven’s First Symphony. Stubbornly setting his sights backward toward classicism rather than forward toward romanticism (either perspective is defensible), Miller stressed intimacy, lightness and speed at the expense of emotional impact.

Incidentally, the program magazine added some inadvertent confusion to the vicissitudinous evening. The playbill somehow listed the movement headings for the wrong Beethoven symphony--suggesting to the gullible listener, for instance, that the Andante cantabile was really marked Molto vivace .

Miller did indeed choose a fast tempo. But it wasn’t that fast.