Music Reviews : ‘Hydrogen Jukebox’ Premieres at UCLA

For some people, the biggest surprise in the music of Philip Glass may be that there are surprises. Despite--or is it because of?--the simplicity of material and transparency of method, his works are seldom predictable in effect on any level.

Take “Hydrogen Jukebox,” for example. First heard 18 months ago in Philadelphia and Charleston, S.C., the large, two-act, multimedia song cycle had its West Coast premiere in two weekend performances at Royce Hall.

It is at once new and familiar, exciting and exasperating. Unlike the disappointing melodrama “1000 Airplanes on the Roof,” the last touring emissary from Glass and colleagues, “Hydrogen Jukebox” is a major entry in the catalogue of the prolific composer.

The libretto--excerpts from Allen Ginsberg’s poetry, from the seminal “Howl” to new pieces such as the bitterly buoyant “CIA Dope Calypso”--describes nothing less than the end of America, in terms of moral, political, environmental and personal apocalypse.

Ginsberg is another American artist of greater range than often credited. His surprise is not indignation or satire, of which there is plenty, but pensive warmth and even hope.

Glass’ music, with its characteristic modal progressions goosed into unexpected directions by sudden common-tone modulations, expresses nostalgic uncertainty well. “Hydrogen Jukebox” cycles from spare, personal, lyric eloquence to flamboyant, corporate, declamatory rhetoric. The first act ends with Ginsberg reciting a rapturous vision over piano accompaniment--performed live Friday by poet and composer, on tape Saturday--while Act II closes with an astonishingly sweet thanatopsis in the form of a texturally diverse unaccompanied madrigal.

In quietness the piece works best, as in the expansive soprano aria, “Sitting on a tree stump.” It begins with a reprise of an earlier obbligato, and develops into a radiant killer tune with sophisticated textual allusion.

The big outcries, however, usually seem glib and underpowered in contrast. The horror of Ginsberg’s famous Moloch apostrophes is revealed only in the accompaniment, a wrenching industrial jazz wailing, while the ensemble voices march blandly through the litany.

With their own nervous, shifting energy, designer Jerome Sirlin’s fantastic, multilayered scrim-and-projection illusions drive those scenes as much as the music. Elsewhere, he makes poignant virtue of starkness and light, abetted by lighting designer Robert Wierzel.

Ann Carlson’s staging carefully reflects the music, matching the rounded musical patterns with gestural motives. She keeps the amplified singers in motion, and asks much in the way of stylization and ensemble focus.

Saturday, sopranos Suzan Hanson and Mary Ann Hart, mezzo Jody Rapport, tenor Richard Fracker, baritone Daryl Henriksen and bass James Butler delivered potently. All projected clearly and eloquently as individuals--Hart caressed the flattering “Sitting on a tree stump” appreciatively and Henriksen had literally the first and last words in poised reflection--and formed an evenly blended ensemble.

Glass’ orchestration proved typically evocative and unusually rich in percussive color and accent. Conductor Martin Goldray maintained an organic pulse, with the tireless skills of keyboardists Alan Johnson and Nelson Padgett. Percussionists James Pugliese and Bill Trigg provided pertinently detailed work, and Richard Peck supplied the characterful wind solos.