FROM AROUND THE WORLD: NEW YORK CITY.(White Raven, Luci Mie Traditrici)(Review)

Partisans of Philip Glass's music -- and they are a large, ardent bunch -- refer to the "cumulative power" of his pieces, especially the works for stage. This phenomenon is particularly in evidence in the final scene of White Raven, Glass's latest operatic collaboration with director/designer Robert Wilson (with whom he created Einstein on the Beach and the CML warS). The scene begins with a chorale-like melody, sung on "ahh" by the offstage chorus. The accompaniment is uncharacteristically devoid of any rhythmic pulse. The melody repeats (of course), but its simple loveliness bears repetition; the volume grows, the orchestration expands, and gradually the rhythmic element is introduced. Onstage, the intriguing, varied and literally colorful characters we have encountered over the previous three hours emerge slowly and take their positions. Their collective and individual exoticism, as well as their sheer numbers, are overwhelming. This is the kind of serendipitous pleasure that the Glass/Wilson brand of music theater offers.

White Raven, the first event in Lincoln Center Festival 2001's Glass Celebration, is an exploration of exploration itself (reminiscent in this regard of Glass's 1992 The Voyage). Commissioned by the Portuguese government and given its world premiere in 1998 in Lisbon, White Raven takes as its jumping-off point the adventures of the sixteenth-century explorer Vasco da Gama (Herbert Perry), who discovered the sea route to India. The historical element comes to life in the royal court, with courtiers going through stylized movements while the Portuguese King and Queen (Yuri Batukov and Ana Paula Russo) discuss da Gama's travels. Other scenes depict voyages to Africa and Brazil, as well as fanciful journeys to outer space and the bottom of the sea. We encounter native dignitaries in masks and body paint, Miss Universe descending on a swing in Mae West attire, Dorothy and the Tin Man, and an assortment of scientists, sailors, monsters and mythological figures. Sequences featuring a character called the Writer serve as a framing device. Played by modern-dance notable Lucinda Childs, who declaims her often cryptic narrative texts with great conviction, the Writer is a stand-in for the authors of the piece, who are making discoveries of their own -- new possibilities for dramatic expression. (The libretto is by the Portuguese writer-historian Luisa Costa Gomes.)

Overall, the music is more harmonically varied and liberal with dissonance than much of Glass's earlier work. Ostinatos provide the basis for complex layering, rather than serving as foreground material themselves. Melodies are vocally sympathetic. One could say that Glass is inching toward the mainstream, but strictly on his own terms -- no one else could have written this piece. Both the stage and the pit rely extensively on the conductor, and Dennis Russell Davies, leading the American Composers Orchestra, was masterful. The large opening-night crowd at Lincoln Center's State Theater on July 10 certainly included some who were unconvinced by the piece, but most seemed eager to share the experience of ...