From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Music in Twelve Parts is a set of twelve pieces written between 1971 and 1974 by the 20th century composer Philip Glass^[1]. Only one piece was originally written, called “Music in Twelve Parts” because it was originally intended to have twelve lines of counterpoint harmony, but when he played it to a friend, she asked him what the other eleven parts would be like. He found the misunderstanding interesting, and wrote another eleven parts over a period of three years.^[2] The entire set can be over three hours long when performed. In these works, Glass uses repetitive structures often associated with musical minimalism.^[1] Despite this, many of the works display a great deal of variety and invention. The music develops slowly, and there are long periods during which a casual listener would not notice any change. If one listens closely, however, this is seen to be an illusion, since patterns actually change form almost continuously, though nearly imperceptibly. The pieces are therefore challenging to the listener, but they have still enjoyed a significant level of popularity and are often cited as a major work of the second half of the 20th century^[3]. The works show a great emphasis on development and slow alteration, with different pieces utilizing different techniques for development.

Andrew Porter for The New Yorker magazine (1978) wrote of the transitions from one track to the next:

“A new sound and a new chord suddenly break in, with an effect as if one wall of a room has suddenly disappeared, to reveal a completely new view.”

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Music In Twelve Parts is mesmerizing. Honestly. That’s the first word that comes to mind. I put it on and can’t bear to take the headphones off, because there’s a sort of necessity to the patterns. Once you figure it out, you envision the next three bars and can’t think of anything else until the music proves you right. Or doesn’t, and then a completely new world opens up.

Much of Glass is like this, but his film music is so romanticized, and even his operas contain a sort of fluidity that Music In Twelve Parts refuses to incorporate. Music in Twelve Parts is pure structure, pattern laid upon pattern laid upon pattern, and just as Bach’s exquisitely precise counterpoint made evident the space between the notes, so does Music In Twelve Parts bring to light a sort of exactness that most music forms rarely seem to notice .

So, I’ve been attempting to (with muchhelp) put a widgetlikething on the top-right corner of this page that will tell you my most-played albums of the past week. Using last.fm, of course (my username is blacknix).

Well, as you can see, that doesn’t quite work yet. However. I do have:

1. A nifty new color scheme.

2. A nifty Nietzsche quote.

3. Nifty poetry (look in the Pages section on your right).

4. A sudden, though nifty, habit of using the word “nifty” an excessively excessive amount.

Also, while Ulrich Schnauss is not a new artist for me, this album of his is:

If you can’t read the yellow text, the title is Far Away Trains Passing By. Be forewarned, it’s quiet and repetitive, but it’s ver’ calming, in a Múm – Finally We Are No One sort of way. Except moreso.

Perhaps a more interesting (newlypurchased) album is this:

Philip Glass’ A Descent Into the Maelstrom is modeled after Edgar Allan Poe’s short story of the same name. And it’s, well, horrifyingly beautiful.

Hm. Anyway. I’ll say something, twitter/post/otherwise, when the last.fm thing works. Chicago in two days! Ahhhh!