Sustain

By Andrew Norman

BORN : October 31, 1979, in Grand Rapids, Michigan

Ω COMPOSED : 2018

Ω WORLD PREMIERE: October 4, 2018, by the Los Angeles Philharmonic with conductor Gustavo Dudamel

Ω CLEVELAND ORCHESTRA PREMIERE: This weekend’s concerts mark the first performances of Sustain by The Cleveland Orchestra.

Ω ORCHESTRATION: 3 flutes (3rd doubling piccolo), 3 oboes, 3 clarinets, 3 bassoons, 4 horns, 4 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion (vibraphone, suspended plywood, bongos, triangle, suspended cymbals, temple blocks, vibraphone, bell tree, log drums, chimes), harp, two pianos (one tuned down a quarter tone), and strings

Ω DURATION: about 35 minutes

ON THE SURFACE , Andrew Norman’s Sustain presents a simple idea: 10 repetitions of the same material, with each repetition exponentially faster than the last. However, merely describing the blueprint of the piece belies the vast range of expression within its rigorous structure. Norman’s particular compositional gift lies not in standard harmonic or melodic writing, but in crafting entire metaphysical landscapes complete with dilations of time and space, gravitational centers, acoustic recreations of digital effects, and other Modern compositional tools that challenge the efficacy of our senses. If you consider the “purpose” of the symphonic tradition to be a general ledger of civilization over the last 400 years, meant to record the desires, night- mares, triumphs, and technologies of the times, then there is no more perfect rendering of our moment, careening toward an uncertain future, than Sustain.

Commissioned by the Los Angeles

Philharmonic to write a large-scale orchestral work for its centenary celebration, Norman found his starting point in the most basic, essential building block at any composer’s disposal: time. In contrast to “fixed” arts like painting or sculpture, symphonic writing is able to sculpt with time itself. Through the prism of the orchestra, Norman composes a spectrum of temporalities, covering everything from colossal timescales of stars or mountain ranges to those more recognizable to us: a season, an afternoon nap, a passing thought.

A rising flourish by two iridescent pianos (tuned a quarter tone apart), serves as a guidepost on this harrowing journey. Placed on opposite ends of the stage, they act as bookends to the cycles, signaling the start of each of the 10 repetitions. Between these markers expands a seductive dreamworld, where themes don’t have variations, but instead melt, freeze, evaporate, or sublimate. Within each repetition, the music gradually coalesces around and is eventually pulled into a gravitational center of terrifying proportions. Once the material reaches the singularity, it is spat back out into inky black space, losing momentum as it succumbs to entropy.

One of the great joys of experiencing Sustain is to find new momentums and connective tissues as each cycle proceeds. Something that was scarcely perceptible in the first iteration might become tactile in the second and fundamental in the third. Elements that seemed unrelated at first glance are vulcanized into novel materials, while familiar motifs — glittering vibraphone chords or a yearning melody for solo flute — are subsumed by greater momentums.

Eventually, we discover that we are inextricably being drawn toward an even larger locus, an event horizon that annihilates absolutely everything in its orbit. As we hurtle to this final, total destruction, the conductor can no longer maintain control; Norman instructs certain wind musicians to “go crazy.”

The delicate architecture, bounded by the previously reliable pair of quartertone pianos, implodes into cacophony.

But this is not the end. The spiral form has played itself out, but what are we left with? In his program note, Norman states that Sustain asks “bottomless” questions, but I hear the coda as something specifically human and reflective, in contrast to the scientific rigor of the preceding 25 minutes. We’ve entered a sort of sound bath, with shimmering piano interplay, reminiscences of wind chimes, and the gentle lapping of waves. During this aural Savasana, I sometimes find that I’ve forgotten, if only for a couple of minutes, that I occupy one body, in one place, at one time.

When asked about this ending, Norman answered with his own questions: “As I saw all my musical materials contracting into the vortex at the heart of the work, the questions became clear to me: What lies in the aftermath of apocalypse? What happens after the end of history? When the old rules collapse into a point of nothingness, what remains in their wake? My mind turned to galaxies and black holes and big bangs, and the image of an orchestra, once tightly coordinated by the gravitational pulls of a conductor’s inexorable beat, now completely untethered, a collection of free-floating, individual molecules wafting through space to their own chance-determined ends.”

— Ian Mercer