Fittingly, the visual effect — what with a deep red screen behind them, the white of the music paper and the black of the pianos — was mysteriously minimal.
Eastman's driving, pulsating music has Minimalist credentials but is also flecked with references to pop. For much of this work, a steady 16th-note parade served as foundation and musical motor, but subtle structural and textural shifts were triggered by Ray.
At some point, the steady pulse scattered, producing a more rolling yet fragmented feeling of time. A dreamily distracted air pulled us away from the once-dominant groove.
In the final passage, Ray's tolling low notes led into an ever-thickening mass of sound, as musical "plants" slowly joined the pianist ranks until 14 players tickled four sets of ivories. The crazy sonic swirl of piano sound was reminiscent of denser moments in the player piano studies of Conlon Nancarrow, another outside-the-box American maverick.
Tempting though it is to place Eastman's piece in historical context, comparing it to such Minimalist classics as Terry Riley's "In C" and Steve Reich's "Four Organs," its rough edges and creative exertion show. It refuses to obey the polite, clean-machined style of Minimalist writing, instead revealing a unique personality. The EAR Unit's unveiling of Eastman came across as a disarming but triumphant experience.
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