After the mid afternoon dance-off that was Konono No.1, I returned refreshed to take in what was for me the highlight of the Steve Reich birthday celebrations, his Music for 18 Musicians – one of my favourite pieces of music, performed by the man himself.  +17, obviously.  As if that wasn’t enough, I got another two compositions, one of which happened to be a world premiere.

The first Reich piece we are treated to in the main hall was his 2003 Cello Counterpoint, featuring eight cello parts, of which all but one are prerecorded.  The remaining part is gloriously engraved on top by Maya Beiser in front of a seven column projection of her playing the other seven.

The world premiere of Daniel Variations followed.  A four part recontextualisation of the murder of American journalist Daniel Pearl, interspersing the singing of two quotes from Pearl (one from a tape broadcast by his kidnappers, stating his name, and one supplied by a friend about Pearl’s thought son the afterlife – “I sure hope Gabriel likes my music…when the day is done) amongst two from the biblical book of Daniel, where Daniel interprets Nebuchadnezzar’s dreams (“Images upon my bed and visions frightened me”, “Let the dream fall back on the dreaded”).  These quotes resonated around my head long after the last notes died out.

Reich’s new work treats Pearl’s story without sensation – it would have been far easier to have set it amongst the entirety of that last broadcast, but we would have lost the sense of Pearl’s humanity, and of his position in the long line of captives in ceaseless violent religious struggles (I don’t really do religion, but if anyone can provide me with a bit more explanation of any subtext here, I’d love to hear it).  The work itself is really quite dark, and features prominent use of strings, with a full quartet dominating the centre of the piece.  Apparently Pearl was a violinist.  This work is a great tribute to him, and to Reich, who takes applause from the mixing desk at the end.  I sure hope Gabriel like it too.

The glittering jewel in Reich’s canon, Music For 18 Musicians, takes up the last hour, although it seems to pass in a trice.  Using skills clearly learned in a Presentation Skills for Business course, it tells us what it is going to tell us (the opening section runs through the chords to be used), then tells it to us (chord by chord), then it tells us what it has told us at the end. 

From the very first marimba notes to the last, we are held captive by its shimmering, translucent beauty, the music expanding like a gas into every crevice of the Barbican.  It is a note perfect recreation, although seeing it live affords the opportunity to admire the detail.  Such as the emphasis of symmetry: the clarinettists move their instruments towards and away from each other and the microphone as if in mirror image to create those deep vibrato notes; and the tricky piano face offs, with one player’s part mutating into the other’s.  The percussionists are a joy to watch; up to half a dozen people at any time (including Reich himself, scuttling across from the piano periodically) each with up to four mallets, banging out the most insistent of all the rhythms, as the vocalists doo doo doo and ba da ba all over the top. 

Ultimately, the work is like an anthill, the strongest demonstration of the power of the collective, with individual flair being suppressed, and all efforts directed towards the construction of a great whole.  Given all that, it was still impossible to deny the rightness of a behatted Reich being pushed forward, almost apologetically, from amongst his comrades, to take some extra applause.  His contribution to 20th and 21st century music is immense, and he shows no sign of stopping yet.  Many happy returns, Steve.