Review: Philip Glass at the Bass Concert Hall

Anticipation was in the coldish air as legions of students, faculty, patrons of the arts and everyone else queued up outside the beautifully revamped Bass Concert Hall, which opened just last month to the public at large. The reason? Not George Lopez or Gordon Lightfoot (who will visit in April and March, respectively), but a performance by Philip Glass, a minimalist, trailblazing composer who was performing his homage to the poetry of Leonard Cohen. In 2006 Cohen released the Book of Longing, his first book of poetry since 1993, and a year later Glass set the piece to music and is now touring behind it. Fans of Glass and Cohen really had no excuse not to come, and the uninitiated but curious had plenty to entice them - especially UT Students, for whom admission was a mere ten dollars.

The show itself featured Glass on keyboards, a string section, percussionist, and four singers. On occasion a recording of Cohen's voice reciting his own poetry accompanied the music, but more often it was the quartet of singers who interpreted his words. The backdrop of the performance included an eye-catching (but static) collection of some of Cohen's illustrations, and one square in left-center that projected a shifting assortment of his figures.

A mood of reverence and sanctity seemed to take hold from the get-go, registered in both the patent seriousness of the musicians and even the audience, who seemed unsure as to whether or not it was okay to clap after the opening number. The performers themselves varied in execution: the string players, all of whom soloed, were stunning musicians and just expressive performers in general. Glass himself was not a passionate player and seemed firmly dedicated to just getting the notes right. The quartet of singers also seemed unnaturally drawn to form, both in their operatic vocals and strange combination of poses that involved them both standing and seating with, at times, their backs to the audience.

After Glass and company had gone through about seven similarly modeled songs, it became clear what this performance lacked: teeth. For an artist so ensconced in the avant-garde, here paying his respects to a singularly uncensored, strident, and darkly funny figure, the whole of Book of Longing was big on melodrama but short on surprises, much humor, or levity. It was an interpretation of Cohen that neither brought the equally uplifting and sad facets of his work totally to the surface.

Leonard Cohen, no doubt, is the man - he's your man, but Glass's piece approaches his work from a reverential distance that barely touches on what feels like a bloodier, more real scene than the one we're privy to during this performance. Cohen's work is tremendous and he is a beloved figure - which is all the reason why this safe, quasi-religious treatment of the man is lacking those very human qualities that makes Cohen's work a touchstone in the first place.