Orchestra's Chamber series: Maurice Wright

This has been quite a season for Maurice Wright, chairman of the Department of Music Studies at Temple's Esther Boyer College of Music and Dance. The Network for New Music and Karl Middleman's Classical Symphony premiered highly successful major works by him. And the final Philadelphia Orchestra chamber music concert showcased an older piece that displayed Wright's flair for composing music that is sonically and visually exhilarating.

Both premieres treated major extra-musical subjects. The Network piece, Darwiniana, combined music and video into a moving voyage through the life of Charles Darwin. The Classical Symphony premiere, Wissahickon Scenes, evoked the spirit and history of the Lenape Indians— the people who greeted William Penn and eventually went into a long cultural hiatus that's now coming to an end. (See my reviews on February 23 and May 25.)

Wright's chamber piece, on the other hand, is an irresistible bit of pure music, devoid of social or historical significance. Wright composed Movement in Time in 1985 for a commission by the Orchestra's principal timpanist, Don Liuzzi. Its major raison d'être is its delight in the sounds, rhythms, and effects that two percussionists can pull out of the arsenal of instruments at their command.

When timpanists dance

As Wright remarks in his notes on Movement in Time, one attraction of percussion music is its choreography. When I saw the late Michael Bookspan perform a concerto for percussion with the Philadelphia Orchestra many years ago, I was struck by the grace he displayed as he maneuvered between the different instruments arranged at the front of the stage. The choreography in Movement in Time is less dance-like, but it's still a big part of the appeal.

When one of the percussionists switches to the tympani for the first time, for example, he looks like he's settling into a control room as he takes his place in the center of four drums and you prepare yourself for a big outburst. Later, the two musicians work together on a single snare drum, in a passage that includes moments when they crack their sticks together like two fencers crossing swords.

A two-man workout on the xylophone creates another highlight. The percussionists face each other on opposite sides of the instrument, so one of them must play backward, with the low notes on his right and the highs on his left. In his comments before the performance, Wright referred to the passage as a form of "musical dyslexia."

But this choreography would be an empty exercise if the performers merely ran around the stage assuming interesting poses. Wright has also given them real music, complete with melodies, rhythms and satisfying, unexpected twists and turns.

One significant flaw

Movement suffers one significant flaw. The recorded music that accompanies the percussionists adds little to the proceedings. It fills in some of the interludes when the musicians are moving between instruments, but at times it actually distracts from the work of the two live performers— who are, after all, the primary center of interest.

Wright received extra attention this season partly because he celebrated his 60th birthday in October. He's had a long career, with a resume that includes support from the Guggenheim Foundation and the National Endowment for the Arts, but he hasn't achieved the public recognition enjoyed by many other Philadelphia composers. I've reviewed new music for more than 20 years and I must confess his name didn't ring any bells when the season began.

I'll pay more attention to his byline in the future. Two of our most innovative music organizations marked the end of Wright's sixth decade with major commissions, and Wright responded with the verve of an artist at the peak of his abilities. Movement in Time indicates Darwiniana and Wissahickon Scenes were just the latest installments in an output that could include a number of treasures.