An evening spent with Phillip Glass is an evening spent in bliss. The composer, now 89 years old, made waves in the 60’s for his minimalistic composition or, as he prefers, “music with repetitive structures”. His works’ simplicity are curated from precise, complex polyrhythms, an invigorating experience embodied by Orchestra Victoria and pianist Maki Namekawa. 

Orchestra Victoria mastered the dynamics of Glass’ music, finding moments of natural and spontaneous sound in each cycle of a repeated melody. Equally, Namekawa offered a compelling performance, showcasing all that is beautiful about a grand piano’s sound. 

Continuing the City of Melbourne’s Now or Never festival, the Philip Glass: Piano Etudes + In the Upper Room concert took us to the revered (or feared, for University of Melbourne exam-taking students!) Royal Exhibition Centre in the Carlton Gardens. 

The heritage-listed hall, adorned with 20th century artwork of various Roman gods, created a warm, solemn environment in conjunction with an ambient red glow provided by the overhead radiators. A cylindrical draping of soft cloth with internal light strips was suspended above the stage, leading up to the picturesque dome. Sitting in the glow of the cherubs, gods, white cloth and music, the experience expressed a sense of the divine. 

Choosing to sit to the left of the thrust stage, we saw the audience filter in with beverages in hand. Similarly, Orchestra Victoria sporadically entered the stage with brass, wood and strings in hand until the room was an interesting osmosis of people finding their seat, some carrying objects of pleasure and others, of talent. 

Australian conductor Fabian Russell was greeted with applause—the moment revealing the sound-absorbing acoustics of the space. For an orchestra that primarily adjusts dynamics with the natural capabilities of the instrument, individual microphones can be a finicky endeavour. Perhaps it was the positioning of the microphones, but the players’ breathing was particularly amplified at times, and a cough echoed through the space. It was an unavoidable compromise, for every sniffle or chair shuffle would momentarily grate before dissipating into the overhead dome.  

In the Upper Rooms begins with “Dance I”, a piece which focuses on a string’s bowing rhythm that almost echoes the style of the Baroque era. Concertmaster Sulki Yu leads her section and the orchestra with grace, achieving a rich, synonymous sound. 

In these pieces, it is clear that Glass finds beauty in repetitive staccato notes and recurring motifs. Where the music soars is in the synchronous surge of alternate melodies played by each section of the orchestra. The draping cloth would organically ripple with the waft of a violinist’s downbow or a breath through a horn. 

“Dance III” and “Dance IV”—a woodwind and brass response to the strings’ previous call—are polyrhythms of heaven’s call. The cyclical nature of the pieces allows each melody to be appreciated as you tune into a particular instrument’s part. The fluttering, arpeggiated flutes, steady cellos and harmonised, processional horns formulate an aurally engaging performance for all its minimalism. 

“Dance IV” in particular was a highlight—oboes (Josh de Graaf & Dafydd Camp) and trumpets (Mark Fitzpatrick & Timothy Francis) were the voices of clarity, building an uplifting refrain in spine-tingling harmony. What follows is “Dance V”, opening with a harmonised ostinato held steady by clarinets (Paul Champion & Justin Beere) in unwavering confidence. 

The required concentration to fortify this rhythmically complex composition must not be understated by its (albeit) simple melody. These fanfares, both dissonant and complementary in rhythm, can only be achieved through trust and connection between conductor to player and between players. When the parts lined up, catharsis was tangible and the tune made a satisfying sense. Accompanying these moments, the light would almost drip down the centre of the cloth, drawing eyes to the overhead dome and the windows pointing to the heavens. 

The second half of the evening presented Piano Etudes, gracefully performed by pianist Maki Namekawa, who was so expressive in her performance, one could have thought the score had lyrics. Our perfect seating position allowed a full view of Namekawa’s emotion placed to the piano keys. 

Namekawa is no stranger to Glass’ music, having performed the world premiere of his full 20 etudes in 2013. She played each piece with such familiarity that it almost seemed to be muscle memory, yet, she still captured the spontaneity that signatures Glass’ style. 

After nine “dances” from In the Upper Room and ten etudes from a melodically similar piano concerto, the repetition was almost wearisome. However, taking inspiration from the man sitting next to me, closing your eyes and allowing your mind to drift to wherever Glass’ music takes you is healing. 

These etudes combine every marvellous aspect of a grand piano: dramatic trills, punchy chords and the delicate echo into silence. Namekawa wielded every dimension with care—an inspiring display of someone enjoying their craft so passionately. 

Piano Etudes and In the Upper Room reveal simple, compounding truth in braided layers, allowing the ability to see anew with every round. In the the haven of the Royal Exhibition Centre, I can’t help but feel as though a segment of heaven’s song cracked through the draped cloth—a portal to bliss, to different rhythms that come together in one joyous fanfare.