Michael Daugherty
Metropolis Symphony > David Zinman; Baltimore Symphony Orchestra (Argo 452 103)

Iowa-born composer Michael Daugherty's orchestral homage to Superman is probably his masterpiece so far, although it is difficult to assess an oeuvre that encompasses the likes of Elvis Everywhere (performed by the Kronos Quartet) as well as symphonic tributes to Jackie O., J. Edgar Hoover, and Desi Arnaz, Jr.

Daugherty's pop culture fixation makes him sort of the Barenaked Ladies of classical music, although his works demonstrate a much greater pure talent at work than that bunch of preening Canadians. I admire anyone's ability to infuse a musical tradition with humor, since "serious music" gets so much critical hype and irreverent music rarely does. I think critics in general don't appreciate it when punchlines are mixed in with otherwise remarkable music.

I myself prefer it when works of great emotional weight or impressive artistry are adorned with some measure of levity. Still, I wonder how much of a successful career can be staked on humor before it becomes simply gimmickry. Look at They Might Be Giants, or Dave Barry, to see what I mean: in both cases, the "jokes" aren't all that funny anymore as they become more predictable and paint-by-numbers.

Humor is a mask, and I suppose everyone (myself included) wants to see behind the mask at some point. Shakespeare is probably the funniest writer in history, but that assessment would be diminished had he left behind a canon solely consisting of sitcoms.

I don't know enough about Michael Daugherty to say one way or the other whether his work has shown progressively more maturity, and whether he will come to be regarded as one of the 20th Century's great American composers. I can say that his work is profoundly American (for better or worse), and that as a composer he does demonstrate an amazing command of many diverse styles. He can't be pigeonholed musically, unless you can call him something like "the funny composer."

All great artists have a great sense of humor, but it takes a display of seriousness to prove to people that there's more than comic genius in the art. Jim Carrey proved it in Doing Time on Maple Drive, didn't he? Um, well, didn't he?

The Metropolis Symphony is whimsical yet weighty, inspired by the comic book Superman rather than the movie Superman, in which case it might have been titled Superman Gets Crippled to cash in on Christopher Reeve's newfound credibility as the celebrity ambassador to the disabled community. (I'm glad I took those sensitivity-training seminars.)

Daugherty draws on Raymond Scott-like cartoon music, Bernstein-jazz, and his own inventiveness with percussion to construct a five-part symphonic translation of Superman's world. The movements each address an aspect of that world: "Lex," "Krypton," "Mxyzptlk," "Oh, Lois!," and "Red Cape Tango," which provides something of a soundtrack to Superman's famous death at the hands of Doomsday.

Each movement is surprisingly different, unified by a certain chaotic sound that never actually becomes "too much." Still, after forty-some minutes of all the sirens, whistles, and whips, you do find yourself a bit tuckered out by the kookiness of it all. That's not to say the piece is a work of outright comedy, and in fact there are moments of utter brilliance that make a very strong case for Daugherty being in the very upper echelon of contemporary composers.

But just as you can't really judge John Ritter by "Three's Company," you can't make a generalization about Daugherty based on the Metropolis Symphony, impressive as it is. It strikes me more like an extraordinarliy assured first novel, one that makes a big splash but is always viewed as slightly "young" in retrospect when compared with the author's later "more serious" work.

There is an emotional core to the work, and that can be attributed to Daugherty's fascination with the Superman mythos, so the product never comes across as empty showiness. David Zinman, conducting the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra, does a good job of bringing these pieces to life as colorfully and vibrantly as the comic books they are meant to echo.

The music is accessible and enjoyable, although when I try to think of it in the context of classical music, I can't keep myself from considering it decidedly lesser, like candy cigarettes compared to those two-inch cigars my boss smokes.

"Get to work, Jenkins!" he barks. "We got a deadline on the Arbogast account and I won't put up with any of your lip!" Well, it doesn't help that I work in a meticulously-restored 1950s advertising agency.

The symphony is paired on this disc with "Bizarro," another Superman-inspired piece that utilizes three rock drummers in its enormous percussion section. It's equally inventive as the symphony, and similarly jazzy.

Daugherty's style is unique, although I hear a lot of Bernstein in him, mainly in the huge punchiness and jazz-inflected tunefulness. Although these pieces are extremely crowd-pleasing, they are not merely that (and for that matter, most of Bernstein's stuff was considered crowd-pleasing at the time, and continues to be so although his stature has elevated to the top level of American composers).

The music is satisfying and spirited, drawing on an obvious reverence for the Superman comics and an equal-measure irreverence for conventional compositional approaches. It is one of the few recent pieces by the new wave of young composers (Daugherty was 42 when this CD was recorded in 1996) that actually seems to be doing something new while remaining rooted in the classical tradition (rather than "starting a new tradition" or some such rationalization).

Of course, the utter individuality of these pieces precludes comparsion beyond allusion. Still, it's not tough to see why classical old-schoolers would view something like this as "too fun" even though it is tremendously accomplished.

This old world will need to have a lot of brain-cleaning done to begin appreciating music that fuses humor and seriousness. If the Metropolis Symphony has a flaw, it is that the seriousness comes through mainly in its form and its spirit rather than its content. I'd liken it to a slice of delicious pumpkin bread, that isn't really bad for you, but it isn't excessively nourishing either.

I love the fact that Michael Daugherty is brave enough and creative enough to keep coming up with humorous ideas that work in the classical arena, and that he's talented enough to pull it off. I just hope at some point he finds a way to forge that musical ideal that I myself strive for: the perfect blend of cleverness, catchiness, sorrow, and humor.

I can't think of any classical composers who have ever done it (they're mostly so serious and very often pretentious or academic). I mean, what if Barber had written the Adagio as well as "Powerhouse," wouldn't that automatically make him the best composer of all time?

Loud Bassoon rating scale

Review by Carl Heet