Watched Glass: A Portrait of Philip Glass in 12 Parts (by Scott Hicks, the director of Shine) a few nights ago. It certainly rounded him out for me, with lots of "personal" time spent with him in his New York and Nova Scotia homes, as well as concert venues and with family and famous friends -- the artist Chuck Close, with whom he's been friends since the sixties, and Errol Morris appear often.
I appreciate that he's a seeker, and we see sections with his Qi Gong teacher, his Toltec shaman, and his friend Gelek Rinpoche, a Tibetan Buddhist (Glass is also close to the Dalai Lama, we're told). He's had tragedy (his third wife died), but we also see hints that his fourth marriage (with young kids) is breaking up. And we see that he is a tireless worker, juggling multiple movie scores and appearances around the world.
In the end, though, I was drawn no closer to his music. He's certainly been pursuing a singular vision for 40-plus years, but it all seems very repetitive to me. I say this as a lover of repetition, and of his contemporary Steve Reich (who is never mentioned) -- I don't mean the repetition within a piece, but throughout his career. Except for the vocal works and other collaborations, his works all seem so similar. There's no "early" or "late" periods, and those freaking up-and-down arpeggios keep appearing over and over, whether it's solo piano or chamber or large-scale works. Everything sounds like Koyaanisqatsi. I want to like him, because so many others do.
I did enjoy Chuck Close repeating an old joke:
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Philip Glass.
Here's a scene from Koyaanisqatsi.
