Elodie Lauten has
been active in the New York music scene for some years, and
when you search for her name on the internet, you come up with
quite a bit of activity. One can admire her for being a seemingly
good self-promoter, and for drawing a devoted following for
her music.
Regrettably for me, neither her music nor her
playing particularly moves me here. For over an hour, hapless
listeners are subjected to an endless noodling
at the piano, a kind of half George Winston, half Keith Jarrett
random improvisation that has neither of the important elements
of quality in that genre: form and melody. What many a modern
“composer” seems to forget, is that when the great improvisers
of the past sat down to play, they improvised fully worked out
fugues, sonatas, toccatas. They did not sit down for long stretches
and wander through a forest of repetitive arpeggios in a monochromatic
tone world.
Ms. Lauten has been
referred to as a “post-minimalist” in a few places, but the
qualities of intricate rhythm and hypnotic, memorable melodies
that make music by Philip Glass or Steve Reich so appealing,
are missing in this music. Rather, this production seems homespun,
reminiscent of the sort of basement studio discs that so overpopulate
the New Age racks in the stores.
I would think that this music would find a favorably
disposed audience amongst the coffee house set if generously
seasoned with some poetry readings and good coffee. Honestly,
I wish that I could find more to praise in this disc, because
from the information that I was able to find on her, Ms. Lauten
is an ambitious and dedicated composer. Alas, of the two discs
of her music that I have reviewed. (see review
of Walking in New York, Portrait of Allen Ginsberg) I have yet to hear anything that
I think is either inspired or even particularly interesting.
Kevin Sutton
