The place where art music and pop music meet is today less a border than a bridge constantly filled with traffic flowing both ways. I like to think of German-born Max Richter as standing somewhere in the middle of that bridge, a modern composer with a pop musician's sense of conceptual unity, emotional connection, and payoff. His albums to date have played like post-minimalist classical for those who follow indie rock and electronic music-- they could lead a Mogwai fan to Arvo Pärt and Gavin Bryars, or a Pärt fan to Rachel's, Stars of the Lid, and Philip Jeck. The point is that he makes art music with broad appeal, miles from the kind of process pieces that are easier to read about than listen to.
Richter's latest takes a step into a part of the pop world few modern composers have approached: the ringtone. Old-school classical music has been there for a while-- I have friends with piano sonatas, Mozart snippets, and bits of Bach on their phones-- but Richter is one of the first to build an entire recording around this most ubiquitous man-made ambient noise. These 24 brief tracks (totaling around a half-hour) are theoretically all meant to tell you that Mom is calling, but don't come expecting the bassline to "Play That Funky Music", the pep of "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik", or anything similarly snappy. These pieces are almost entirely in the same somber vein of Richter's other work. If you want a ringtone that could stop everyone else in the produce aisle in his or her tracks with its beauty, this is for you.
The main musical aim here appears to be tonal variety. Richter places a minute of burbling, crackling ambient noise next to a painfully gorgeous minute of violins slipping in and out of harmony, or an arpeggiating electric guitar smothered in voices. The piano pieces are soft, contemplative, and a bit chilly-- they make me think of wearing a sweater while reading a thoughtfully written book by the light of a single lamp in an otherwise dark home. Autumnal is a word I occasionally see used to describe the feel of Richter's work, and it certainly applies here. These pieces are falling leaves and brisk breezes embodied in bow strokes, keystrokes, and electronic textures.
Richter has discussed the possibility of performing shows using these pieces as ringtones on his audience's phones, controlling the music from the stage via text message-- I'd love to be at one of those shows to see how it feels as a droning violin or gently pulsing, organ-like tone spreads through the crowd. Setting the concept aside, this is a frequently haunting album, though it sacrifices a great deal of flow in the name of brevity and variety. Even if no one ever downloads it to a Nokia, the hair-raising violin of "A Sudden Manhattan of the Mind" makes its point just fine as part of the album. And that's the most important thing to remember about this album: the concept is strong, but the music is stronger.
