By Allan Kozinn
New York Times Music Critic
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Beginnings

EIGHTH BLACKBIRD, a Chicago new-music band, established its vibrant, bright-hued sonic signature as well as a taste for the whimsical on its first two CD's, "Round Nut Tool" and "Thirteen Ways." Here it presents a decidedly more sober and mystical program: works by Daniel Kellogg and George Crumb that offer very different conceptions of the creation of the universe. But the performances have all the sparkle, energy and precision of the earlier outings.

Mr. Kellogg, whose 33-minute "Divinum Mysterium" (2000) was composed for Eighth Blackbird, approaches the story of the creation from a religious perspective, using the opening verses of Genesis as a blueprint. As prelude, he sets the Latin hymn of the title (performed, in a cameo, by the men's choir Chanticleer), which is quoted and varied in the five movements that follow.

The score has its introspective moments, notably in "Rest," a dark-hued rumination on God's pause after the creation. But if not for Mr. Kellogg's devotional program notes and the opening hymn, this could almost be a chamber updating of "The Rite of Spring."

The first movement, "Beginnings," trades in huge dynamic contrasts, including purely Stravinskian chordal thwacks and pointed rhythms. The interplay between piano and percussion gives the movement on the creation of light a shimmering surface. And the finale, "Rejoicing," after a reconfiguration of the hymn tune, becomes an ecstatic, percussion-heavy celebration.

This piece makes the most of Eighth Blackbird's complement of flute, clarinet, violin, cello, piano and percussion. Only half the band performs in Mr. Crumb's "Vox Balaenae" (1971), for electric flute, cello and piano, making an ample and varied noise. The work, Mr. Crumb has written, took its inspiration from recordings of whale song and from commentary on the Big Bang.

Thus an odd but inviting bifurcation: the outer movements are an explosive Vocalise (named for the flute line, which is partly sung through the instrument), representing the creation of the universe, and a sublimely meditative Messiaenesque Nocturne, suggesting the universe's eventual decay. In between, a set of six variations evokes whale song in eerily glassy cello slides.

Both works run the risk that their theatricality and pictorialism will overshadow the inventiveness that drives them. But while the players here draw the pictures and create the contrasts the composers demand, it is their superb musicality and interpretive vigor that bring these pieces to life.

Copyright © 2004 New York Times