John Luther Adams: "Drums of Fire, Drums of Stone" – Declaration of Dependence

At first glance, it seems as if “Drums of Fire, Drums of Stone” was merely a collection of different sounds of nature, particularly of its more violent sides, paired with rather unsystematic drum sounds made by humans. Adams’ piece begins with the rolling noise of an avalanche, or perhaps a rockslide, primeval natural sounds permeated with sudden booms as more and more swaths of rock or snow start breaking away, starting their breakneck journey from the heights of the mountains down to where the listener may stand. Gradually, not less thunderous drums enter the scene, first amplifying the rockslide, and then replacing it. However, this does not happen in any uniform fashion: Rather, movement within the track is sudden, and sometimes the drums are deafening, sometimes barely even audible. It reminds me of the drum music of earlier avantgarde composers like John Cage, who were avid to show the interested public the musical and sometimes even melodic properties of percussion, a usually overlooked section of the conventional orchestra.

The powerful sounds that are at the heart of “Drums of Fire, Drums of Stone” are highly irregular and predictable only in the sense that the dynamic keeps varying in a pattern of tension and release. I’m sure there is some kind of common rhythm here, otherwise the multiple performers beating the drums would have trouble coordinating (at least that’s what I imagine) – see the short period of total, perfect silence around minute 4:55. But the lack of regularity and the unpredictability are apt to make the listener uneasy, agitated even. The slow fade-out changes nothing about this, leaving the listener still with quite a few question marks in their heads. And impressed by this combined show of force of nature and man.

But is this really such a “combined” show? Or were these two kinds of sounds artfully juxtaposed by Adams, showing more of a contrast than cooperation? Considering the dichotomy presented between nature and humanity (despite the superficial sonic similarities) and Adams’ record of environmental activism, it isn’t hard to believe that the composer doesn’t intend to show a picture of harmony. Well, nobody can say definitely but the composer himself, but here is my take: The title already strongly suggests that the piece is about the force and sheer dominance of nature over humankind.

This composition serves to symbolize the fragility of what we like to think of as human civilization, in contrast to the way nature dwarves the power we have over the world. For example, man harnesses fire in all kinds of internal combustion devices, creates edifices out of what is essentially stone. Whether we build a plain apartment block or the Sagrada Família, we depend on the elemental resources nature provides us with, willingly or not. But in the end, nature has the final say, and there’s little we can do about cataclysmic events such as large earth slides, earthquakes or catastrophic forest fires to protect what we built. In other words: human existence as we know it today is heavily dependent and in all ways based on the bounty of nature. I think that Adams’ message, in a way, is that no matter how sublime or dexterous we deem our creations, their survival (and ours) depends on nothing going catastrophically wrong in the brutal realm of nature, which is not only beautiful and life-gifting but also dangerous and brutal. And each time we think ourselves masters or dominators of nature, he seeks to remind us that we ought to be humbly reminiscent of the fragility of our existence.