Music in Twelve Parts is a set of twelve pieces written between 1971 and 1974 by the composer Philip Glass. The eleven instruments in this work cycle are played by five musicians: three electric organs, two flutes, four saxophones (2 sopr, 1 alto, 1 tenor) and one female voice. Only the organ can be heard throughout; the other instruments are not playing simultaneously the whole time. Only one piece was originally written, called "Music in Twelve Parts" because it was originally intended to have twelve lines of counterpoint harmony, but when he played it to a friend, she asked him what the other eleven parts would be like. He found the misunderstanding interesting, and wrote another eleven parts over a period of three years. The entire set can be over three hours long when performed. In these works, Glass uses repetitive structures often associated with musical minimalism. Despite this, many of the works display a great deal of variety and invention. The music develops slowly, and there are long periods during which a casual listener would not notice any change. If one listens closely, however, this is seen to be an illusion, since patterns actually change form almost continuously, though nearly imperceptibly. The pieces are therefore challenging to the listener, but they have still enjoyed a significant level of popularity and are often cited as a major work of the second half of the 20th century. The works show a great emphasis on development and slow alteration, with different pieces utilizing different techniques for development.
Andrew Porter for The New Yorker magazine (1978) wrote of the transitions from one track to the next:
"A new sound and a new chord suddenly break in, with an effect as if one wall of a room has suddenly disappeared, to reveal a completely new view."
Famous quotes containing the words music, twelve and/or parts:
“As for the terms good and bad, they indicate no positive quality in things regarded in themselves, but are merely modes of thinking, or notions which we form from the comparison of things with one another. Thus one and the same thing can be at the same time good, bad, and indifferent. For instance music is good for him that is melancholy, bad for him who mourns; for him who is deaf, it is neither good nor bad.”
—Baruch (Benedict)
“No one thinks anything silly is suitable when they are an adolescent. Such an enormous share of their own behavior is silly that they lose all proper perspective on silliness, like a baker who is nauseated by the sight of his own eclairs. This provides another good argument for the emerging theory that the best use of cryogenics is to freeze all human beings when they are between the ages of twelve and nineteen.”
—Anna Quindlen (20th century)
“Rice and peas fit into that category of dishes where two ordinary foods, combined together, ignite a pleasure far beyond the capacity of either of its parts alone. Like rhubarb and strawberries, apple pie and cheese, roast pork and sage, the two tastes and textures meld together into the sort of subtle transcendental oneness that we once fantasized would be our experience when we finally found the ideal mate.”
—John Thorne, U.S. cookbook writer. Simple Cooking, “Rice and Peas: A Preface with Recipes,” Viking Penguin (1987)