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Picture me as a tall, gawky 15-year-old, on family vacation. There is a patch of open road near Barcaldine, in the famous "red center" of Australia. A truck (a "ute") bumps and lists along the corrugated dirt track. I brace myself on the exposed tray. A much-loved, tape-patched Walkman is hugged tight to my chest, piping raw, rude, stark, repetitive music into my ears. The truck's rough housing makes a racket, and I'm holding on for dear life, yet my attention is focused solely on the pulsating music in my ears. My eyes are closed. Philip Glass has me in his thrall...
Fast forward ten years. I've plucked up the courage to perform Philip's music in public for the first time. Music in Fifths is a simple-sounding, constant, steady, fast stream of notes for ten minutes. But it's got me beat. I'm unprepared for the concentration and focus required to rehearse and perform this unrelenting music. I complain to friends, exasperated. "But it's just so bloody impossible. If I think about a post-rehearsal beer, I'm lost; If a drop of sweat drips into my eye, I'm lost; if I breathe for too long, I'm lost. My embouchure trembles, my body is soaked in sweat. This is musical torture!"
Fast forward another two years. eighth blackbird, my ensemble, is performing with Philip for the first time. During rehearsal I'm regressing, full of the tongue-tied gawkiness of that 15-year-old in the bumpy outback. In contrast, Philip is sweet, engaged, complimentary. He asks us how long our version of his piece Music in Similar Motion is, and when we tell him it's eleven minutes, he says, with a wry smile, "Well, then this rehearsal should take exactly eleven minutes!"
Growing up, my brother and I fought about music. I was the classical geek, walking down the street with a Mahler score in one hand and a conducting baton in the other. My brother was a Bob Dylan obsessed folk-rock fan-boy, who claimed that classical music was "all head and no heart." Our fights were bitter, personal. While other mothers worried that their kids were doing drugs or having sex, our mother was defusing brawls about the relative superiority of Ligeti and Beck. The Venn diagram of our musical tastes, however, crossed for just one composer: Philip Glass. In fact, I think it is fair to say that Philip's music has, over time, brought Simon and me to a place where a peace accord could be drafted. Philip was our musical diplomat... – Tim Munro
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The Philip Glass Festival begins Sunday, September 16 at 3pm in Camp Concert Hall with the film Glass: A Portrait of Philip in Twelve Parts, and will continue through October 5. The festival will include films, lectures, a ModlinArts Artist Voices Series presentation with Philip Glass and Philip Glass and Tim Fain in concert. Visit modlin.richmond.edu for a full schedule of events.
Born in Brisbane, Australia, Tim studied flute at Oberlin College, Queensland Conservatorium (Australia) and Australian National Academy of Music. His teachers included Michel Debost, Margaret Crawford and Patrick Nolan.
Tim has played with professional orchestras, chamber groups and new music ensembles around Australia. Highlights include concerto performances with the Queensland Orchestra, solo performances at the Melbourne Arts Festival and Bangalow Festival, and recordings for Australian radio and commercial CD release. He also participated in the Carnegie Hall Training Workshops and the Pacific Music Festival.
Composers he has worked with include Elliott Carter, Oliver Knussen, Aaron Jay Kernis, Joseph Schwantner, Tania Leon, Peter Sculthorpe and Brett Dean.
A classical music tragic, Tim likes to write and speak about music, and in an earlier life was Publications Coordinator of the Tasmanian Symphony
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