MUSIC REVIEW : Riley’s ‘St. Adolph Ring’ Premiered at LACMA

Madness is its own reward. That much, at least, could be gleaned from the premiere of Terry Riley’s “St. Adolph Ring,” on the latest of the Monday Evening Concerts at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

Complementing the museum’s current exhibition “Parallel Visions: Modern Artists and Outsider Art,” “St. Adolph Ring” is inspired by the work of schizophrenic artist Adolph Wolfli--”a mirror image of matching ecstasy, humor, spontaneity and seamless-curvilinear-performance interaction,” according to its creators.

As such, coherence may be inappropriate. But Riley and the other members of “The Rescue Committee”--actor-librettist John Deaderick; actress-lighting designer Sally Davis; sound technician Mikhail Graham; video artist Frank Ragsdale--seem lost in faux naif loopiness rather than the peculiar discipline of mania.

Ironically, Riley and Co. exhibit their own sort of disassociation, paying homage to the form of Wolfli’s imagery while undercutting its content.

This seriously reduces the potential power of the 100-minute piece. Drawn largely from the artist’s own words, the libretto builds an emotional crescendo from increasingly angry religious confrontations. As depicted here, Wolfli seems to have had ambiguous and anguished ideas about the artist-as-sacrifice--whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad.

Minimalist godfather Riley provides a kind of post-modern rage aria for the crucifixion climax. It is vivid, sweeping, pop-based music, deftly supported electronically. Deaderick strikes a stylized pose in front of a winged cross, while a masked Davis huddles at his feet in a scene clearly meant to parallel the biblical picture.

But Riley sings in mock-episcopal garb--white robe, miter and what looks like one of those giant foam rubber hands sold at stadiums to sports fans. Too hip to mean anything, Riley offers a wink and a nudge when his subject is most hurt and serious.

For the most part, Riley’s busy score mixes jazz pianism with Indian vocalism. It relies self-consciously on parody, and reflects Wolfli’s bent patterns ably.

The strength of Riley’s playing was a revelation of sorts. When the composer was at the piano, he produced music of great motor energy, goosed with stunning polymetric bits.

At the synthesizer, on the other hand, Riley was all cliche. Purposeful, satiric cliche, perhaps intended to suggest the roots of madness in the ordinary, but nonetheless groaning and contradictory. His computer-controlled sequences relied on sampled acoustic instruments, skillfully accomplishing little that conventional forces could not have played.

Deaderick acted Wolfli with the emphasis on childlike aspects, bland where something like Robin Williams’ presence was needed. His text seemed serviceable, though torn between autobiography and prophetic vision.

As a lithe, masked figure, Davis lurked effectively on her colorfully set, conventionally lit stage. She also joined Riley in several songs, supplying a cool double to his hoarse crooning.

Projections of Wolfli’s images dominated the visual aspect. Ragsdale delivered perhaps the most striking commentary on Wolfli’s art with his animated video deconstructions, much in the manner of some of Ed Emshwiller’s virtuoso video manipulations.

Bing Theater at the museum was unusually full for this premiere, though the audience steadily lost members from the midpoint on. Inconsistently imagined, “St. Adolph Ring” was fascinating in parts, frustrating in whole.