It is not surprising that a composer of the integrity of Thomas Adès, whose own life and career seem to be touched by a golden hand, should be drawn to contemplate fate. But it seems incredible that his piece America, a Prophecy should have presaged in such an eerie way the events of September 11.
Quite what drew Adès to set the words of a South American Mayan text predicting the fall of a city for his commission from the New York Philharmonic will always be open to question. Following the success of the piece in New York, Adès built a programme around its first performance in Birmingham, using a theme of prophecy and foreboding. It included Tchaikovsky's early tone poem Fate, Cassandra's curse from Berlioz's The Trojans, and Charles Ives's Orchestral Set No 2, prompted by the sinking of the Lusitania.
Adès's conducting is inspirational rather than revelatory, but his instinct for rhythmic and instrumental colour brought to both the Tchaikovsky and Berlioz a heightened sense of drama. As the prophetic Cassandra, Susan Bickley was imposing, her maledictory tone enough to strike terror into the heart. By comparison, the Trojan March and the Prologue seemed trite, but in the Royal Hunt and Storm, Adès's placing of the two antiphonal horns and second timpanist high above the Symphony Hall audience fulfilled in the most exhilarating way the spatial and elemental force of Berlioz. Only in retrospect did the bombardment of sound take on the sinister shadows of war, hanging about the air as the unearthly offstage voices of the final movement of the Ives began their threnody, its apocalyptic climax driven hard by Adès.
America, a Prophecy would in any circumstances be powerful. Here the parallels with the Ives made it quite overwhelming. Bickley's delivery of the doom-laden words was almost disembodied, devoid of emotional overtone, but carrying more weight even than her Cassandra. Ades's sound world wove magic and horror by turn, manic yet vibrant. The CBSO musicians and chorus gave everything to this moving performance. Adès looked shattered at the end - just as the listeners were shaken.
The talismanic aura of his earlier work - But All Shall Be Well, quoting the words of TS Eliot - cast a benign and consoling spirit in the first half, balancing the sombreness of America. Together they reinforced the perception of Adès as one of the most enlightened imaginations of his generation. Setting aside the word's more perturbing connotations, he is indeed a visionary.
