Remember old cartoon images of a stork dropping off a baby? That actually happens for composers. A package left on my doorstep yesterday contained a dozen CDs of The (R)evolution of Steve Jobs, just now available from Pentatone Records. When I held up one of the elegant black boxes containing the CDs and libretto booklets, stylishly contained in a minimalist design worthy of Apple, my son asked, “Is that a new phone?”
Good guess. While the intention was always to focus on the human side of the Steve Jobs story, his products are intricately woven into his life – and ours. The opera is, in fact, a kind of giant smart phone, exploring the music of communication. The piece examines a fundamental tension in our lives today: how do we simplify human communication on such beautifully minimalist devices – when humans are so complicated?
This sleek CD package, too, contains a complex web under its surface. Turning over the package in my hands, little details belie massive collaborative efforts that brought this piece to life.
First thing you notice, of course, is the name of my key collaborator, librettist Mark Campbell. Our work on Jobs began years ago when I approached him about writing an opera about a creative technologist possessing both positive and negative charges, grounded by the strong figure of his wife. Initially ambivalent, Mark soon fell in love with the complex, duel protagonist-and-antagonist role of Jobs; the soulful figure of Laurene Jobs; and the mystical character of Kobun, the Buddhist spiritual advisor to Jobs.
Before any words were written, we agreed that this story needed a non-linear, ‘pixelated’ structure – which, on the list of CD tracks, you’ll notice is splayed across two dozen scenes in one giant act. Any one of these short scenes seen own its own, like a single pixel, is but a flicker of light. But arranged together, these pixels animate an image, a life. The juxtapositions that occur in this kind of storytelling help us understand a man who transformed from a hippy in an apple orchard to a mogul at the helm of the world’s most valuable company.
Next thing you notice, opening the package and looking at the images on the CD cases and libretto booklet, is the stunning set design and production. This was the work of director Kevin Newbury, a master at assembling a strong design team. The subject matter of this opera required a dazzling, high-tech production that would take as through time and space in a unique way. He brought in production designer Vita Tzykun, who created a mesmerizing series of lighted panels that glide around the stage, along with lighting designer Japhy Weideman and projectionist Ben Pearcy. I learned a great deal watching these four at each tech rehearsal, which in Santa Fe occur in the wee hours of the night. Lighting storms would play out in the desert behind the stage while, onstage, the magic of stagecraft would unfold.
You’re finally pulling the first CD out of its sleeve and put it in your CD player (which has almost been killed off by Jobs’ creations). The first sounds you hear are electronic, little chirps and tweets awakening from all directions like birds in a future forest. Those are all derived from actual Mac gear: whizzing hard drives, tapping key clicks, chipper beeps. Some of those I actually recorded from my array of old Mac gear, some of them I found via the incredible Gary Rydstrom who worked at Apple a few decades before moving to Lucasfilm. I wanted an arresting opening that sounded nothing like opera, and I was intrigued by the challenge of building the soundworld out of the creations of Jobs himself.
In my orchestral music, the integration of electronic and symphonic textures always runs deeper than surface sound, for the simple reason that electronic sounds carry so much content: the sound of a particle accelerator, the crackle of a NASA astronaut, the rumble of glaciers calving. That has brought elements of theater into the concert hall, and I definitely wanted to bring this element of sonic storytelling into the opera house. So we hear Jobs’ own machines whizzing around him in his workshop garage, or processed prayer bowls and Japanese wind chimes when Kobun is onstage. These elements of sound design play a crucial role in the opera and were a intriguing challenge in both the live performances and in the recording.
As you continue to listen to the CD, you’ll notice the most important elements – the voices and the orchestra. We were so fortunate to have a stellar cast, led by the mesmerizing Edward Parks in the title role and Sasha Cooke as Jobs’ wife Laurene Powell Jobs. Wei Wu, Garrett Sorenson, Kelly Markgraf, and Jessica Jones not only created the roles of the key supporting figures in Jobs’ life; they became an extended family for me at Santa Fe Opera, which nurtured us all so carefully in every stage of this work’s creation. The orchestra included some surprise instruments, such as acoustic guitar (a kind of partner instrument for Jobs) and saxophones. Conductor Michael Christie was a dream collaborator, perfectly managing the orchestra, singers, and electronics.
And what’s a CD without a producer and a label? Elizabeth Ostrow guided the recording from the first rehearsals in Santa Fe, assisted by engineer Mark Donahue (one of the finest in the business). It’s so rare to have a new opera recorded immediately, and for that we can all thank both Pentatone Records and, of course, Santa Fe Opera – which nurtured this piece so confidently from its earliest beginnings. While these days you can enjoy music in any form, from MP3 to streaming, consider springing for the real-deal package for this one. Pentatone and Santa Fe Opera did a phenomenal job bringing this stage work into a format available to all.