The Infernal Machine & Co.: A Dive into Christopher Rouse, Joan Tower, and Donald Erb’s Sonic Wilds
Let’s talk about The Infernal Machine Ogoun Badagris Sequoia Prismatic Variations, because who doesn’t love a mouthful of a title? Released in 1986 on Nonesuch Records, this album is like that weirdly cool uncle you only see at family reunions—eccentric, bold, and kinda unforgettable. It's classical music with its tie loosened, dipping its toes into contemporary waters. The Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra, under Leonard Slatkin’s baton (or maybe wizard wand?), brings these compositions to life. And trust me, they aren’t your grandma’s Beethoven.
First up: Ogoun Badagris by Donald Erb. This one hits like an electric shock disguised as soundwaves. Named after a Haitian Vodou spirit, it feels alive—like the music itself has got some kind of supernatural mojo working behind the scenes. There’s a raw energy here, all jagged edges and sudden bursts, but also moments where it just breathes, letting the strings stretch out like sleepy cats basking in sunlight. You can almost picture Joel Meyerowitz’s photography from the album cover coming to life—a mix of chaos and calm, grit and grace. I remember this track not because it was “pretty” or “easy,” but because it made my brain go “huh?” in the best way possible.
Then there’s Sequoia by Joan Tower. If Ogoun Badagris is the wild child, Sequoia is the wise elder standing tall in the forest. Tower named it after those massive trees, and boy does it feel monumental. The piece builds slowly, layer upon layer, until it feels like you’re staring up at something impossibly huge. Strings swell, brass booms, and percussion rattles around like acorns falling from dizzying heights. It doesn’t try to grab you by the collar; instead, it lets you wander through its vastness, finding little details everywhere you look. It stuck with me because it felt less like listening to music and more like stepping into another world—one where time slows down and everything feels… bigger.
Now, let’s give props to the team behind the scenes. Henrietta Condak’s art direction nails the vibe—minimalist yet striking, like the perfect frame for a Picasso painting. Robert C. Ludwig’s mastering ensures every note lands with crystal clarity, while Elite Recordings captures the orchestra in all its glory. Oh, and Joanna Nickrenz and Marc Aubort? Hats off to them for producing this beast without losing its soul.
So yeah, The Infernal Machine isn’t gonna be everyone’s cup of tea. Some might find it too intense, too modern, or too “what even is happening right now??” But that’s exactly why it works. It challenges you. Makes you sit up straight. Maybe even curse under your breath when things get weird. And honestly, isn’t that what great art should do?
Here’s the kicker though: listening to this album makes me wonder if Leonard Slatkin ever sat back during recording sessions, wiped his brow, and thought, “Man, we’re making history here.” Because whether he knew it or not, he totally was.
