In the opening section, “Lionel Trilling” — your guess is as good as mine (Mr. Wooley’s literary allusions become clearer in the next two parts) — relaxed repetition inevitably turns into obsession and anxiety. Gentle strums of guitar at the start quickly expose rhythms that don’t quite fit together; the drums can evoke a heart beating a little too fast. The composer’s role, Mr. Wooley suggests, is to question and imply, not to assert or proclaim. The second section, “Seven in the Woods,” its title drawn from a Jim Harrison poem, feels like Mr. Wooley’s aria, his playing smokily soft. But it couldn’t compete with the pristine integrity and shaggy poignancy of “Columbia Icefield,” often gloomy yet somehow never quite depressing.

Source: New York Times February 28, 2019 18:56 UTC