Okay, so picture this. It is 1996, the mid -90s.
Right. You walk into a record store. You know,
you can probably remember the smell of those
places. Vinyl, dust, maybe a little incense.
And you're flipping through the bins looking
for something edgy, maybe some Britpop, or maybe
the latest from the thin white Duke himself,
David Bowie. Always a solid choice. Totally.
But then, for whatever reason, you drift over
to the classical section. And there, sitting
right next to Mozart and Mahler, is a CD that
just stops you cold. It says, Symphony No. 4,
subtitled Heroes. Which creates this immediate,
uh... moment of cognitive dissonance for the
buyer. Because you expect the symphony to be
about pastoral landscapes or fate knocking at
the door, or maybe some abstract mathematical
concept. You don't necessarily expect it to be
about, well, a rock album recorded in Berlin
in 1977. And the composer isn't some guy in a
powdered wig from Vienna either. It's Philip
Glass, the absolute king of minimalism, the guy
who basically makes arpeggios sound like a religious
experience. Yeah, that's a great way to put it.
And he has written an entire massive orchestral
symphony based on David Bowie's masterpiece.
So today on the Deep Dive, we are unpacking this
incredible collision of worlds. We're talking
about Philip Glass's symphony number four, the
hero's symphony. Though honestly, collision might
actually be the wrong word for it. It feels a
lot more like a fusion. or perhaps a translation,
because what we're looking at here is a really
fascinating experiment in cross -pollination.
This isn't just a cover album. It's not, you
know, Philip Glass plays the hits. Right. This
isn't some elevator music version of Rebel designed
to put you to sleep in a hotel lobby. Far from
it. It's a full -on structural translation of
a pop album into a massive six -movement orchestral
work. So we're going to look at how Glass took
a rock record and completely rewrote it for a
room full of classically trained musicians. And
we'll break down the specific instrument too,
like why a tuba replaces an electric guitar.
And we're going to solve a genuine mystery regarding
a hidden track that Glass included, which, honestly,
that one detail kind of changes how you view
the entire project. It really does. It shows
the depth of his research. Oh, I love a good
hidden track mystery. But let's set the scene
first. So it's 1996, Looking Glass Studios in
New York City. That is where this magic happened.
But I have to ask, was this totally out of the
blue? Because glass and bowies seem like they
occupy completely different universes. They do
on the surface, sure, but they are both avant
-garde in their own respective ways. And to really
understand the weight of this, you have to realize
this wasn't a one -off whim for glass. This wasn't
him just throwing darts at a board of rock albums
and eating Bowie by accident. Right. If you look
at his body of work, specifically his symphonies,
a very clear pattern emerges. Yeah, because I
was actually looking at the list of his compositions
to prep for this, and this is Symphony No. 4.
But if you scroll back a bit, Symphony No. 1
is subtitled Low. Exactly. Lowe, of course, being
the album that immediately preceded Heroes in
David Bowie's famous Berlin trilogy. Ah, okay.
So Grass had already dipped his toes into this
water. He'd already translated Lowe. So him coming
back for Heroes suggests a deliberate long -term
artistic dialogue between the two of them. So
he was basically working his way through Bowie's
diary almost. Did he ever finish the trilogy
then? Because the third album is Lodger. He did
actually, but it took a really long time. Much
later on, Glass composed Symphony No. 12, which
is based on Lodger. So effectively, Glass eventually
completed the entire Berlin trilogy, just in
symphonic form. That is incredible dedication.
It is. But in 1996, Heroes... was the focus.
And it was released on Point Music, which was
a joint venture involving Phillips Classics.
Yeah, I noticed the catalog number in the source
notes. It was 4543882. You really did a deep
dive on those liner notes. Hey, in the era of
physical media, those numbers meant something.
It makes it feel like a real artifact. It signals
that this was a commercial product sitting on
shelves meant to be bought and consumed right
alongside the serious classical repertoire. Absolutely.
But let's get into the actual architecture. of
this thing. Because a rock album is usually a
collection of songs. Verse, chorus, verse, maybe
a bridge if you're lucky. A symphony is built
on movements. So how did Glass reconcile that
structure? That is where it gets really fascinating.
Glass didn't just take the melodies and loop
them aimlessly. He structured the symphony into
six very specific movements. And if you are a
Bowie fan, the titles of these movements are
going to ring some very loud bells for you. Let's
walk through them then. Movement one is, naturally,
Heroes, the title track, the big anthem. Which
is a huge challenge in itself, taking one of
the most famous rock songs ever written and stripping
away the lyrics entirely. Right, taking away
a Bowie's voice. And then we skip down a bit.
Movement three is Sense of Doubt. Movement four
is Sons of the Silent Age. Movement five is Neukölln.
And movement six is V2 Schneider. all iconic
tracks from the original 1977 album. V2 Schneider
is particularly interesting because the original
is already quite repetitive and instrumental.
It was honoring the band Kraftwerk, so it lends
itself perfectly to Glass's signature minimalist
style. Well, wait a second, I skipped one, Movement
2. You did, and this is the key to the whole
puzzle right here. Okay, so Movement 2 is titled
Abdul Majid. Now, I consider myself a pretty
decent Bowie fan. I have worn out my copy of
Heroes. I know side A and side B by heart. I
do not remember a song called Abdul Majid anywhere
on that album. And you wouldn't have found it.
Not on the original 1977 vinyl anyway. If you
bought the record in the 70s or 80s, that song
simply did not exist to you. OK, so let's unpack
this. Did Glass just make up a song and attribute
it to Bowie to mess with people? Or did he pull
a track from a completely different era? Neither,
actually. And this is where we see the difference
between a fan and a true scholar, which is what
Glass really is here. He wasn't just looking
at the track list on the back of the LP jacket.
Abdulmajid was a track recorded during the Hero
Sessions in Berlin in 1977. Brian Eno and Bowie
worked on it together, but it was left on the
cutting room floor. It never made the final album.
So it was just an outtake. Essentially, yeah.
It wasn't released to the public at all until
1991 on a reissue of the album by Rikadisc. Oh,
the Rikadisc years. Those CD reissues were gold
mines for bonus tracks and weird B -sides. They
really were. Yeah. But think about what that
means for Glass as a composer. He is putting
together this symphony in 1996. He is not just
engaging with the hits. He is engaging with the
raw sessions. He found this obscure instrumental
piece that most casual listeners didn't even
know existed, and he elevated it to the second
movement of a major symphony. Wow. And get this,
it's almost nine minutes long in the symphony.
It is longer than the movement for Heroes itself.
That is wild. It's almost like he's telling the
listener to understand this album. You have to
understand what was left off of it too. Precisely.
It turns the symphony into something way more
than just a tribute. It becomes a piece of active
musicology. He's excavating the source material.
And musically, it is brilliant because Abdul
-Majid has these complex, shifting rhythms that
sound very Middle Eastern, which fits perfectly
with Glass's own long -standing interest in global
music structures. That makes total sense. So
we've got these six movements. We've got obscure,
hidden tracks. Now I want to pivot to the sound
itself because when I hear phrases like rock
symphony or orchestral rock. I usually imagine
a rock band on stage You know, a drummer, bassist,
electric guitar, backed up by a huge string section,
playing long, sweeping notes to make it sound
epic. Right. The sweet child of mine with strings
approach. Exactly. Is that what is happening
here? Absolutely not. And this is probably the
most critical takeaway for the listener today.
There is no rock band on this recording. There
is no drum kit. There is no electric guitar.
This is a purely acoustic, traditional, orchestral
score. So how on earth do you replicate the sheer
power of a song like Heroes or V2 Schneider without
electricity? I mean, those songs are driven by
volume and distortion and feedback. You use mass.
You replace the electronic amplification with
sheer acoustic weight. Let's look at the instrumentation
list because it paints a very specific, very
heavy sonic picture. Lay it on me. I want the
specs. OK, let's start with the brass section
because that is where the electric guitar essentially
lives in this symphony. You have three horns,
three trumpets, two trombones plus a bass trombone
and a tuba. A tuba! You really do not get a lot
of tubas in glam rock. Not usually, no. But think
about its function. In a rock band, bass guitar
and the rhythm guitar are working together to
create a thick, low -end wall of sound. In an
orchestra, A bass trombone and a tuba doing those
rapid rhythmic pulses can create that exact same
physical pressure in the room. It hits you right
in the chest, just like a marshal stack would,
but it's entirely organic. That is so cool. It's
about replacing the electronic fuzz with a dense
brass texture. It's heavy, but in a totally different
way. Exactly. And then look at the woodwinds.
It is not just a couple of delicate flutes floating
on top of the melody. You have two flutes plus
a piccolo, two oboes, two clarinets plus a bass
clarinet, two bassoons. That is a lot of wood
especially that bass clarinet and the bassoons
that suggests some really serious low -end texture
to ground the whole thing. It does ground the
sound. It keeps it from sounding too flighty
or too conventionally pretty. Bowie's Berlin
era was gritty. It was industrial. It was a big
gray. That low reedy sound captures that industrial
atmosphere perfectly without needing a distortion
pedal. But here's the real challenge, I think.
The Berlin albums are famously defined by Brian
Eno's synthesizers. That icy, shimmering, ambient
texture that just coats everything. You cannot
get that from a trombone or a bassoon. Yeah,
you certainly can. So Glass uses a very specific
combination in the percussion and rhythm section
to achieve that. He uses a harp, a piano, and
a celesta. A celesta. Like the Harry Potter -themed
instrument. The dance of the sugar plum fairy.
It's basically a little bell piano. That's exactly
what it is. It has that... highly ethereal quality
to him. That just seems like such a weird choice
for a gritty Berlin -era Bowie album. But is
it, really? Think about the ambient side of the
Heroes album. Tracks like Sense of Doubt or No
Comb. They are deeply atmospheric, moody, almost
fragile. A synthesizer produces a tone that is
pure and sustain -heavy. A celesta produces a
tone that is bell -like, piercing and cold. When
you layer a celesta over a harp and a piano,
you get this shimmering translucent texture that
mimics the ambient side of Bowie's work beautifully.
Oh, that is a fantastic connection. So the harp
and celesta are essentially doing the job of
eno synths, and the brass is doing the job of
the electric guitars. And the strings, the violins,
violas, cellos, basses, they act as the glue
holding it all together. It creates a texture
that is dense, organic, and purely acoustic.
He's finding the emotional equivalent of the
instrument, not just the sonic equivalent. It
is really amazing to think about. You take away
the electricity entirely, but you keep all of
the power. And it requires a massive highly skilled
team to pull that off. You can't just record
this in someone's garage over a weekend. The
credits for this album are essentially a who's
who of the contemporary classical world. Yeah,
I saw the personnel list. The orchestra performing
it is the American Composers Orchestra. Right,
a highly prestigious group known for tackling
new notoriously difficult American work. They
aren't afraid of the avant -garde at all. And
the conductor is Dennis Russell Davies. Davies
is a massive figure here. He's a longtime champion
of Glass's work. He deeply understands minimalism.
See, minimalism is physically and mentally exhausting
for musicians to play. You are playing these
rapid arpeggios, those broken chords over and
over again for minutes at a stretch. If you drag
the tempo, the whole thing collapses. If you
rush it, it falls apart. It requires this machine
-like precision. And Davies knows exactly how
to keep that pulse moving forward so it feels
hypnotic rather than just boring. Exactly. He
is the engine. And we definitely can't forget
Michael Riesman. He is listed as the director
and one of the producers right alongside Kurt
Mocacchi. Riesman is essentially Glass's right
-hand man when it comes to the Philip Glass ensemble
and his studio recordings. Having Riesman and
Munkasi producing means this is the definitive
authentic glass sound. This isn't some loose
interpretation by a stranger. It's coming straight
from the inner circle. It's the A -team of contemporary
classical. It really is. And that signals something
very important to the listener. It says, take
this seriously. This isn't a novelty record you
buy for your dad for Christmas just because he
happens to like Bowie. This is a serious major
artistic statement. Speaking of taking it seriously,
let's talk about how the world actually reacted
to it. Because you draw the classical symphony
based on David Bowie in 1996, people are definitely
going to have opinions. Britpop was happening.
Grunge was fading out. Where did this even fit
in the cultural landscape? It was mixed. to be
honest, but mixed in a very interesting way.
The source material actually highlights a specific
review from Entertainment Weekly. Yes, I saw
that. They gave it a B. A solid B. Now, I don't
know about you, but a B feels, I don't know,
it feels a bit like good effort, see me after
class. It's respectable, but it's not exactly
setting the world on fire. I think we really
need to contextualize that B, though. I actually
view it as a massive victory for Glass. Okay,
defend the B. I'm listening. You have to remember
where this is being reviewed. Entertainment Weekly.
This is a mainstream pop culture magazine. They
are reviewing blockbuster movies, network sitcoms,
Spice Girls albums. They do not usually review
Symphony No. 4 by anyone. The mere fact that
a contemporary classical symphony is getting
reviewed in Entertainment Weekly at all is the
victory. That is a really fair point. Most symphonies
don't get a letter grade printed right next to
the latest Tom Cruise movie review. Exactly.
And a B implies that it's accessible, it's enjoyable,
it works. It says to the reader, you, the casual
music fan, might actually like this. It might
not be the impenetrable revolutionary masterpiece
that Einstein on the Beach was, but it succeeds
in what it sets out to do. It successfully bridged
the gap between the rigid academy and the mainstream
pop audience. And let's look at the bigger picture
of Glass's career for a second. The sheer list
of his works is exhausting just to scroll through.
I mean, we're talking huge operas like Satagra
and Ockenton, massive film scores like The Truman
Show or The Hours. Dracula, Koyana, Squatsy,
the list goes on and on. Ray, he is incredibly
prolific. And Bowie obviously has a discography
that spans decades in genres. So where does this
particular symphony sit in that massive combined
library? Is it just a footnote? I see it as a
vital bridge. On one side, you have the world
of the Academy, the serious tuxedo -clad concert
hall represented by Glass. On the other side,
you have the Art Rock avant -garde represented
by Bowie. This symphony, along with the Low and
Lodger symphonies, proves that those two seemingly
opposite worlds aren't actually that far apart.
It's deeply validating in a way. It says that
the music Bowie wrote in a studio in the 70s
has the exact same structural integrity as the
music written for grand concert halls. Conversely,
it says that classical music can be relevant,
pulsing, and directly connected to modern pop
culture. It doesn't have to be a dusty museum
piece. I just love that idea that you can take
a track like V2 Schneider, a track named after
a member of Kraftwerk, largely instrumental,
kind of funky, and treat it with the exact same
reverence and weight as a Mahler symphony. And
by doing so, you actually hear things in the
music you never heard before. When you hear that
familiar melody. played by a flute instead of
a synthesizer, or a rhythm played by a celesta
instead of a drum machine, your brain processes
it entirely differently. You start to appreciate
the raw composition, not just the cool studio
production. It strips away the cool factor of
the rock production and leaves the raw, naked
musical ideas exposed. Exactly. And in the case
of the Hero Symphony, Those raw ideas absolutely
hold up to the scrutiny. It really makes me want
to go back and listen to both the original album
and the symphony back -to -back, especially that
Idul Majid track. I feel like I missed a whole
chapter of the story by not knowing that existed.
That's the beauty of these deep dives, isn't
it? Yeah. There's always another layer to uncover.
So what does this all mean for you, the listener?
Why should you care about a 1996 symphony today?
I think it's a powerful reminder to look for
connections in unlikely places. We all tend to
heavily categorize our interests. I like rock.
I like classical. I like jazz. Projects like
this remind us that true creativity doesn't care
about those boxes at all. Well, Glass didn't
care that Bowie was labeled a pop star. He just
heard a fellow composer. And he heard a symphony
hiding inside a rock album. He did. And he brought
a massive Team Davies Reisman, a full orchestra,
to help him dig it out and show it to the world.
Well, I am certainly never going to look at a
tuba the same way again. It is officially...
the unsung hero of the Hero's Symphony. Absolutely.
It is carrying the heavy weight of the Rock Gods.
Before we wrap up, I want to leave you with a
thought to mull over. We've talked a lot today
about translation and covers, but at what point
does a cover become an entirely new original
work? That is the ultimate question here. It's
basically the Ship of Theseus paradox, right?
If you replace every single plank in a wooden
ship, is it still the same ship? If you change
the instruments, change the core structure, strip
away the lyrics, and even add a hidden track
that wasn't on the original release, is it still
David Bowie's Heroes? Or is it now 100 % Philip
Glass's Symphony No. 4? Does the source material
eventually dissolve if you change it enough?
It is a very fuzzy line. Glass's musical DNA
is so incredibly strong, those relentless arpeggios,
that driving pulse, that it tends to completely
consume whatever it touches. When you listen
to it, you really hear glass first and Bowie
second. Which I think is the true mark of a successful
transformation. It's not just a fancy karaoke
version. No. It's a completely new entity. So
for everyone listening, here is your assignment
for the week. Go find Symphony No. 4. It's out
there on streaming, but don't just put it on
in the background while you do dishes. Try to
listen to it side by side with the original Bowie
album. Play Sense of Doubt by Bowie, then immediately
play Movement Through by Glass. Really listen
to how that icy synthesizer transforms into the
celesta and the woodwinds. It's just something
to chew on while you stream this. Or, better
yet, go to a record store and try to find that
CD with the catalog number 4543882. Good luck
if you can find it in the wild. Thanks for taking
this deep dive with us today. A pleasure as always.
Catch you on the next one.