Until relatively recently, the works of the Western musical canon carefully delineated their functional elements: melody, harmony, form, etc. (and in fact, the earliest European compsers to blur cultural boundaries were heavily influenced by Eastern musics, Debussy's interaction with Javanese music being the most widely-known example). Perhaps this is why a work such as Toru Takemitsu's From me flows what you call Time comes across as so striking to the Western ear. Takemitsu seems to hear unimaginable ideas in his head and translate them into sound through the most extraordinary means, so that the ensemble freely crosses the boundaries among lyrical melody, harmonic support, and atmospheric shade. By creatively expanding the timbral spectrum of the orchestra, sound color becomes a deeply expressive element—more often than not, the principal expressive element.

This sonic field is expanded even further by the featured use of a wide array of percussion instruments hailing from all over the world, each adding a particular quality of distance and detached transcendence to the work's almost invasively meditative texture. The sound of the steel drum might blends mysteriously with a violin line, while an ominously murmuring drumroll might be lent a hint of tonal center by a cluster of pedal tones in the basses. Though the percussion instruments do play a prominent role in the piece, calling it a "concerto" would either do injustice to the work or drastically expand the definition of the term. The display of virtuosity apparent here is not of the extrovert performative kind, but rather the focused, delicate, concentrated type.

From me flows what you call Time was commissioned to celebrate the 100th anniversary of New York's Carnegie Hall. The title, taken from a poem by Makoto Ooka, is meant to suggest the flow of music and time that had passed through the famous hall during its first century of existence. The Boston Symphony performed the premiere, along with the Nexus Percussion Ensemble. Takemitsu had known the members of Nexus since the 1970s, so it is no surprise that the percussion sounds featured in the work exhibit the trademark mix of pan-global sounds for which that pioneering group became famous.

The percussionists even figure into the numerology that permeates the work: the five members correspond with the five notes that form the main melody of the piece. The number five is also favored in Buddhist numerology; the five colored ribbons of the Tibetan "Wind Horse," representing the five elements (water, fire, earth, wind, and sky), formed an important generative image for the composer. Perhaps the most profound expression of the number five comes at the end of the piece when, over a long sustained pedal tone in the basses, the percussionists each take the end of a colored ribbon extending to the back of the hall, ringing the bells attached to the opposite end.

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