Philip Glass' The Light, premiered in 1987, stands as one of the first forays by a "minimalist" composer into the realm of symphonic composition, and in fact predates by several years the first work in Glass' oeuvre to officially bear the title "symphony." An overture-length work, The Light is the first in a trio of orchestral works completed in the late '80s, and inspired by man's interaction with nature; subsequent works were the four-movement Itaipu, from 1987, and the more modest The Canyon, composed the following year. Of course, by this time, John Adams and Steve Reich had both written successful works that combined fairly standard orchestration with amplification and synthesizers; Glass, whose earlier minimalist works were among the most technologically enhanced of their time, seems to have taken a much more traditional approach to symphonic composition. The Light eschews the amplified and synthesized sonority that characterized Glass' earlier works, instead propelled along by the composer's anxious rhythms, orchestrational juxtapositions, and undulating textures. The work was commissioned as part of a series of events marking the 100th anniversary of the groundbreaking experiments conducted by two American physicists, Albert Michelson and Edward Morley, regarding the nature and behavior of light. The act of discovery is depicted in the work's overall shape. As Glass explains, "These experiments formed in my mind an almost 'before and after' sequence. The 'before' represented something like nineteenth century physics. The 'after' marks the onset of modern scientific research." This contrast is conveyed by a slow introduction in which simple chord progressions are presented by the strings and punctuated by the harp and underscored by warm brass tones. The texture slowly gathers energy, in the form of Glass' signature accompanimental figures: alternating thirds in a 3/4 feel set against woodwind arpeggios in 6/8. Chromatic chord progressions add to the momentum, while Glass varies the musical surface with sudden orchestrational contrasts. The moment of discovery is suddenly conveyed with an abrupt acceleration of tempo and pointed pronouncements in the brass and percussion. Here again, a particular melodic line rarely emerges from the texture; rather, Glass ripples the surface of his large blocks of static harmony by shifting between various textural strata: low, ebbing strings are juxtaposed with fast, arching arpeggios in the piccolo and syncopated fanfares in the brass. Bold chord progressions on a descending bass line highlight the work's orchestrationally colorful climax.

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