Guitars thunder, hall reverberates

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,

In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you.

*

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, you can do better than that. Plug in and play a 100-electric-guitar-plus-one-overexcited-drummer, 70-minute symphony in Walt Disney Concert Hall. In this deafening jingle jangle evening, a couple thousand blissful listeners will surely follow you.

Follow they did, Wednesday night, as the Los Angeles Philharmonic’s Minimalist Jukebox consumed an imposing amount of electricity. Glenn Branca, a celebrated sonic control freak, blithely unleashed “Hallucination City,” the title of his 13th Symphony.

And to further paraphrase Bob Dylan, Branca attempted to take us disappearin’ through the smoke rings of our minds, down the foggy ruins of time and far, far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

Did I say it was loud?

Branca’s symphony was the climax of three compelling days of outre Minimalism in the middle of the Philharmonic’s two-week festival. This was not the Minimalism of Terry Riley, Philip Glass, Steve Reich or festival director John Adams but the ear-splitting, mind-mangling, writhing Minimalism they have spawned.

For a movement that initially seemed to be about nothing but itself, to be content with the psychedelic significance of short patterns that revolve around themselves and harmonies that move glacially, musical Minimalism has been remarkably broad -- politically, socially, morally and cosmically.

Branca’s symphony is the perfect example. The composer has always had close ties with and a large following in the art world, reminding us that visual artists were Glass’ and Reich’s first supporters in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, when the musical establishment dismissed them. With an interest in theory (exploring quirky tuning patterns with guitars not unlike the way a conceptual artist applies critical theory) and spectacle (100 electric guitars, after all!), Branca is as much performance artist as composer.

Moreover, he thinks sculpturally. He plays with swelling masses of sound as if they were soft clay. It was no surprise that Wednesday’s Disney crowd looked exactly as if it had come to a Hammer opening.

Branca also thinks socially and comes across with a rocker’s attitude. In a pre-concert talk, he mentioned, but did not expand upon, the political intent of “Hallucination City,” which was being given its West Coast premiere in its current version. (The original had its premiere outdoors at the World Trade Center in New York shortly before the 9/11 terrorist attacks.)

The four movements are titled March, Anthem, Drive and Vengeance. The first was gripping. Against a monotonous 4/4 beat, the din grew like the sound of an army of Humvees relentlessly closing in, the noise dangerously boring into ear canals. This was the shock of the loud.

But dancing merrily somewhere above our heads -- and given extra bounce by Disney’s transparent acoustics -- were complex, astoundingly rich and glittery overtones from all those guitars. (There weren’t really 100, more like a still-impressive 90.) Meanwhile, some 15 bass guitars caused the floors and seats to vibrate. One listened through one’s whole body.

Ushers provided earplugs, which pretty much spoiled the piece by blocking the highs. But even without them, as ears adjusted, a certain sense of diminishing returns began to accrue about halfway through the work: The thrill lasted only so long, and the migraine-making blowout at the end was an anticlimax.

But Branca’s sound is astonishing. And it has reverberated in more ways than just acoustically. Adams mentioned to me before the concert that he believed it had a profound influence on the music of Michael Gordon, one of the founders of Bang on a Can.

The previous night, the USC Thornton Contemporary Music Ensemble, enlarged to full orchestra size, presented the queasy “symphony” that Gordon wrote to accompany a film project called “Decasia.” Here too were masses of sound made from smudged pitches (some instruments were asked to play in tune while other instruments tuned slightly sharp or flat). When they moved in loud glissandos, your stomach could feel somewhere other than where it normally rests.

Bill Morrison’s film, made from chemically decayed silent movies, is just as disturbing. Everyday images are constantly transformed by what appears to be some inexplicable organic force. Gordon’s music, conducted by Donald Crockett and magnificently played by the USC students, brilliantly magnified and enhanced everything that was unsettling on the screen.

As big events, “Hallucination City” and “Decasia” did a pretty good job of drowning out some of the more modest and seductive Minimalism that was also part of this week, such as Paul Dresher’s alluring “Channels Passing,” which preceded “Decasia.”

As part of the Monday Evening Concerts at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, the California EAR Unit produced a fascinating program that included new and recent works. Mark Grey’s “The Sleepless Dream,” an ethereal score in memory of Stephen “Lucky” Mosko, had its premiere. Also from this year and given its American premiere was Linda Bouchard’s refreshing “Liquid States.” Here, the Canadian composer created a wonderfully mellow metallic jingle jangle from having players attack the inside of a piano with mallets and brushes.