America's voice finally tells the story of his life

JOHN ADAMS is the voice of America. His instrumental music, and particularly that for the orchestra, conveys the American experience broadly. He is generous in his interests, which include the maverick Yankee-isms of Charles Ives, the populist strains of Bernstein and Copland and the classical jazz of Ellington and Benny Goodman, as well as the more progressive styles of Miles Davis and John Coltrane. Pop music -- be it the Beach Boys, Frank Zappa, electronica or grunge -- is on his radar. He has experimented with experimental music and championed Minimalism. Sibelius looms large.

Adams' three major operas are an essential part of the American discussion. "Nixon in China," for all its Pop art whimsy, is a reflection on diplomacy, the profound differences between East and West and the insecurities of world leaders. "Founders come first, then profiteers," Mao sings, as relevant at the opening ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics as it was at the opera's 1987 Houston premiere.

"The Death of Klinghoffer," from 1991, is a haunting and meaningful meditation on terrorism, its roots and causes. The recent "Doctor Atomic" reminds us that the nuclear threat is greater than ever. The only musical institution in America that Adams has yet to conquer is the Metropolitan Opera, and that will happen this month when the company stages "Doctor Atomic."

The story of how Adams found his voice and became our country's is easy enough to paste together, given that the 61-year-old composer has long been in the media eye.

Yet there has been no biography. One in the works by a UC Santa Cruz musicologist seems stalled, and Adams, having gotten his autobiographical juices stirred by the many interviews he gave for that project, finally decided he would tell his own story.

The result is "Hallelujah Junction: Composing an American Life," a memoir that reveals Adams to be self-reflective to a fault -- thoughtful, amusing, analytical -- and a good writer.

In "Hallelujah Junction," we discover that Adams is, like his music, a little bit of everything. He grew up outside of Concord, N.H., in modest surroundings, a Yankee individualist. He learned clarinet from his father, an amateur player in dance bands. As a boy, he appeared in an amateur production of "South Pacific" with his mother. He fell in love with classical music listening to Mozart and Beethoven on a cheap Magnavox record player and tried writing music early on, often with embarrassing results.