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Eye on Arts

24.2.04

Ysaÿe Something You Don't See!, cont. — by Jens Laurson
Contributed by Charles T. Downey at 10:56 AM | Link to this article
The Menuetto that follows is notably faster (Allegretto) and more animated and doesn't seem to be much of a break with the Adagio—in part because it moves from one movement to the other without pause—but mostly because both are clearly cut from the same cloth or, more appropriately, carved from the same stone. Without an internal metronome I cannot check into overlapping rhythm patterns that might contribute to this noticeable effect. The Finale, Adagio again, then Presto and Adagio once more, is more determined. A self-assuring, assertive cello line introduces it, and violins dance on top of upward figures from the viola and cello. This is as close as a string quartet (particularly its first violin) gets to singing. Chamber music at its finest. Engaging, lovely, charming without a hint of being boring or tiring. For me, that isn't necessarily a given with chamber music from that period, no matter who the composer. The Presto is fun: short, accentuated, and driving strings race for a few seconds until the cello paternalistically calls them back to order with its low upward figure. The others jump back into place, and the Finale continues and ends much as it began.

Following the Haydn, much applause, and tuning, came the Webern. For me, these are the "must-hear" pieces. Given how they are wedged between the Haydn and the Schumann, the same is true for every other listener, alas, I imagine, with a rather different meaning. Webern could probably be better described by someone more erudite than I. I, however, cannot and shan't make much more of an attempt than by saying that Heftig bewegt, the first movement of his Fünf Stücke für Streichquartett (Five Movements for String Quartet), op. 5, is musical entomology for strings, with all its bugs and beetles crawling, jumping, plucking, in both anarchy and spontaneous order.

Sehr langsam stayed true to its name, and the crowd's reaction to it was one of continued unrest. The playing began inaudibly and so it ended. Most sentences describing it would be longer than the thirteen bars it measures.

Sehr bewegt crawls again, with slightly more aggression, lasts a few seconds (roughly thirty) and is supplanted by another Sehr langsam movement. Between squeaking shoes, seat readjustment, and surprisingly little coughing, I could barely hear it from behind my pillar. Towards the end, it contained the gentlest pizzicatos I have heard in a long time. What a contrast to the Takács Quartet's merciless maltreatment of their instruments in Bartók's Fourth String Quartet, experienced just a few days prior at the Freer Gallery!

In zarter Bewegung (In gentle motion) is the fifth and last movement. Gently sweeping, it lets one instrument carry a phrase to another where the other then joins it in emphasizing the phrase. The whole undertaking is the opposite of something like a Bartók or Shostakovich string quartet. It is intensely private (as opposed to personal, which Shostakovich's and Bartók's quartets are, just as much), fragile, gentle, shy even, without any of the brute force, the dynamics, acrobatics, and raw energy of his Slavic colleagues. The piece ends almost whimsically, and the crowd dared not applaud until a good five seconds after the last note, when my semiresolute but enthusiastic first clap broke the spell. Even if confusion was the cause for the silence and not awe, it is very nice to have a piece of music linger in the air rather than applause trampling it immediately. The applause, in any case, didn't exactly trample. Unsurprisingly short and dry, it ceased even before François Salque peaked from behind the curtain for the first time.

Intermission saw quite a few audience members fail to return, as they in turn probably saw Anton Webern making a return onto the program. After all, the first piece after the break threatened to be Sechs Bagatellen für Streichquartett (Six Bagatelles for String Quartet), op. 9. A few seats were now available where before a few dozen listeners had to sit outside the hall. The Bagatelles started with Mäßig and few new friends among the audience members. At one point the movement seemed to shudder in the upper register, and before I can find the words to describe this, I found myself already listening to Leicht bewegt. Once again, some of the softest passages are hard or impossible to hear, which would be less so in a regular chamber concert environment. More so, it would not be as necessary to hear everything if one could only see the players in action. (I think of the beginning of Bruckner’s 5th Symphony live, for example, where you more sense than actually hear that the music is under way.) Of course, in the West Garden Court more than two-thirds of the audience have a partly or wholly obstructed view and can therefore not follow all of the action.

The pieces Ziemlich fließend, Sehr langsam, Äußerst langsam, and Fließend flowed by me almost undetected. The same goes for the applause, which is unfortunate, as the playing was involved and the pieces, thorny as they may be, are very much worth hearing. Especially in such loving executions.

For most, however, it was Schumann to the rescue! The String Quartet no. 3 in A Major, op. 41, to be precise. It clearly exists to console those who had withstood the temptation to leave, and console it does. Less flowing, less natural than the half-century-older Haydn work, it is still very amiable "string-quartetting." Andante espessivo; Allegro molto moderato offers some cello excursions that remind me of Schumann’s String Quintet (Marcy Rosen and "her bat" from the Library of Congress concert come to mind). Extraordinarily quaint, the Assai agitato has similar mechanical, somehow abrupt figures that move forward as though taking a quick step and stopping momentarily before taking the next step. Even when more notes fill some of the gaps, there is neither the smooth progression, nor the beating, rhythmic, and driving quality of a Bartók quartet. The jagged, almost stuttering procession becomes less, or less noticeable. The cello soon strikes upon a lovely melody it keeps for a while and then trades with the other voices. After a milder phase, the piece wakes up and gathers splendid momentum that kicks the whole quartet up a few gears. Tremendously enjoyable, not just quaint.

The Adagio molto, for a few notes, brought back the Haydn second movement. Less singing, it doesn't have the same effect though. Just in time for the Finale: Allegro molto vivace, my mind returned from excursions (a few missed goals playing soccer earlier in the day) to the music. Palpably more energetic, this movement is a great way to be allowed back into the night. A heavy, almost clumsily hefty, and thumping drive eventually subdues short little bits of light melody that, even couched in sweet sound, become rather tiresome rather quickly. Vox Populi has the Schumann declared the favorite, nonetheless.

Nitpicking about Schumann's quartet—inferior to Haydn's as it may be—aside, the playing was as engaged and enthusiastic as one could ask for. The Haydn was a clear winner, and not since the Kodály Quartet had a "mostly Haydn" program to offer at the Library of Congress (see the Ionarts review from November 11, 2003), did I enjoy the late master's chamber works so effortlessly. The Webern was a wonderful way of being acquainted with intimate, elusive pieces that are, for all their similarities, such an incredible contrast to other 20th-century compositions for string quartet. With some very exciting concerts coming up at the National Gallery and great string quartets coming to the Library of Congress, the next months will be an assured continuation of the Washington, D.C., free chamber music bonanza that I so heartily enjoy.

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