¡Viva Mexico!

Cuarteto Chroma:

Ilya Ivanov, Carlos Quijano, violins

Felix Alanis, viola

Manuel Cruz, cello

Phillip T Young Recital Hall
June 13, 2017

By Deryk Barker

"I always try to make myself as widely understood as possible; and if I don't succeed, I consider it my own fault."

As with most of his music, it would be foolish to take this remark of Dmitri Shostakovich at face value. We must always remember, that with the exception of the still-controversial Testimony, practically every recorded utterance of the great composer was subject to the scrutiny of his political overlords. He could no more make his speech unambiguous than he could his music. Indeed, for most of his working life, making himself "as widely understood as possible" could easily have been an act of self-destruction.

Consider Shostakovich's Eighth String Quartet, dedicated "to the victims of fascism and the war"; we cannot even be sure that the dedication is his own work — Galina Shostakovich, his daughter, claimed that it was imposed on him by the authorities and that the real dedication was to himself. Which would be a logical deduction, in view of the quartet's multiple self-quotations (first, fifth and tenth symphonies, first cello concerto, second piano trio and Lady Macbeth).

And yet, in a sense, it does not matter: the dedication has that same ring of ambiguity, of the necessity to read between the lines, that Shostakovich's music itself so often possesses. The quartet was, after all, composed in Dresden in three days in 1960. Dresden was, of course firebombed by the Allies (who were also the Soviet Union's allies by February 1945), but was by 1960 part of East Germany and therefore now part of the Soviet bloc.

Yet even this pales into insignificance in the face of the music itself, which even in a mediocre performance, has the power to stun an audience into silence.

The performance by the Cuarteto Chroma which opened the second half of their Quartet Fest West recital on Tuesday was anything but mediocre. From the bleak opening to the equally bleak close, they put not a foot wrong, while managing to bring out some details of the music which had previously escaped me: I am thinking, for example, of the first tutti in the opening movement; here their rich, full-bodied sound underlined a similarity to Orthodox Chant of which I had hitherto been unaware.

A fine performance of one of the twentieth century's greatest works.

When it comes to Haydn quartets, I concur with Oscar Wilde, who said (in a completely different context): "I have simple tastes: I am always satisfied with the best".

The Chromas' performance of Haydn's Op.76 No.3, the "Emperor", was very good, particularly in light of the fact that they are still a young quartet. But it was not quite perfect.

The outer movements were the most successful, the opening Allegro having plenty of verve and bounce, especially the passage in which the two violins are accompanied by drones on viola and cello, which really danced. The finale too, was very exciting, almost tarantella-like, if arguably a little hard-driven in places. I also liked the way they underlined the thematic connections to the first movement.

If I had to render a brief verdict on the slow movement — that miraculous theme-and-variations in which the theme itself (the "Emperor's hymn" which Haydn was inspired to write after encountering "God save the King" on his visits to London) does not vary, but is passed from instrument to instrument, while the accompaniment does the "heavy lifting" of a variation movement — that verdict would be that there was too much interpretation.

This is music which, if it does not actually "play itself" should sound as if it does. I felt that the Chromas' shaping of the music was just a little too evident. The key, as with all Haydn quartets, being relaxation.

The minuet was marvellously rhythmic, although I felt that the legato, which was eminently suited to the trio, brought a little too much smoothness to music which should have its feet firmly planted on the ground.

I would not make too much of this; it was a very fine performance. But I'd love to hear them do it again in a few years' time.

The remainder of the programme was, I suspect, as unfamiliar to the rest of the audience as it was to me.

Joaquin Gutierrez Heras' String Quartet No.1, which opened the programme, was a bit "20th century generic" in feel, with episodes which brought to mind Bartók, Stravinsky and others.

It was played with great intensity and the quartet produced a very fine sound. Heras may not have shot to the top of my "must investigate" list, but I'd certainly not be averse to hearing more of his music.

Alejandro Basulto's Escenas Dancisticas certainly lived up to its title, with an especially fine line in hemiolas (three against two) and some interesting effects, such as the glissando pizzicato which he employed several times.

Once again, it was played with commitment, enthusiasm and great skill.

Arturo Marquez was born the same year as I was. Which, is of course, of interest to nobody but myself. His Homenaje a Gismonti uses Mexican themes in a similar way to that in which Egberto Gismonti used those of his own native Brazil.

This was a highly rhythmic and most entertaining work, throughout which one instrument always seemed to be playing a melody while the other accompanied. In places it built to an almost Dervish-like frenzy, while also evoking the spirit of Astor Piazzolla.

It would have made a fine close to the evening, but there was even better to come for the encore: a series of variations on Paganini's Caprice No.24 (yes, that one) in the style of Latin American dances. Unfortunately, I did not catch the name of the composer (I'm not even sure it was thrown: if Phil's Hall has a fault, it is that it is not kind to the speaking voice), but I have sent in a request for that information.

It was as much as I could do to remain seated during this (and, believe me, the rest of the audience should be grateful that I did manage to resist the strong temptation to get up and dance — no Terpsichorean, I).