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First Unitarian Church
June 24, 2017
Given the manifold and multifarious obstacles placed in their way, we should perhaps be surprised not at how few women composers have made their mark in musical history, but rather how many.
Even those who achieved some measure of prominence during their lifetimes sank into obscurity after their deaths and it is only really in the last few decades that there has been a renewed interest in figures such as Fanny Mendelssohn, Clara Schumann, Augusta Holmès and Louise Farrenc, to name probably the four most prominent women composers of the nineteenth century.
It was with a splendid performance of Farrenc's Piano Quintet No.1, composed in 1839, that the Muse Ensemble closed their recital on Sunday afternoon.
Both of Farrenc's piano quintets are scored for what was then the usual ensemble: piano, violin, viola, cello and doublebass. Previous examples include quintets by Dussek, Hummel, Ries, Schubert, Cramer, Rigel and Pixis; and, although Luigi Boccherini had composed a set of six quintets for piano and string quartet as early as 1799, they were not published until 1820 (a decade-and-a-half after his death) and were seemingly little known. The "standard" piano quintet, using that same combination, dates from the great success of Schumann's (only) work in the form, composed in 1842, his Year of Chamber Music.
Farrenc's quintets, then, may or may not have been written in part as tributes to Schubert's "Trout".
And while I would defy anybody ignorant of the name of the composer to be able to determine that the quintet was composed by a woman, there was plenty of evidence that it was composed by a pianist.
I say this because, if the work had a fault — and I think the word "fault" might be a little excessive — it would be the occasionally somewhat florid keyboard part.
The opening movement was spirited, both in substance and performance. Tonally, the ensemble sounded excellent, balances (not always the case when there is a piano involved) were likewise very good.
The slow movement allowed the cello the honour of the main theme before the piano got its hands on it; the passing of the theme around the ensemble and the varying accompaniment were most entertaining. The key word here, according to my notes, was "delightful".
The scherzo was fleet, bouncy and delectably playful; the finale reverted to type, as it were, by leading off with the piano, but there was a gorgeous passage in which the viola and cello played in parallel and Farrenc eschewed the showy, get-them-to-their-feet ending in favour of a gentle close, which summoned up "mmmmmmmmm"s and "aaaaaah"s from the listeners, which was only right and proper. (And did not stop many of the audience rising to their feet in any case.)
Perhaps next year the ensemble could give us Farrenc's other piano quintet, from the following year. I, for one, would be more than grateful for the opportunity.
The first half of the programme opened with a comparative rarity from Beethoven: the Piano Quartet, Op.16, which also exists as a quintet for piano and winds, with the same opus number.
This was not, in fact, Beethoven's only piano quartet, it was actually his fourth, but the first three, collectively WoO36 — Werke ohne Opuszahl (works without opus number) — were composed when he was just fifteen, were not printed until the year after his death and today are considered of little more than historical or musicological interest.
Sunday's performance opened with a classically restrained slow introduction (Beethoven clearly still under the influence of Haydn), pregnant with anticipation, before the lovely allegro, which was given precisely the correct amount of weight — I know I tend to go on about this, but playing pre-1800 Beethoven as if it were a middle-period or even late quartet is simply wrong, albeit all-too common. The sonata form structure was eminently clear (Beethoven was not yet ready for iconoclasm) and the development section played most stylishly, with Beethovenian fingerprints in evidence throughout.
The tempo marking for the second movement is Andante cantabile, although one could have deduced the "cantabile" (songlike) from the playing, which was most attractive and featured pellucid piano tone from Lorraine Min.
The bouncy, triple-time finale had plenty of energy but, once again, was never over-forceful. In fact the entire performance struck me as a model of early Beethoven playing.
I always think of myself as having come to love Brahms' violin sonatas relatively recently; and when I reflect that it was while I was living in Toronto, a city I left in 1989, I realise that the word "relatively" is, indeed, le mot juste.
Terence Tam and Lorraine Min closed the first half of Sunday's concert with a glorious performance of the second sonata, in A, Op.100, arguably, as was pointed out, Brahms' sunniest work.
One could almost have deduced the unusual tempo marking for the opening movement — allegro amabile — from the playing: Min caressed the opening bars, with a deliciously affectionate rubato on the arpeggiated phrases, and Tam's violin seemed to comment in equally loving terms. Throughout the movement both players produced exquisite, singing tones.
The slow movement was another exceptional example of true cantabile playing, with the embedded scherzo-like pizzicato passage particularly playful.
The finale is nostalgic, even slightly wistful, but this is not so much "autumnal" (I had hoped to avoid that word, but it is apparently not possible when discussing late Brahms) but more the composer getting in touch with his inner Edith Piaf. If the movement, and the performance, had a motto it would surely be "Je ne regrette rien".
The Beethoven was superb, the Farrenc fascinating, but, for me, the Brahms was the highlight of the programme.
Another glorious afternoon's music making.
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