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Dave Dunnet Community Theatre, Oak Bay High School
July 26, 2018
"I cannot conceive of music that expresses absolutely nothing".
While many of us would no doubt be in complete sympathy with Béla Bartók in this regard, it does tend to raise the tricky question of what much of Bartók's own music is actually about. Of course, Ludwig Wittgenstein would have had no truck with this: "whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent", the distinctly pessimistic Proposition Seven of the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, is often understood to mean that matters aesthetic are beyond linguistic discussion.
Which is, of course, absolutely no help to the humble music critic.
So, while accepting that Bartók's String Quartet No.5 must, therefore, be about something, I am not about to stick my head above the parapet by suggesting what that something might be.
I am prepared, though — and this surely represents no kind of intellectual risk on my part whatsoever — to observe that the James Ehnes String Quartet rounded off their wonderful programme on Thursday evening with a dazzling performance of the quartet, while also remarking that music which sounded so terribly modern to my ears when I first heard it over half a century ago, now sounds, if not exactly conventional, certainly melodic and frequently highly attractive.
The opening movement began in vigorously rhythmic fashion, the almost brutal nature of the music underpinned by the quartet's immaculate ensemble.
The first slow movement is an example of Bartók's "night music", summoning up an image of a hot, still night in the Carpathians, with the added bonus that lurking in the shadows one might encounter Count Dracula. Here the first violin gradually unveils a melody which is rooted in, although not actually an example of, Magyar folk music. A marvellously concentrated account.
The scherzo features a most unusual time signature, namely 4+2+3/8, yet the sinuous melody floats easily over the asymmetrical accompaniment. It opened like a somewhat deranged waltz, building to a wild peasant dance, while the trio summoned forth impressions of buzzing mosquitos.
It is only a few weeks ago that I remarked that the pizzicato glissando was not an affect that sustained the listener's interest for as long as at least one composer clearly imagined. How refreshing then, to be reminded what a great composer can do with what many might consider a gimmick, for the pizzicato glissando is one of the defining features of the fourth movement, more night music, yet with an agitated central section that here built to a swirling climax.
Lastly, the torrential, driving finale, once again featuring knife-edge precision from all four players. The strange interlude marked "allegretto, con indifferenza" in which a hurdy-gurdy-like drone accompanies a strange twisting melody which goes ever further out of tune, has long been one of my favourite passages in all of Bartók's music, nor was I disappointed on this occasion.
This was undoubtedly some of the finest quartet playing I have heard in some considerable time and the capacity audience clearly agreed, rising to their feet the instant the last chord died away.
I was, frankly, dismayed and, yes, even appalled to realise that Melvin Berger's Guide to Chamber Music, while an admirable tome in many regards, containing commentary on music by such household names as Ingolf Dahl, Franz Danzi, Irving Fine, Leon Kirchner and Leo Kraft, makes no mention whatsoever of the music of Sir Edward Elgar.
Admittedly Elgar wrote only three mature chamber works, but they are among his final utterances (only the Cello Concerto came after) and help to redress the commonly-held impression of Elgar as the Musical Face of Empire.
I do not recall ever hearing Elgar's only extant string quartet — he had composed and discarded an earlier effort and had also begun, but never finished, several others — played in concert before, so I would have been happy even had the performance been little more than mediocre, and of course, "mediocre" is a word I suspect the James Ehnes Quartet do not even have room for in their vocabulary.
Adopting appropriately Romantic tone colours, the quartet beautifully captured the volatile mood of the opening movement, with the impassioned development building to a big, dramatic climax with the recapitulation serving as consolation.
The slow movement was described by Lady Elgar as "captured sunshine" and was played at her funeral in 1920; it was also among the pieces which Elgar would listen to on his gramophone during his final illness: the first recording — by the Stratton Quartet — having been made in December 1933, just two months before he died.
Although I did feel that the quartet's tempo for the movement was perhaps a shade on the quick side, the glorious playing swept aside any doubts I may have entertained. The hushed close was absolutely magical.
The finale's exuberant, rhapsodic nature was well to the fore and there was a magnificent sweep to the performance, with the final coda being quite dizzying.
I have waited several decades to hear this music in the flesh; I could not have wished for a finer performance.
I strongly suspect that the phrase "take it off!" is more commonly heard in strip clubs than concert halls. (I say "suspect" because, I assure you, I have no direct experience.)
After the opening movement of Haydn's String Quartet Op.76 No.1, Ehnes remarked "I have a problem: it's very hot, but I can't remember if I ironed the back or sleeves of my shirt". With the appropriate encouragement from the audience (including several utterances of that phrase) Ehnes and cellist Edward Arron removed their jackets and played the remainder of the evening in their shirtsleeves. Violinist Amy Schwartz Moretti already looked cool, calm and collected, and violist Richard O'Neill — who had, I suspect, opted for a short-sleeved T-shirt, but may have had cause to regret his choice, although it probably seemed a good one at the time — remained jacketed.
Despite the interruption and a certain amount of amusement, the quartet very quickly re-established the mood for the slow movement of the Haydn.
If the first movement had underlined the playful, almost puckish nature of the music, the opening hymn-like theme of the adagio sostenuto was simply gorgeous and the duet between first violin and cello quite lovely. Throughout the movement the attention to dynamics was meticulous.
The minuet is one in name only, its vigorous bounce more resembling a scherzo; the trio was more dance-like, almost rustic in nature.
The finale was rhythmically very strong and Haydn's wit was plain for all to hear.
For an encore (I imagine rioting might have broken out had we been denied one) the quartet gave us the andante cantabile from Tchaikovsky's first quartet.
Here the music seemed to float effortlessly off the strings and provided a marvellous lyrical counter to the astringent Bartók which had ended the programme proper.
As the James Ehnes Quartet only plays a dozen or so concerts every year, Victorians were indeed fortunate to have them visit. We can only hope that it will not be too long before they find the time to return.
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