Pause — Portraits II

Emily Carr String Quartet:

Müge Büyükçelen, Cory Balzer, violins

Mieka Michaux, viola

Alasdair Money, cello

Christ Church Cathedral
October 10, 2020

By Deryk Barker

Reviewing music is an odd business: you get to hear a performance just the once and yet have to render a verdict on it which will be available to be read years, perhaps decades later.

The only positive aspect is that the readers will either have similarly only heard the performance that one time, or will not have even been present.

And then along came CoVid-19. Concertgoing has become a whole new experience: for the performers, who may find themselves giving the same programme more than once, and for the audience, severely limited in numbers, who can neither socialise with their fellow music-lovers nor chat with the musicians afterwards.

But to this must be added the extra frisson of streaming: not only is the streamed concert, at least theoretically, available to the entire global population, on numerous occasions (such as this) it will be available even after the concert, which give the critic an opportunity to revisit the performance and, perhaps, amend his or her initial opinions.

So, rather than try and second guess myself, I am writing this review purely from my notes and memory (however rapidly fading) and only then shall I watch and (possibly) revise in the light of that second hearing.

Conventional wisdom would seem to divide Mendelssohn's chamber music into two distinct categories: the Octet and the rest.

Which has a certain validity — there had certainly been nothing in music like the octet before and, arguably, there has been very little since — but it is unfortunate in that "the rest" includes some very fine works, which are consequently overshadowed.

Consider, for example, the String Quartet in A minor, Op.13 (yes, of course, this being the nineteenth century, it was composed two years before the Op.12 quartet): at first glance it would appear, unlike the octet, to be firmly based in what had gone before. In this case very shortly before, as the quartet was composed in 1827, only months after the death of Beethoven, whose late (and, at this point, still unpublished) quartets were clearly the inspiration for Mendelssohn.

Yet the work is also, according to Benedict Taylor, "a historically groundbreaking example of the use of cyclic form" and emotionally in many ways it is a major advance over the octet; it is believed by many that Mendelssohn was reacting to an early love affair, which would explain the use of the theme of his lied "Is est wahr ("Is it true?" Op.9 No.1), from a few months earlier. He even includes the title of the song in the score, echoing Beethoven's "Muss es sein? in his Op.135.

Mendelssohn's Op.13 was the main work in Saturday's marvellous recital by the Emily Carr Quartet.

The adagio introduction, with the theme from the lied was lovely, the Emily Carrs displaying sumptuous tones and a complete unanimity of phrasing. The transition into the tumultuous allegro vivace was deftly handled, with the main body of the movement truly propulsive, albeit interspersed with occasional episodes of calmer waters.

The adagio opened with more gorgeous tone colours; the central fugal section had a devotional quality which gradually grew in intensity; the concentration of the whole movement was quite rivetting.

Quite why the intermezzo should sound so much more familiar than the rest of the quartet I am not entirely certain, yet it did. There are undoubted hints of Mendelssohn's signature "fairy" style, yet it is more graceful than animated — with the exception of the trio, which had a wonderful "bounce" — and I was utterly enchanted.

The finale opened with the dramatic cadenza-like passage for the first violin over a tremolando accompaniment (it almost goes without saying — nevertheless, I shall say it — Müge Büyükçelen was superb here), perhaps the most obvious connexion to Beethoven's own A minor quartet (Op.132). The ensuing presto was torrential, beautifully paced and contoured. Finally, the work's opening returns; but where there was previously a certain anguish, now the mood is consolatory.

An outstanding account.

My first encounter with the music of Caroline Shaw was in the shape of her Three Essays for string quartet. While I enjoyed them, I was not prepared for the impact that Entr'acte would have, a work seemingly possessing far more emotional depth.

At first we seemed to be on the borders of Arvo Pärt territory, with gently rocking, largely diatonic music, except for the occasional distinctly non-Pärtian almost vertigo-inducing, bracingly acidic discords. Unfortunately the effect of rubbing the bow on the strings was largely inaudible, at least from where I was sitting. The ensuing pizzicato section was gorgeous, both musically and in terms of the sheer beauty of the playing. There were a few "avant garde" effects, but these never seemed gratuitous, rather they were at the service of the musical argument. Perhaps the descending glissandos put me in mind of my male cat, Elliott, whinging when he thinks it is time he was fed. (Or, to be accurate, perhaps more reminiscent of the sarcastic echoing I make in response when I think it is not.) Nevertheless, it was highly effective in context.

The opening music returned before yielding to a final, lengthy pizzicato section for the cello alone, played with style and aplomb by Alasdair Money.

This was a unexpectedly rivetting opener for the concert. Indeed, when I listened to the streamed version a few days later, that opening section kept running through my head for the remainder of the day and I cannot, currently, think of another twenty-first century work for which that would be true. Although I am still wondering about the title.

Incidentally, my relistening altered none of the opinions I had formed at the time, except that some of the more complex contrapuntal lines in the Mendelssohn were somewhat clearer than they had been from where I was seated. Clearly the best "seat" in the house would have been where the microphones were positioned: a dozen feet in front of the performers and about fifteen feet up. In the unlikely event that I ever achieve angelhood (surely that can not be the word), that is where you will find me during concerts in the cathedral.

Meanwhile, all I can say is: long may the Emily Carr Quartet flourish.


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