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Christ Church Cathedral
February 11, 2022
"I am not one of the great composers. All the great have produced enormously. There is everything in their work - the best and the worst, but there is always quantity. But I have written relatively little."
Some of us might wish to take issue with Maurice Ravel's somewhat harsh self-assessment. Or, indeed, his assumption that sheer quantity is a defining attribute of the great composer — which would make Telemann the greatest composer in history and leave Mahler as a mere footnote.
For my own part, I shall simply mention the fact that, were I ever to face the awful prospect of choosing just one string quartet to listen to for what time I have left before shuffling off this mortal coil, I should have absolutely no hesitation in opting for Ravel's only essay in the form. Choosing a top three would be considerably more difficult, but, as I say, my first choice is easy.
Which is not to say that I consider it history's greatest quartet — for me, that is probably Beethoven's Op.131, although I could certainly make a case for Op.130 or Op.132 — but the Ravel was the first quartet I ever heard in concert, more years ago now than I care to admit to, and it has remained my unassailable favourite ever since.
One thing did strike me immediately in Friday's performance by the Emily Carr Quartet, was that I had never heard the Ravel in such a resonant acoustic before; and I admit that it took my ears a little while to adjust, but such was the quality of playing that any concerns were quickly set aside.
The tempo for the opening movement seemed perfect for the surroundings, balance was excellent and ensemble first class: two qualities we have come to expect from the quartet. There was a surprising — especially surprising considering the acoustic — amount of inner detail revealed and the final page sounded absolutely gorgeous.
If I had had a slight (very slight) regret it was that for for the second movement, marked Assez vif — Très rhythmé — the quartet adopted a fairly quick tempo, as do most others. The last time they played the quartet, certainly the last time I heard them play it, they took this movement at a very deliberate tempo, which I, for one, found totally convincing and which I suspect might have been more appropriate to this performing space. Nonetheless and despite some loss of detail of the pizzicatos, the music still wove its spell — it was, indeed, lively and "very rhythmic" — the trio was delectable and the whole movement danced and culminated in a splendidly decisive final chord.
Quite why the slow movement always puts me in mind of a languid summer's afternoon in Provence — somewhere I have never visited, at any time of the year — I am not entirely sure, yet it does, this time no less than others. Again the music was clothed in beautiful tone colours and the quartet employed some very stylish portamento (sliding from one note to another and definitely a feature of string playing in 1903 when the quartet was written). Once again I must remark on the final chord, this time for its exquisite beauty.
The finale possessed an unstoppable momentum and the thematic links to the earlier movements were nicely done throughout. The quartet's playing was vertiginous but never too fast.
Outstanding.
I will readily admit that the music of John Luther Adams — not to be confused with John (Coolidge) Adams — was previously a closed book to me.
However, after hearing his The Wind in High Places, I may need to investigate him further.
The piece is unusual in that it utilises nothing but open strings and harmonics, the performers never touch their fingerboards. Adams has said that he was inspired by the sound of the Aeolian harp, an instrument which is played by the wind, and that "if I could've found a way to make this music without [the players] touching the instruments at all, I would".
The resulting music is ethereal and mesmerising. The opening Above Sunset Pass was still without being static; MacLaran Summit was all arpeggios and rather busy although still, paradoxically, calm and, yes, mesmerising. I'm afraid the final movement, Looking Towards Hope had me irreverently wondering whether Adams had been standing on the Trans-Canada or Crowsnest Highway (or possibly even the Coquihalla). But such thoughts still left room to enjoy and admire the music's passacaglia-like nature (and did I imagine it, or was there a cyclic aspect to it as well?)
Throughout the piece, the Emily Carrs played with formidable concentration and immaculate tuning.
This was an excellent start to the "Earth Songs" series. The next concert, on March 11, features R. Murray Shafer's second quartet ("Waves") as well as the work which inspired the Ravel: Debussy's G minor.
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