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First Unitarian Church
June 1, 2025
"I have the premonition that my life will be short. I'm far from complaining about it, but I should not want to die before having done something".
Musical history is replete with child prodigies, performers and composers (and, not infrequently, both). Yet we read little of music's late developers.
Ernest Chausson was one such: like a surprising number of other composers, he originally studied law, as did Handel, Tchaikovsky, Schumann, Telemann, two of Bach's sons — Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philipp Emanuel — and Stravinsky.
But, like most of those named, his law studies were the result of familial pressure, although, unlike many others, he did actually practise the law for a number of years, having obtained his degree in 1877; however, due to his overwhelming lack of interest in the subject, he spent much of his time in Paris salons where, among other notable figures of the time, he met Vincent d'Indy.
Nor was music Chausson's first choice for a new career and he tried both writing and drawing before, following a trip to Munich in 1879 to hear Wagner conducting The Flying Dutchman and The Ring, at the advanced age of twenty-four, he enrolled at the Paris Conservatoire and joined Jules Massenet's composition class.
The Concert for Violin, Piano and String Quartet, Op.21, is generally considered to be Chausson's first mature chamber work: the first of not very many, as he was plagued by self-doubt and, even considering his tragically early death at the age of forty-four, his output is relatively meagre: a mere thirty-nine opera — which, parenthetically and no doubt confusingly, is the proper plural of opus (and surely rather more elegant than "opuses").
The first performance was on February 26, 1892 in Brussels, given by the famed violinist Eugène Ysaÿe, the quartet of Ysaÿe's twenty-one-year-old pupil, the charmingly-named Mathieu Crickboom, and a young Parisian pianist, Auguste Pierret (who had stepped in at a mere ten days' notice); it was a resounding success, one of the biggest of his career, leading him to note in his diary that "I must believe that my music is made for Belgians above all, for never have I enjoyed such a success...I feel giddy and joyful, such as I have not managed to feel for a long time...It seems to me that I shall work with greater confidence in future".
Alas, 'twas not to be — as witness the nine years it took him to produce his sole opera, Le roi Arthus.
But what exactly is the Concert? Chausson insisted that it was not a concerto, but used "concert" in the sense that it would have been used in France in the eighteenth century. Ironically, it is nonetheless still frequently billed as "Concerto" (even such an august organisation as the Los Angeles Philharmonic has been guilty) and, for many listeners, that would not seem inappropriate, as the violin and piano rarely play as equal partners with the string quartet.
And, for me at least, the music's inability to settle on one particular form is problematic: by turns we seem to be hearing a violin sonata, a string quartet, a piano quintet, a string quintet and, on an almost vanishingly small number of occasions, a piano sextet.
As a result, despite many individual moments of considerable power and beauty (sometimes separately, sometimes simultaneously) the work does not quite seem to cohere — and I am inevitably left feeling sympathy for the poor string quartet players, who spend an inordinate amount of time counting bars of rest, and hoping that they are not being paid by the note.
By my reckoning this is (at least) the third performance of the work in the Capital Region in the last three decades (I recall one in the cathedral and one at the Phillip T Young Recital Hall); all were very fine, this one by far from being the least.
From the declamatory opening piano chords to the lively and energetic close, the performers never put a foot wrong. In the comparatively rare tuttis, the ensemble produced a full, rich, not to mention dramatic, sound. Individual tone colours were excellent throughout.
In the opening movement, despite the somewhat rambling structure, there were enough memorable passages to keep the interest of the most jaded listener. (No prizes for guessing who that might be...) The ensuing Sicilienne — surely a nod to his baroque inspirations — cast in a gently lilting 6/8 time, was delectable. Definitely, as the tempo indication dictates, pas vite but certainly not lacking in life.
The sombre violin opens the slow movement, with a hint of tolling bells from the piano. There are some dramatic outbursts, superbly framed, but overall, the music relies too much on alternating violin and piano with string quartet. The performance, however, was intense and concentrated.
The brisk and energetic finale once again gave the quartet plenty of opportunity to practise counting and never quite settles down to a consistent mood. Nevertheless, the players gave their all and understandably (and justifiably) brought the audience to their feet at its close.
Any (any?) ambivalence you may have detected on my part is purely in regard to the music itself. Hearing it about once every ten years seems about right but, should I live long enough to hear it in performance one last time, I can only hope it is as well played as this.
Students of the guitar (guilty, once upon a time) are perhaps more familiar with the music of Joachín Turina than most music lovers; his compositions for the instrument may be relatively few, but they all figure in the standard repertoire.
His chamber works, on the other hand, may be more numerous but they have to contend with far more competition and the only performances I can recall in recent years are two of his La Oración del torero (The Bullfighter's Prayer), but only one of those was in its version for string quartet (the other being of the orchestral version).
And opportunity, then, to hear his only Piano Quartet (A minor, Op.67, as you insist) was more than welcome.
It is somewhat ironic that much of what most music-lovers would consider typically Spanish music was written by Frenchmen (Chabrier, Debussy and Ravel in particular, spring immediately to mind); however those works were doubtless vying for a particularly Iberian feel, whereas composers actually born in Spain were keen to incorporate their cultural heritage into something a little more universal in appeal.
This would certainly seem to be the case in Turina's quartet, which combined distinctly Spanish-flavoured melodic lines and rhythms with a more cosmopolitan outlook.
The opening movement begins with a distinctly nocturnal introduction, with interjections from the piano, before giving way to a gently lilting triple time invocation of — depending on whom you ask — either a Spanish garden or the composer's native Seville.
The boisterous dance-like second movement features rhythms which could have been written by Albeniz, who had impressed on both Turina and his fellow student Manuel de Falla their "duty to fight for the national music of our country".
The finale is volatile, with many mood shifts, but these were exceptionally well managed and the players made the music cohere.
A very fine performance of an unjustly neglected work.
While not going out of my way to avoid performances of music by Marjean Mozetich — if I did, I should not be writing this review — I would also never make any effort to attend one, having yet to discover any of his work which could hold my attention for more than thirty seconds or so.
Desire at Twilight, alas, proved no exception. As I observed almost two decades ago, Mozetich uses some of the basic vocabulary of minimalism, but is not actually a minimalist, thus falling between two stools. Terence Tam and Lorraine Min gave what I imagine to be a fine, quite possibly exceptional performance of music with which I almost completely out of sympathy. But how would I know? Their playing was literally beautiful, but, for me, it was beauty in the service of music which was unworthy of it, music which strains for effect, but fails.
I am — pleased is not the right word — let us say unsurprised that Tam and Min apparently have no more idea of the meaning of the title than I have, but they clearly found more in the music than I did. Exquisitely played, to be sure, but I wonder if it was really worth the effort.
Despite any reservations I have expressed about the music, one must congratulate the organisers on "boldly going" and assembling an attractive programme of little known music and performing it so well. And, one should also observe, on having built up a loyal following prepared to take a chance on the unfamiliar, knowing that it will be in the right hands.
Eine Kleine is off to a rousing start.
One final note: in his introduction to the Turina, Tam suggested that over the years the ensemble had played most of the piano quartet repertoire.
I can suggest one they have not, insofar as I am aware, performed: the piano quartet of Chausson, last heard in Victoria over two decades ago, and quite possibly my personal favourite of all such works.
Just a thought...
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