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Book: Soundscapes. A Musician’s Journey through Life and Death.

Soundscapes is a quirky and insightful memoir by Paul Robertson, co-founder and longtime leader of the Medici String Quartet. In 2008, Robertson was faced with a very critical medical emergency, which left him clinically death for about half an hour and in a long coma afterwards. In his book, Robertson interrogates and studies his life through the prism of a Near Death Experience that steeped him in a sequence of phantasmagoric visions. Clearly, he chose to understand this episode as some sort of ritual passage, a ‘metanoia’, that resulted in a spiritually more developed vantage point from which to make up the balance of his life. Every sentence in this book reveals the choleric and domineering personality of the author. Robertson, in his younger days, must have been a veritable ‘bastard’ (his own word). A deep sense of insecurity and feeling of disenfranchisement led him to carve out his path as a professional musician in rather unsubtle ways. In his old, post-NDE days he has become milder and genuinely apologetic about all the "crude, gauche and selfish” acts of his life - “and there were a great many of them.”

Soundscapes is not a blow-by-blow biographical narrative. It starts with Robertson’s account of his near death experience, and then returns to his lower middle class youth and his discovery of the violin. The story continues with the establishment of the quartet, its later dissolution and the author’s final post-NDE years. He breathes life into the story of his early development through a perspicacious discussion of the virtues of his musical hero Jascha Heifetz, his teacher Manoug Parikian and his mentor, the great pianist Clifford Curzon. The quartet decades revolve around their relationship with the music of John Tavener and particularly Beethoven. Studying, performing and recording the sixteen quartets of Ludwig van Beethoven was the apex of the quartet’s career.

Robertson is uncharacteristically candid and level-headed about the experience of playing and living in a quartet. For him there is a fracture at the core of the quartet experience that can be very precisely articulated. It is called ’the Pythagorean gap’ or ‘comma’ "that describes the difference of tuning between the notes of the scale, which arises from the natural harmonic series compared with the 12 chromatic semitones that result from tuning a succession of perfect fifths.” Modern, ’tempered’ tuning systems distribute the gap evenly across all the notes of the chromatic scale. However, according to Robertson “such approximation is simply inadequate for anything but the crudest string quartet playing … The only honorable route for any serious quartet is to take pains over mediating each tonal gap as it occurs.” The issue of ‘temperament’ has implications for every technical aspect of performance - tempo, sonority, rhythm, dynamics and phrasing - and its resolution becomes pervasive and engrossing.

Hence, this is the crucible of leadership and group achievement: “Each member has to recognize that for the ensemble to take wing it is necessary to compromise personal sensibilities by carefully playing ‘out of tune’ for the greater good. Moral authority and leadership lies with the person willing to be in error for the benefit of others.”

The book presents an unusual mixture of the clear-headed and the esoteric. Pointed reflections on music, musicianship and ensemble playing mingle with unabashed references to ‘pure consciousness' and the Divine. Robertson had been drawn to spiritual matters from an early age and was deeply involved in the Study Society, a private ‘esoteric school’ inspired by the teachings of Gurdjieff and P.D. Ouspensky. The delirium experienced during his coma only seemed to have reinforced this penchant for the noumenal. Robertson reads these visions as allegories that reveal a deeper spiritual significance behind his life’s events. Also his emergence of the coma in imbued with deeper meaning. For Robertson this reveals the fundamental nature of the universe as a moral force. Why? Because he was dead and in no position to make a decision to return to life.��

“Even though I was not at all aware of myself while in coma, once I returned to life I never doubted that it was ‘my’ decision to have chose to live. (…) This is possible because the universe itself is imbued with consciousness and that ‘pure consciousness’ is its ultimate nature. Even though we might not always appreciate it, such a numinous consciousness always recognizes and upholds what is right and true.”

These kinds of speculations may not appeal to all readers. Yet, I would advise them not to be dissuaded and read the book if they are interested in the practice of classical music. There is much that is valuable here. It also helps that the narrative is littered with traces of a robust, if sometimes malicious sense of humor. I really enjoyed this book.

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Sibelius: String Quartet in D minor ‘Voces Intimae’

Sophisticated Ladies

Ulrika Jansson, violin Annette Mannheimer, violin Mona Bengtsson, viola Asa Forsberg, cello

BIS CD-463 Recording date: 1989 Duration: [29:41]

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Haydn: String Quartet in D minor, Op. 76 nr. 2 ‘Fifths’

Alban Berg Quartett

Günther Pichler, violin Gerhard Schulz, violin Thomas Kakuska, viola Valentin Erben, cello

EMI Classics 5 56166 2 Recording date: 1993 Duration: [20:19]

Another quartet in D Minor. Haydn's 'Fifths' quartet belongs to his last completed set, Op. 76, and dates from 1796. Written almost fifteen years after Mozart's K. 421, it is a very different kettle of fish. In its suite-like form and textural simplicity, Mozart's D Minor quartet seems to hark back to the past, while Haydn gives his work an almost symphonic allure. The Graves characterise the Op. 76 quartets as follows: "Different from the subtle artistry of Op. 64 or the more popular accent in Op. 71/74 is a certain rhetorical intensity, a quality that encompasses the drama of emphasised contrasts in rhythm, dynamics, and sonority, the spaciousness of widened tonal horizons, the rigour of relentless motivic development, the volatility of minor-key discourse, and also the purity of an unembellished melodic line."  

So, despite the shared key, it is no surprise that the mood in both works is very different. Mozart's quartet is drenched in a hint of sublimated tragedy quite unlike the confident air of seriousness and robustness flaunted by the Haydn. Particularly the latter's monothematic first movement - in sonata form and based on the 4-note motif that gave the quartet its name -  is a demonstration in compositional resourcefulness. The Brentano Quartet's Mark Steinberg writes about this movement: "It is rather like an Escher print where a large, compelling structure is built out of small units the potential of which might go unrecognised by a lesser artist."

What binds these two works together is their intriguing balance between sophistication and artlessness. As far as I am concerned, Haydn may have overheard the folkish tune of the Andante (o più tosto allegretto) from a kitchen maid humming to herself. The 'Witches Minuet' displays a children story-like spookiness that is charming rather than intimidating. The concluding Vivace, largely in D minor but with a surprising final flourish in D major, is a robust but virtuosic country dance.

ABQ's rendering of this quartet is a reliable source of listening pleasure. It does not perhaps display the humour and abandon of some other versions but it has tremendous poise and polish, and colour and clarity of line.

Sources Floyd Grave & Margaret Grave (2006) The String Quartets of Joseph Haydn. Oxford University Press. Mark Steinberg: http://brentanoquartet.com/notes/haydn-quartet-opus-76-2/

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Mozart: String Quartet in D minor K. 421

Quatuor Ebène

Pierre Colombet, violin Gabriel Le Magadure, violin Mathieu Herzog, viola Raphaël Merlin, cello

Erato 0709222 Recording date: 2011 Duration: [26:52]

Mozart's D minor quartet is a wonder of understatement and translucency. Art music of the highest calibre and yet unassuming. Full of simple, earthy vitality but also pregnant with allusions to irrevocable loss. The members of the Quatuor Ebène rise admirably to the occasion. There isn't the slightest lapse into artifice. Every note is filled to the brim with sagacity and every voice finds its natural place.

Und wir: Zuschauer, immer, überall, dem allen zugewandt und nie hinaus! Uns überfüllts. Wir ordnens. Es zerfällt. Wir ordnens wieder und zerfallen selbst. R.M.Rilke, Duineser Elegien, VIII

Further reading: Alexa Wilks (2015) The Biography of a String Quartet. Mozart's String Quartet in D Minor, K. 421 (K. 417b). PhD thesis. University of Toronto.

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Kreisler: String Quartet in A minor

Artis-Quartett Wien

Peter Schuhmayer, violin Johannes Meissl, violin Herbert Kefer, viola Othmar Müller, cello

Nimbus NI 5942 Recording date: 2016 Duration: [25:44]

This week I continued to explore the fringes of the string quartet repertoire. I'm not sure what led me to Fritz Kreisler's Quartet in A minor. It's the only work of substance of a man who is known as one of the greatest violin virtuosos of all times. As a composer, his reputation rests mainly on a number of musical bonbons ('Liebesfreud', 'Liebesleid'). And then there is his one and only String Quartet, written in 1921. There are very few recordings of it in the catalogue and the Routledge Research and Information Guide on string quartets does not contain a single reference to the work.  

Nevertheless, the four-movement piece has a lot going for it. In many ways Kreisler's quartet strikes me as a simple work. In that sense it harks back to the origin of the quartet as a divertimento. The ensemble writing is unsophisticated - most of the work is played more or less in unison - and thematic development is limited. But the quartet's lack of compositional rigour is compensated by an unusual richness of melody and density of atmosphere. One hears echoes of Vienna as a Central-European crossroads of cultures. And particularly in the first movement it is not difficult to pick up reminiscences to the highly strung musical worlds of Gustav Mahler and Alban Berg. Much of the quartet's material is presented in a sweet cantabile voice, reminding us of the pre-WW I apotheosis of Viennese operetta.

So, altogether there is a lot to enjoy. But a great work it is not. There is an amusing anecdote recounted by Arnold Steinhardt, primarius of the Guarneri Quartet. At one point he wanted to convince his colleagues to include the Kreisler in their repertoire. But a playthrough left the other members of the ensemble underwhelmed. They voted it down: “too long,” “one big first violin solo,” “not one of Kreisler’s stronger works.” I have sympathy for both points of view. The quartet is fun to listen to and it must be tremendous fun to play. But it pales in comparison with the masterpieces of the Viennese quartet tradition that form the core of the repertoire.

Stylistically it seems to me that the key challenge is to skillfully emulate iconic elements of Kreisler's playing style - the emphatic vibrato, the portamenti - without tilting towards the vulgar or saccharine. For instance, this young quartet seems to overdo it. Kreisler, in his own 1935 recording, plays it much more soberly and earnestly. I listened to an excellent rendering by the Artis-Quartett Wien that seemed to strike a delightful balance between the classical and the schmalzy. (Interesting detail: the Artis is one of the few ensembles that prefers to perform standing upright.) The Nimbus recording intelligently couples the Kreisler to a youthful work by Alexander von Zemlinsky and Schulhoff's Five Pieces for String Quartet. Technically, the performance is captured in a most truthful acoustic perspective, which considerably adds to the listening pleasure.

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Welin: String Quartet nr. 1 “Eigentlich nicht ...”

The Tale Quartet

Patrick Swedrup, violin Anders Nyman, violin Ingegerd Kierkegaard, viola Helena Nilsson, cello

BIS-958 CD Recording date: 1998 Duration: [18:35]

A few weeks ago I stumbled upon a recording with works of the Swedish composer Karl-Erik Welin (1934-1992). The name didn't ring a bell, but as the CD was exclusively given to string quartets, I didn't hesitate to throw in a fiver. Talk about fringe repertoire. This appears to be the only album in the whole classical universe that is entirely devoted to Welin's work. The accompanying notes describe the composer as an 'enfant terrible' devoted, as a performer, to the cause of 1960s avant-garde music. He made a name for himself by cutting himself in the leg with a chain-saw during a musical performance.

What a surprise then to listen to his first quartet (”Eigentlich nicht ...”), composed in 1967. It's the most mellifluous, suavely conversational piece imaginable, couched in an emphatically post-romantic idiom. One might think of one of these pious minimalists such as Pärt, but in the end the music sounds highly personal and decidedly contemporary. Nothing much happens. A sudden burst of tremolo, a short but contrasting maestoso section roughly halfway the piece. The rest is given to the sinuous lines of the four voices organically coiling around each other. There is a seriousness of tone, a sense of unspoken trust and gratitude, but also resignation that permeates every measure of the piece. Listening to this music, in the intimacy of a good set of headphones, is like reading a leaf from a very private journal. Or like eavesdropping on a campfire conversation amongst a small gathering of strangers baring their souls to one another.  The final pages are pure magic. The atmosphere becomes denser and more fragile until it dissolves into the velvet shadows of a boreal forest.  

The piece's title allegedly refers to Welin's self-doubt as a composer. It is a tentative answer to the question whether throwing notes on paper is worth the effort. I'm grateful he did. This quartet is a marvellous gift. Kudos to the members of The Tale Quartet who responded to Welin's music with tremendous virtuosity and depth of feeling.

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We do not understand music. It understands us. This is as true for the musician as for the layman. When we think ourselves closest to it, it speaks to us and waits sad-eyed for us to answer.

Theodor Adorno, Beethoven: The Philosophy of Music.

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Xenakis: ST/4

Arditti Quartet

Irvine Arditti, first violin David Alberman, second violin Garth Knox, viola Rohan de Saram, cello

Naive MO782137 Recording date: 1991 Duration: [11:11]

When I first listened to the Xenakis quartets in 2011, I thought Tetras, his second quartet, was the big prize. But now I'm returning to ST/4 which was the composer's first foray into the genre. The piece's title in full is ST/4-1, 080262, shorthand for 'the first piece of stochastic music for four instruments, using calculations made by computer on 8 February 1962'. Here the composer is only partially in control. He chooses or develops an algorithm that weighs the possibilities of random events and links those to musical parameters.  Algorithmic music differs from aleatoric music, which is created by chance-driven processes (like throwing dice or I Ching stalks) without adhering to a strict mathematical logic.

The algorithmic basis of many of Xenakis’ pieces turns them, in his own words, into “a form of composition which is not the object in itself, but an idea in itself, that is to say, the beginnings of a family of compositions”.

James Harley provides an interesting perspective on the emergence of ST/4: "In 1962, having succeeded in obtaining access to the computing facilities at IBM-France, Xenakis ran several trials of his algorithm, producing enough data to create a family of works for different ensembles. Each piece is based upon identical principles, with the various constraining factors being adjusted to fit the particularities of each compositional situation (number of instruments, ranges, etc.). The one exception, interestingly, is ST/4, which derives from the same data as ST/10. The basis for the quartet is the adaptation of the string parts of the larger ensemble, into which additional material from other instruments has been added." 

Harley points out that ST/4 is more than a simple transcription as Xenakis made many changes to accommodate new material into the existing string parts. One might perhaps see ST/4 then as a projection of ST/10 in a lower-dimensional space which inevitably led to loss of information and required adjustments to fit key musical material in the new setting. In doing so, Xenakis shows himself a resourceful composer. Some of the percussion material of the original work was adapted as drumming on the bodies of the string instruments. Harley: "Surely, however, the most incredible adaptation of them all comes in his treatment of a descending chromatic scale in the harp (mm. 222-248). In the translation of the computer data into musical notation, this material was in itself an adaptation of the glissando parameter to the distinct features of the harp. In transcribing it for strings, Xenakis opted to preserve the plucked-string character, trading off from instrument to instrument as the scale falls lower and lower. The range of the harp reaches an octave lower than the cello, and this particular gesture continues to the harp's lowest note. Undaunted, the composer requires the cellist to lower the C string with the tuning peg, retuning for each new note, until it is tuned an octave lower than normal. As anyone with even a rudimentary knowledge of string instruments would know, it is treacherously difficult to tune a string onstage in the midst of a demanding performance. As a dramatic gesture, therefore, this manouevre (sic) completely upstages whatever else might be going on around it. Xenakis, however, treats it here as if it were a perfectly ordinary thing for the cellist to do." He concludes: "This audacity highlights an essential characteristic of Xenakis' music. In asking for the impossible from the cellist here, and indeed from the whole quartet in trying to emulate the rhythmic and textural density of an ensemble more than twice its size, Xenakis succeeds in creating a thrillingly intense musical experience for performers and listeners alike. Irvine Arditti, who has played in both versions of the piece, maintains that the quartet is the more successful of the two, simply because of the element of 'risk' that the performers must undergo and communicate in performance."

In an obituary Arditti reflected on his experience of playing the music of Xenakis. In the early 1970s he sought the composer's advice to prepare for the British premier of Mikka: "I had been pondering the very fast glissandi (covering more than three octaves), and told him this was impossible to play. His reply was that I might find it so now, but that in the future I would find a way to do it. Well, Mikka, never got easier, but my understanding of the way to perform Xenakis' music transcended the normal confines of traditional string playing. I was eventually able to understand and give an impression of what he intended. (...) It is still impossible to play the extremely wide, quick glissandi near the beginning, as the distance covered is just too far. A three-octave glissando in an eighth of a second is physically not possible. As an interpreter, one has to make decisions about limitations such as these and almost invent new ways of thinking. (...) Graphic representations of the music may help a string player to understand better the kind of sound Xenakis is aiming for. (...) Xenakis is not a traditional 'musician's composer', in that he comes from a completely other world. This other world has been fascinating for me, and I consider him to be at the forefront of expanding string sonorities in the second part of the twentieth century. Perhaps because of the origins, he is less inclined to be specific about exactly how to execute his music, preferring to leave it to the players to find a way."

So, what are my listening impressions? ST/4 strikes me as a busy piece, an explosive sequence of hard-edged pizzicati, tremolos, glissandi and percussive effects. While textures occasionally loosen up, I hesitate to second Arnold Whittal's description of the piece as revolving around "an extreme contrast between constantly changing durations, dynamics and dynamic patterns, and a far simpler texture which includes a descending chromatic scale with regular note values and a uniform dynamic level." The contrast is there, but it doesn't strike me as providing a reliable ground plan of the piece.

There is no discernible musical process, no way of anticipating what the composer's (or algorithm's) next move will be. You have to listen to it 'in the moment' and deliver yourself to what sounds like an aural picture of Blitzkrieg, with dive bombers, welcomed by ricocheting gunfire, screaming towards their hapless targets. Perhaps it is the sheer energy radiated by the piece that keeps us glued to our seats. The quartet's kinship with the original ST/10 version is unmistakable, but the latter strikes me as mellower and even more conventionally symphonic due to the differentiation of timbres and the more expansive soundstage. Also it strikes me that many individual phrases allotted to instruments found in the symphonic orchestra (clarinet, horn) resonate with my large database of remembered fragments from other modernistic pieces. This creates a hazy simile of an imagined and aborted musical process that in reality isn't there. Returning to the quartet one is struck by the ferocious energy that the members of the Arditti Quartet bring to bear on this piece.

I've also been reflecting about what it tells about me as a listener that I can sit through this piece coolheadedly and even with considerable pleasure. Am I genuinely making sense of this music, or is it just that my long listening experience makes me more or less imperturbable and slightly blasé? At one point I did a lot of travelling, and after a while, I was surprised that I didn't even feel even a tinge of dépaysement when touching down in remote countries such as Mongolia or Gabon. Was it sheer globetrotting experience or did I simply resort to shutting out the foreign elements to keep my composure and focus on the job? To this day I am not able to answer that question.

Sources:

Irvine Arditti (2002) ‘Reflections on performing the string music of Iannis Xenakis’, Contemporary Music Review, 21:2-3, 85-89, DOI: 10.1080/07494460216665. James Harley (1998) ‘The String Quartets of Iannis Xenakis’, Tempo, New Series, No. 203, pp. 2-10. Arnold Whittal (1999) Musical Composition in the Twentieth Century, Oxford University Press, pp. 292-294.

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Book: Muss es sein? Leben im Quartett

Publisher: Berenberg, 2008

Sonia Simmenauer is founder of a prestigious agency that represents many of the most sought after quartets today (the Belcea, Jerusalem, Ebène, Arditti, etc). She used to be married to the primarius of a quartet too. So she has been a privileged witness to this ensemble's very peculiar form of personal and artistic symbiosis. Simmenauer also relies on Walter Levin and Günther Pichler, two emeriti quartet players (with the former LaSalle and the Alban Berg, respectively), to reflect on their own professional experiences. The book's main theme is what is needed to allow four highly skilled peers to live together intimately and intensely over long periods of time. While many of the stories are (pleasantly) anecdotal, they provide food for thought on the challenges of decentralised decision-making that are confronting many organisations today. What is missing, however, is a female perspective. Most, if not all, historic top string quartets were exclusively male (the Quartetto Italiano's Elisa Pegreffi comes to mind as the only woman who was part of a top ensemble. She was married to the Quartetto's primarius Paolo Borciani. Pegreffi died earlier this year at the blessed age of 93). Today, mixed-gender quartets are the norm and even all-female quartets are quite common. Also, there is very little in the book that gives insight into the kind of relationship these musicians have with their audience. Quartet listeners are portrayed as somewhat nerdy, attending performances with the pocket score on their knees. But that too seems to be a vestige of a rapidly disappearing past. So I would definitely be interested to read up on how younger quartet members reflect on their distinguished predecessors' experiences.

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John Adams: String Quartet

St. Lawrence String Quartet

Geoff Nuttall, violin Scott St. John, violin Lesley Robertson, viola Christopher Costanza, cello

Nonesuch 7559798007 Recording date: 2009 Duration: [30:10]

I have a lot of respect for the composer John Adams. The versatility of his craft, his quirky imagination, tremendous work ethos and his willingness to confront the persistent ambiguities surrounding American identity, has resulted in a sprawling (and growing) oeuvre that marries compositional rigor and sophistication to human warmth and generosity.

Adams' chamber music output is modest compared to the orchestral and dramatic portion of his work and, with the exception of Road Movies for violin and piano, it centres squarely on the string quartet. To date Adams has written three significant works for the quartet: the suite John's Book of Alleged Dances (1994), a First Quartet (2008) and a Second Quartet (2015). The two quartets have been written specifically for the St. Lawrence String Quartet. The SLSQ is the quartet in residence at Stanford University where they teach privately and direct the chamber music program in the Department of Music. Another work written for the St. Lawrence is Absolute Jest, a kinetic potpourri of Beethovenian motives for the unusual forces of a symphony orchestra and a soloistic string quartet. (Sadly, it's not one of Adams' most successful compositions.)

I'm zooming in here on the First Quartet, a work I had only heard casually. What strikes immediately is that Adams did not disguise the piece with one of his smart-alec titles. In the CD's liner notes he writes: "The only other time I'd employed such a generic title was with the 1993 Violin Concerto. It may be that the choice of such an adorned name for both works reflected a certain awe I felt in approaching the medium. Historically speaking, both the violin concerto and the string quartet represent for me the epitome of the union of musical form and content." I think it's rather peculiar to bundle violin concertos and quartets together on account of their 'Apollonian' credentials, but let's take the composer on his word.  

Another initial question mark hovers over the piece's layout. It comes in two disproportionally sized movements: a 20-minute opening statement followed by a much shorter finale. Altogether it's an expansive work that just reaches the half hour mark.

Initially, I had trouble grasping the piece's overall architecture. The two-movement structure didn't work for me, and I settled on a five-section structure to help me navigate this rather uncompromising work: two fast and argumentative corner movements enclose a meandering slow-fast-slow middle section. The outer movements start with typical minimalist figurations that quickly grow into a much denser and through-composed texture. The pace is high, and the overall character is fiercely modernist rather than soothingly minimalist. Particularly the first section of the opening movement reminds me of the pugnacious uproar of Bartok's middle quartets. The section concludes with a hair-raising unison passage on open strings that could have been pulled straight from a rock opera. The performance by Adams' Leibquartett leaves nothing to be desired.

The work's chief problem, as I experience it, is this 'meandering' middle section. I listened to it several times, but the music failed to gain traction for me. With some effort, it is possible to demarcate a hesitant scherzando paragraph in between two nebulous slower sections, but I couldn't escape the impression that the music had nowhere to go.

In the propulsive finale, Adams felt apparently on more familiar ground. Kinetic thrust and contrapuntal energy move events briskly forward. At one point a sighing, lyrical motif announces itself, but it isn't able to persist. The piece ends in a frenzy, with the lyrical theme unexpectedly resurfacing in the final measures as an ecstatic (or desperate) cry.

I have mixed feelings about this work. No doubt it is a grand statement in the genre. Despite the aimless slower music, there is enough meat to keep one involved during repeated listening sessions. But the piece lacks warmth and humour. Which is a pity as Adams has shown profusely in other works that these qualities fall naturally within his compositional ambit.

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Ludwig van Beethoven: String Quartet nr. 13, Op. 130

Borodin Quartet

Ruben Aharonian, violin Andrei Abramenkov, violin Igor Naidin, viola Valentin Berlinsky, cello

Chandos CHAN 10268 Recording date: 2004 Duration: [42:11]

Beethoven's Op. 130 is one of the repertoire's most enigmatic works. Personally, I never really warmed to the late quartets. The middle-period quartets connected more recognisably to the symphonic Beethoven I grew up with. But I found this deeper exploration of the B flat major quartet very rewarding, and I feel it opens the door to a much more serious investigation of the composer's late chamber music.

Op. 130 has vexed commentators for almost two centuries. First, there is the enigma of the finale. In the composer's original design, the quartet concluded with a grand and complex fugue. Remarkably, Beethoven's publisher was able to convince him to supply a more approachable alternative finale. It was the very last piece of music that Beethoven completed before his death. The fugue, stretching over 35 pages of score, ended up as a separate work, the 'Grosse Fuge', Op. 133. Today many quartets still perform the work with the original finale. Most recordings offer both endings, leaving the choice to the listener. I've opted here for a version with the alternative finale, hoping to return to the Grosse Fugue at a later date.

A further point of debate has been the hard to decode architecture of the quartet. De Marliave, in a classical commentary on the quartets, refers to the work's overall ambience as "rhapsodical". Kerman qualifies it as "a mercurial, brilliant, paradoxical work, toying with the dissociation of its own sensibility and toying with the listener's limping powers of prediction." In his study of Beethoven's so-called Galitzin Quartets (Opp. 127, 132 and 130), Daniel Chua describes the work as follows: "This quartet represents Beethoven at his most extreme - even against the standard of Op. 132. If the sequence of movements in the A major Quartet disintegrates within a symmetry of contrasts, then the series of movements of the B flat major Quartet is in danger of falling apart altogether; the B flat major Quartet not only intensifies the collision of elements but also shuns a central focus in which its broken and dispersed structure can be symmetrically anchored. Op. 130 comprises only the fissured and perplexed forms of the first movement and the Grosse Fuge, with a string of miniatures caught in between - movements so tiny and convivial in their recollection of the past that they jar against the rebarbative rhetoric that frames them."

Clearly, Op. 130 stretches the classical form to a breaking point. Some commentators regarded the six-movement structure as a return to the looser Baroque suite form, with the original fugue playing the role of a gigue. Other analytic strategies focused on the myriads of thematic interdependencies that give the work a sense of unity. Carl Dahlhaus spoke in this regard of a Wagnerian 'Beziehungszauber' - the magic of association. But it shouldn't come as a surprise that as many motivic ground plans have been put forward as there are analysts.

Commentators have also been looking for clues to explain the work's fragmentary nature beyond strictly musical elements. Chua sees in the work's combined strategy of disintegration and historicism an attempt to "hoodwink the Viennese public into accepting a counterfeit of their own Biedermeier domesticity. (...) Thus these structures posit a type of Classicism that they simultaneously destroy in a kind of double image." An oblique social critique on Metternich's police state mirrors Beethoven's utopian outreach of the Ninth Symphony.

Barry Cooper sheds an interesting light on the genesis of the work based on a detailed study of the composer's sketchbooks. Beethoven made a great number of sketches after those for the second movement to find out what should follow it. Apparently, he planned the brief scherzo to segue into a slow movement, but progress on the latter was painfully slow. Eventually, what turned out to be the Cavatina ended up as the fifth movement. The switch to a new sketchbook also turned the composer's attention away from the slow movement. Instead, he quickly drafted the Andante that followed the second movement in the work's final version. Then Beethoven started to work on a finale, indicating that he was still projecting a four-movement work. Cooper: "By this time, however, he had two recent quartet movements that had been partially developed but remained unfinished: one was the D flat movement that became the Cavatina; the other was the one that became the Danza tedesca. The latter had originally been sketched in A major as a possible fourth movement for the A minor Quartet, Op. 132 but had been replaced there by the Alla marcia we know today. Thus the possibility existed for Beethoven to resurrect both of these movements in Op. 130 to form a six-movement work." Beethoven vacillated for a while between a four- and six-movement structure before finally settling on the latter. His correspondence with his nephew Carl reveals that the decision must have been made by the end of August 1825. But in the same letter he also mentions that the quartet would probably be finished in ten or twelve days, clearly indicating that he didn't expect the finale to cause him many problems. The Grosse Fuge was by no means Beethoven's first idea for the finale. Cooper: "Interspersed with sketches for the earlier movements are ideas for over a dozen possible finales for the work, all quite different and none resembling the themes of either the Grosse Fuge or the replacement finale." It is fascinating to see how organically the pieces of the fugal puzzle eventually coalesced: "In view of later developments to the Grosse Fugue it is quite astonishing that the fugue theme was introduced here not as the opening theme of the movement (...) or even as a fugue theme at all, but as a subsidiary motif, tucked away in the cello part with a countermelody above it. Once introduced into the movement, however, the motif kept growing gradually until it had taken over as the main theme, swamped the entire movement, and even overshadowed the rest of the quartet too." Eventually, the work would only be finished in December 1825.

Why was Beethoven willing to supply an alternative finale for the Op. 130 quartet?  Cooper concludes "... now that the Grosse Fugue can be seen as something of an intrusion into the quartet, rather than the germ from which the work sprang, Beethoven's decision to replace it with a different movement, more in line with the others and with the finale he had intended while writing them, must seem entirely justified."

All these fascinating insights kept me busy while listening to the quartet. As a listener, I don't share the perplexity of the musicologists. The overall six-movement form strikes me as rather successful: the weight of the opening movement, with its dramatic contrast between adagio and allegro sections, is mitigated by three lighter and short movements with a different pulse, in the manner of a divertimento. Follows the Cavatina. I don't want to downplay the exquisite beauty of this movement and the eery stillness that pervades the short 'beklemmt' section in the middle, but overall the movement strikes me as compact and disarmingly lyrical in tone rather than aiming for transcendence. The finale, breezy and robust, forms to my mind a fitting conclusion to a work that shows the ageing composer at his most genial. But it is a conviviality that in every bar is permeated with a humbling sagacity. In that sense, Beethoven's Op. 130 reminds me of Verdi's late, comic and melancholy masterpiece Falstaff rather than anything else. Altogether this work confirms the assessment that an essential trait of Beethoven's late quartets is that they can become "as difficult as one wishes or, miraculously, as direct, simple and obvious as one’s willingness to hear and feel."

I listened to an exquisitely rendered interpretation of the esteemed Borodin Quartet that includes only the alternative finale. The sweetness of Aharonian's violin is captivating as is the authority expressed by the cello of octogenarian Valentin Berlinsky. The ensemble playing is endearingly natural and fluid, without any sign of brinkmanship. It remains to be seen whether this cultured approach works across their complete survey of the Beethoven quartets but in this congenial Op. 130 it works wonders.

Sources:

Joseph de Marliave (1925) Beethoven's Quartets. Dover Publications. Joseph Kerman (1966) The Beethoven Quartets. Norton and Company. Barry Cooper (1990) Beethoven and the Creative Process. Clarendon Paperbacks. Carld Dahlhaus (1991) Ludwig Van Beethoven. Approaches to his Music. Clarendon Press Oxford. Daniel. K. L. Chua (1995) The Galitzin Quartets of Beethoven. Opp. 127, 132, 130. Princeton Legacy Library.

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Being in a quartet is like being in a marriage, and in some respects it's harder than a marriage.

David Tree, member of the Guarneri Quartet, in ‘The Art of Quartet Playing’ by David Blum.

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Book: The Art of Quartet Playing. The Guarneri Quartet in conversation with David Blum.

Publisher: Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1986

"After all, I think most of us would like to have chances to lead in some respects while being content to follow in others. There's a harmonious balance in life when you can slip in and out of roles. Quartet playing provides that kind of variety. It requires great discipline, but there's a joy in any discipline in a creative field. There is something deeply satisfying in the economy of the quartet medium. To experience it, as a listener or as a player, brings a rare sense of wholeness."

This book offers a very stimulating read to anyone interested in the finer points of quartet playing. The Guarneri were a top American string quartet that performed for over four decades with only one personnel change. This book was put together by David Blum in 1985 when all the founding members - David Soyer, Michael Tree, John Dalley, and Arnold Steinhardt - were still there. The Guarneri had a reputation for being uncommonly transparent and experimental in their relationship with their listeners. The Art of Quartet Playing is an outgrowth of this willingness to share their deep expertise with a wider audience.

The book is cleverly laid out. The first part - Complements and Challenges - surveys the quartet's strategies to triangulate between the temperaments and artistic visions of four very keen and articulate professionals. Part II brings into relief how the group shaped their interpretations. There are detailed discussions of how the quartet dealt with dynamics, vibrato, tempo, textural clarity and more. All of this material is presented as a transcript of a roundtable discussion, with Blum pulling the conversation along with intelligent and probing questions. Next, come four face-to-face interviews with each of the quartet's members in which they reminisce about their musical development and their practice as a string player in the quartet. The final part zooms in on aspects of repertoire development. It is complemented by a blow-by-blow discussion of the ensemble's take on Beethoven's Opus 131.

Much of the discussion is very detailed and rather technical, illustrated with countless music examples. It is as if one has the privilege of sitting in at a masterclass in quartet playing. Nevertheless, even for a lay reader, such as myself, the book is a pleasure to read because of the incisiveness, intelligence and humour of all involved. The book is littered with valuable insights from true professionals who are not afraid to share their trade secrets. Musically, the book's motto theme are Beethoven's quartets. While the quartet members point to Schubert when the interviewer asks them about their top favourites in the repertoire, it is to Beethoven that the discussion returns most often. Hence, the book will serve as an excellent companion for every listener who approaches this cornerstone of the quartet literature.

[oneyear-sixteenstrings-blog]

On the trail again

I'm picking up my listening diary again. In October 2010, when I initiated a diary for the first time, I wrote: "My intention is simply to keep track of what I listen in an effort to instil a measure of discipline in my listening habits. In an age of access to abundant musical resources, it is easy to fall into the trap of mindless consumption. I do not want that. (...) I hope the blog will turn out to be an instrument that helps me to be a better, more attentive and knowledgeable listener." I wrapped up the blog in December 2012 after 280 posts. All in all, I evaluated the blog as a very pleasant and useful discipline, and I regularly return to it to read up on earlier impressions and reflections.

I started thinking about picking up the blog again when I got wind of the very first String Quartet Biennale Amsterdam, announced for January 2018. A week-long festival, six concerts per day, in the Muziekgebouw aan het IJ, one of Holland's most attractive concert halls. I was struck by the courage and generosity of this gesture, and I felt that the festival deserved a proper preparation. The listening diary suggested itself as a suitable alibi for a careful exploration of the quartet repertoire. One quartet per week, over fifty quartets to the start of the biennale. I would reconnoitre new horizons and return to familiar classics.

Then I read a recently published book in which the author Haruki Murakami noted down his conversations with his countryman Seiji Ozawa. As a committed listener unable to read music or play an instrument I could easily identify with Murakami. I thought about the questions I might ask the ageing and recovering conductor.

And so I ended up with a question that reconnects to my initial impulse behind starting a listening diary but is still waiting for a cogent response: "What does it mean to be a good listener of (classical) music? How can I reach my highest potential as a listener (who, again, is unable to read or perform music)? The more I thought about it, the stranger the question started to sound. I couldn't remember someone asking this before. We all take it for granted: the musician slowly and often painfully develops mastery, and we just have to sit back and enjoy. But I suspect it is more complicated than that. I want to put my decades-long experience as a listener and my great love for classical music on the line to find a better answer. The quartet repertoire and quartet phenomenon will be my guide. I look forward to the apotheosis of the journey, in a year's time, in Amsterdam.