After the searing and emotionally draining Piano Quintet by Alfred Schnittke on Thursday, it was with a decidedly dubious sense of anticipation that I approached this afternoon’s concert by the St. Petersburg String Quartet. I “enjoy” Schnittke (quite a lot, actually…), but actively listening to his biter sarcasm can easily become an emotional marathon; barefoot on the gravel, the Russian biathlon team close behind with cattle prods. Hardly an image that should come to mind when visiting the inviting grounds of Mepkin Abbey, but the quintet’s haunting chill has stayed with me. I need not have worried. Yes, the Quartet No. 3 pokes one repeatedly with a square needle (ah, memories of boot camp…); but when performed to near perfection, as it was today, becomes a kaleidoscopic series of pictures of a heart beating amidst turmoil, anguish, and oppression.
And approaching perfection seems to be the SPSQ’s goal. Their concert at Mepkin last year quickly shot into the list of top five live performances I’ve ever attended. It’s still a bit early to make a judgment about this performance, but it’s definitely got a bullet! Throughout the performance, which also included Maurice Ravel’s lone contribution to the string quartet form and an encore from Claude Debussy, our quartet displayed wonderful grace, an exacting sense of how to convey a difficult program, and the kind of fire and passion only brought by long-standing intimacy.
The Andante of Schnittke’s quartet begins with a soft sigh, building to create colorful blocks of dissonant chords from which its theme emerges, a thief in the night. But he’s an inept thief, chasing himself around the group like a dog after its own tail. When he stops for a breather, an overturned bee’s nest of dissonance becomes the ever-shifting ground for this sharp, biting melody. The mood shifts as a waltz theme (the only music Schnittke wrote which his mother told him she liked…) breaks in on the proceedings, creating a sense of comfort. Not for long, however. It dissolves in fits and starts, leaving one questioning how solid any grounding to which one clings can ultimately be, for all things change. A (slightly…) more tonal section follows and our musicians made this breathe! By the time the waltz theme pops back up, that breath has become frantic, leading us through the Agitato. Our thief dances a witches dance through a slasher movie of sound as it rises in “key” and fury and becomes a (insert your favorite obscene gesture here…) to any and all oppressors, no matter how powerful. I finally caught the “DSCH” theme (an homage to Shostakovich) during the closing Pesante. This movement begins as a somber reflection, taking several variations seemingly designed to confound. During the more militaristic variations, Leonid Shukayev, our cellist, created a wonderfully mournful bass drum sound. The fortissimo plucking (played at ludicrous speed) led to an ending as enigmatic as the whole work. In SPSQ’s hands, the ending dirge became the musical equivalent of T. S. Eliot’s world ending whimper. Confusing? Yes. Pretty? No. Absolutely mesmerizing? Big YES!
After a short break, our musicians returned to business with Ravel’s Quartet in F Major. The opening Modéré-très doux presents a swaying theme of satiny industriousness, particularly compelling when carried in unison by Mr. Shukayev and first violin, Alla Aranovskaya. Ravel, best known for thick washes of color from much larger forces, intends to convey that same range with only four musicians! Assez vif-très rythmé operates as a scherzo, its popping opening giving way to a skipping and light-hearted melody as second violin Alla Krolevich, and viola Boris Vayner provide a gorgeous gambol of triplets. The scherzo slows to a languid lope, whose phrases lack real resolution, but draw one directly into the next one. Near the end, viola and cello are plucked, creating a lovely, almost gamelan-like effect. Beautiful! Boris Vayner then turned the soft throb of Très lent into a song of longing I’ll long remember. My highlight of the afternoon! The Agité floats with the same sway of the first movement, but creates a more viscerally direct appeal. Our satin has taken on the sheen of much use, and the light industry of the opening has now grown to a juggernaut of steam and wheels.
When this quartet was first performed, it was roundly panned by just about any and all who heard it. Ravel never wrote for the form again. It has since become a cherished warhorse in the repertoire, and was given an astounding reading this afternoon. Ravel fretted over it however, causing Claude Debussy to once remark, “In the name of the Gods of music and in my own, do not touch a single note you have written in your Quartet.” It is fitting then, that our encore was Debussy’s gay laugh of a rag, Golliwog’s Cakewalk. He who laughs last…
If I haven’t hammered it home enough, this difficult but immensely rewarding program was played to near perfection. Mepkin Abbey Series? The legend continues…
