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SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL CONCERT TREVIEW
Haydn, Shostakovich, Schumann:
Takács Quartet, presented by Cal Performances, Hertz Hall, University of California, Berkeley. 11.10.2009 (HS)
Every ensemble has its strengths. For some it’s Baroque music, for others the spikier moments of the twentieth century. String quartets seem to excel with certain composers. Some plumb the depths of Beethoven better than anything else. For the Takács, its Hungarian roots always seem to make the music of Bartók flower especially well.
So, in a concert that began with Haydn and concluded with Schumann, it should come as no big surprise that the one complete success was Shostakovich’s itchy, nervous, and typically sardonic String Quartet No. 11 in F minor, Op. 122. It has moments that could have been penned by Bartók.
Shostakovich’s biting humor and crisp, pungent dissonances take on a life of their own in the Takács’ hands. The musicians’ individual strengths—the supple phrasing of first violinist Edward Dusinberre, the sly turns of second violinist Károly Schranz, the mellow richness of violist Geraldine Walther, and the solid underpinning of cellist András Fejér—bring in all the color the composer’s often spare music needs. Their deft approach to rhythm serves the music especially well. They seem to throw themselves unreservedly into the music, and it emerges fresh and tangy.
Especially worth savoring were moments of sharp, spiccato playing, where the back of the bow strikes the strings for a sound halfway between pizzicato and a sharp bowing. The quartet ends of one of those, against a high, sustained note in the first violin that lets the piece seem to hang in midair until you suddenly realize it has vanished.
That kind of magic was mostly missing from both the Haydn String Quartet in B-flat major, Op. 71, No. 1 and the Schumann String Quartet in A minor, Op. 41, No. 1. The Haydn, one of the first quartets ever written for public performance, never quite caught the stylishness embedded in the relatively simple tunes, nor did it find the humor in the drones and hunting-horn imitations in the finale. And for some reason Dusinberre’s tone turned watery in spots.
The Schumann was better, relishing various aspects of the first piece the composer wrote when he turned his full attention to chamber music in 1842. The Takács drew out the long, slow introduction with delicious anticipation, embracing the many individual entrances with the requisite enthusiasm, although it lost some steam in the first movement’s nods at contrapuntal writing. The Scherzo fizzed like good Champagne, and yet the transition to the trio went a bit wobbly. One fine moment came as the Adagio opened up into a full-on chorale.
The finale gathered up plenty of energy to bring the piece to a satisfying conclusion, however. It was as if the tethers of all that counterpoint were off and the quartet could just gallop easily through the music.
Harvey Steiman
Every ensemble has its strengths. For some it’s Baroque music, for others the spikier moments of the twentieth century. String quartets seem to excel with certain composers. Some plumb the depths of Beethoven better than anything else. For the Takács, its Hungarian roots always seem to make the music of Bartók flower especially well.
So, in a concert that began with Haydn and concluded with Schumann, it should come as no big surprise that the one complete success was Shostakovich’s itchy, nervous, and typically sardonic String Quartet No. 11 in F minor, Op. 122. It has moments that could have been penned by Bartók.
Shostakovich’s biting humor and crisp, pungent dissonances take on a life of their own in the Takács’ hands. The musicians’ individual strengths—the supple phrasing of first violinist Edward Dusinberre, the sly turns of second violinist Károly Schranz, the mellow richness of violist Geraldine Walther, and the solid underpinning of cellist András Fejér—bring in all the color the composer’s often spare music needs. Their deft approach to rhythm serves the music especially well. They seem to throw themselves unreservedly into the music, and it emerges fresh and tangy.
Especially worth savoring were moments of sharp, spiccato playing, where the back of the bow strikes the strings for a sound halfway between pizzicato and a sharp bowing. The quartet ends of one of those, against a high, sustained note in the first violin that lets the piece seem to hang in midair until you suddenly realize it has vanished.
That kind of magic was mostly missing from both the Haydn String Quartet in B-flat major, Op. 71, No. 1 and the Schumann String Quartet in A minor, Op. 41, No. 1. The Haydn, one of the first quartets ever written for public performance, never quite caught the stylishness embedded in the relatively simple tunes, nor did it find the humor in the drones and hunting-horn imitations in the finale. And for some reason Dusinberre’s tone turned watery in spots.
The Schumann was better, relishing various aspects of the first piece the composer wrote when he turned his full attention to chamber music in 1842. The Takács drew out the long, slow introduction with delicious anticipation, embracing the many individual entrances with the requisite enthusiasm, although it lost some steam in the first movement’s nods at contrapuntal writing. The Scherzo fizzed like good Champagne, and yet the transition to the trio went a bit wobbly. One fine moment came as the Adagio opened up into a full-on chorale.
The finale gathered up plenty of energy to bring the piece to a satisfying conclusion, however. It was as if the tethers of all that counterpoint were off and the quartet could just gallop easily through the music.
Harvey Steiman