On February 17, in one 
          of Philadelphia’s smallest performance venues 
          (the Curtis Institute of Music’s Field Concert 
          Hall), two phenomenal instrumentalists gave 
          a recital that must rank as one of the biggest 
          musical events of the season, if magnitude 
          may be measured not by the size of the apparatus 
          involved but by the bold programming and superb 
          performance of inspired compositions. The 
          performers in question were Joel Krosnick, 
          cellist of the Juilliard String Quartet for 
          the last three decades, and his duo partner 
          of many years standing, the pianist Gilbert 
          Kalish.
        Krosnick and Kalish 
          have earned a very special kind of glory by 
          championing some of the most gifted American 
          composers of the present and the recent past–not 
          just playing their works once or twice, but 
          determinedly going out on a limb for them, 
          year in and year out. Their program on this 
          occasion included three such works: the late 
          Ralph Shapey’s Kroslish Sonate (whose 
          very title celebrates their stature), Elliott 
          Carter’s 1948 Cello Sonata, and the Duo for 
          Cello and Piano composed just two years ago 
          by Richard Wernick. As an equally satisfying 
          curtain-raiser, they offered the Cello Sonata 
          written a few years before his death by the 
          Argentine-born master Alberto Ginastera.
        All four works received 
          performances that vividly illustrated the 
          players’ interpretative gifts and technical 
          mastery. The Ginastera is rich in the Hispanic-sounding 
          rhythms and textures that reveal this composer 
          in a much more favorable light than his relatively 
          impersonal essays in the lingua franca 
          of cosmopolitan modernism, and Krosnick and 
          Kalish realized all its facets, especially 
          the extraordinary range of melodic and timbral 
          imagination of the slow movement, and the 
          scurrying mystery of the characteristic Presto 
          mormoroso scherzo. Of the three American 
          pieces, the Shapey is a three-movement creation 
          dating from 1986, when the 65-year-old composer 
          was showing signs of the mellowing that came 
          over both his personality and his music under 
          the benign influence of his second marriage 
          at that time to the singer Elsa Charlston 
          (who was in Philadelphia to hear this performance). 
          Certainly the marking of the central slow 
          movement–"Delicato"–suggests 
          an emotional world far removed from Shapey’s 
          more familiar mode of hectic intensity, and 
          the movement itself, probably the quietest 
          sustained stretch of music he ever wrote, 
          speaks the language of a soul profoundly tranquil 
          beneath all the storms that marked Shapey’s 
          external career.
        I shall perhaps expose 
          myself as an unregenerate reactionary if I 
          say that the 56-year-old Cello Sonata is one 
          of the last great works Elliott Carter produced, 
          before he turned from the genuinely inspired 
          style of his early and middle periods to the 
          stultifyingly intellectual eye-music that 
          has too often characterized his later work. 
          This sonata is a piece full of true musical 
          inventiveness. Both Shapey and Carter profited 
          from the kind of insight and command that 
          typifies Krosnick/Kalish performances. But 
          for me–and, to judge from the long silence 
          that preceded the applause at its end, for 
          most of the audience–it was the Wernick Duo 
          that emerged as the strongest, or at least 
          the most powerfully individual, of the three 
          American works we heard. As in most of his 
          recent compositions–notably the Second Piano 
          Sonata written for (and recorded on the Bridge 
          label by) Lambert Orkis–Wernick here succeeds 
          in re-imagining the potential of the instruments 
          he is writing for, and forging for them what 
          seems at once a totally original and an absolutely 
          compelling musical language. I have by now 
          heard several performances of the Duo, both 
          by Krosnick and Kalish, and by Krosnick’s 
          pupil Scott Kluksdahl (who commissioned it) 
          and his duo partner, but I have never 
          been so completely overwhelmed by it as I 
          was this time around. 
        There will certainly 
          be physically bigger concerts in town this 
          season – Christoph Eschenbach and the Philadelphia 
          Orchestra, to give just one example, are in 
          the midst of rehearsing Mahler’s Third Symphony 
          as I write – but there are not likely to be 
          many that manifest such grandeur of thought 
          and execution on the part of composers and 
          performers alike.
        Bernard Jacobson