Opus 13 at the East Neuk Festival
Kilrenny, Crail and Elie Churches, 28-30/6/2024
Opus 13 (string quartet), Boris Giltburg (piano), members of the Pavel Haas Quartet, Julian Bliss (clarinet/basset horn)
The Swedish-Norwegian string quartet Opus 13 featured in no fewer than four recitals over the course of this year’s East Neuk Festival, two as the sole performers and a further two with illustrious guests. This article covers all four concerts, including the performances by the guests.
Their first recital as sole performers was in Kilrenny Church on the afternoon of 28th June, in a programme that presented Caroline Shaw’s short single-movement 2011 2nd Quartet, ‘Entra’cte’, followed by Beethoven’s monumental 1825 Op.130 with the original ‘Grosse Fuge’ finale, later published separately as Op.133. The audience for this first recital was disappointingly and inexplicably sparse – a treat therefore regrettably missed by many Festival regulars. It is perhaps a sign of the times that it is becoming worthy of mention that the players played from sheet music (rather than tablets).
Inspired by the key transition between the minuet and trio of Haydn’s Op.77 No.2 ‘Lobkowitz’ Quartet, Caroline Shaw’s ‘Entra’cte’ explores the musical shadows that hover around moments of harmonic ambiguity and indecision. Rhythm and timbre too dissolve and recrystallise in this piece, with the form and metre of a minuet occasionally asserting themselves, sonic effects like sotto voce bowing, harmonics, conventional and left-hand pizzicato, string-crossing and glissando, and tonal ambiguity alternating with conventional harmony. In the closing bars, the first violin rises to high harmonics, while the cello plays rapidly arpeggiated chords related to those of the beginning, finishing pianissimo with the harmony unresolved. A fascinating piece, and it received a cogent outing with playing that was committed to its fullest realisation.
Cellist Daniel Thorell introduced the Beethoven. This was, he said, Opus 13’s first time in Scotland and they were loving their time here. He mentioned that the Cavatina movement from Beethoven’s Op.130 is one of the tracks on the ‘Golden Record’ aboard the Voyager spacecraft, taking ‘The Sounds of Earth’ beyond our solar system out into the cosmos, perhaps announcing (if not boasting) our presence to extra-terrestrial intelligence (if such there be).
Opus 13 clearly believe (and there is no argument from me) that Beethoven’s Op.130 is most definitely something for which our planet can be proud, and they set about proving it. Tone, phrasing and dynamic balance were all superb from the first notes of the slow introduction and the Allegro launched with buoyant verve. A classic Beethovenian sleight-of-hand switched from B-flat to G-flat for the second theme, as if it was the most natural thing in the world - Beethoven sharing a joke with the cellist. The conspiratorial scherzo and its ‘show jumping’ trio continued the wry humour, the disapproving first violin interjection prompting no contrition but a reprise of the scherzo. The third movement was lyrical and playful, with loads of colour, the parts fitting together perfectly. The Alla Tedesca sang an elegant flowing song with charm and a sense of narrative, the split line near the end where the instruments finish each other’s phrases utterly magical. The Cavatina was very moving, fragility and vulnerability laid bare, the first violinist Sonoko Miriam Welde’s exquisite subtle vibrato perfectly drawing the listeners into the stillness and tenderness, tempered with regret. The episode where the first violin seems to sob was almost unbearably beautiful. And then there was the fugue.
In a review of a performance of Op.130 with the original finale by the Castalian String Quartet at last year’s Edinburgh International Festival, I wrote: “Performing Beethoven’s Op.130 with the original finale is nothing new and I’ve heard it live at least twice before. However, it is not unproblematic. A performing tradition has grown up around the ‘Grosse Fuge’ as a free-standing performable entity, which it undeniably is, but there is a tendency to dig in and emphasise its uncompromising modernity (Stravinsky described it as a work which is ‘always contemporary’) and to suppress the tender lyricism that is also found there. The lopsided result is impressive (and, don’t get me wrong, a great listen) but fairly brutish, if not violent, and, in my opinion, unsuitable as a finale to the fundamentally optimistic Op.130. I did wonder what was in store. I needn’t have worried.” Though Opus 13’s reading of the fugue was quite different from that of the Castalians, I consciously echo the same words: I needn’t have worried.
It is best to acknowledge that Opus 13 did indeed “emphasise (the) uncompromising modernity” and, occasionally, the melodic elements in the densest counterpoint were swamped by the ‘rant’, but the dramatic contrasts were vivid and compelling, with the moments of expressive lyricism cogently incorporated into the edgy musical logic, so the overall effect was of Beethoven at his most mercurial speaking directly to a rapt audience. The chamber playing was absolutely superb. Anticipating the goodies that were to come over the next two days, my appetite was well and truly whetted.
The following day, the forenoon of the 29th saw Opus 13 back in Kilrenny Church (with Radio 3’s microphones and a much more satisfying attendance) for a programme of two works, Grieg’s (unfinished) 2-movement Quartet in F, his 2nd, followed by Schubert’s D-minor masterpiece D810, nicknamed ‘Death and the Maiden’, after the song whose melody is the theme for its second movement. The Grieg G-minor Op.27 Quartet (the one he finished) has been featuring a lot on Radio 3 for the last two years at least and was programmed for that evening’s concert (and eagerly anticipated). The unfinished work was previously unknown to me, and it is a gem of sunniest Gemütlichkeit. The sound world of its sonata-form first movement, while unmistakably Grieg, is akin to that of Borodin’s Second Quartet, though somewhat more dramatic. The lyrical playing was exquisite, with tone and balance as flawless as they had been in the first concert. The second movement, a scherzo and trio, was a whimsical trolls’ dance with a chromatic central section, framing a folkdance trio evoking the sound of the Hardanger fiddle. Deliciously characterful, with dotted rhythms like the finale of the Schubert we were about to hear but conveying glee instead of menace. An engaging and heart-warming introduction to a forgotten piece, identifying for this reviewer an omission from his CD collection.
Violist Albin Uusijärvi spoke of his admiration for the “lovely church with a great acoustic and a friendly audience”, saying how the quartet felt “at home here”. There was a certain delicious irony in the fact that they then delivered the most heartfelt and emotionally raw performance of the Schubert quartet that is most shot through with Unheimlichkeit. Impotently railing against the implacable cruelty of nature, fatally compromised health and the spectre of mortality, the first movement was driven and dramatic, the life force struggling against the odds, defiant and pathetic by turns, moments breathing new hope only to be dashed. The ensemble tone in the rich chording was hugely expressive with a phenomenal dynamic range, while the balance of the richly realised counterpoint remained flawless, a coherent shared vision evident in the mutually responsive phrasing. The slow movement, with its variations on a pathos-laden theme depicting different perspectives on the notion of Death as a friend, bringing the promise of release from suffering, featured moments of achingly beautiful lyricism and acceptance, but also defiant angry denial, concluding with a hymn-like calm submission. The scherzo, a stormy and demonically driven Totentanz, gave way to the tender trio, with birdsong in the first violin part allowing a brief vision of a kinder nature, before we head back out into the storm, where Death calls the tune. A wry gallows humour pervades the finale, a rondo-like tarantella, a grim fatalistic acceptance allied with a determination to prolong life and keep ‘dancing’ in the face of the inevitable. A fast but perfectly judged tempo added to the character of the movement. Schubert’s best ritornello, a chromatic dotted-rhythm descent on the first violin, was as teasingly whimsical as I’ve heard, setting up perfectly for the drive to the coda, fast, furious and grimly defiant. This was a compelling and emotionally-charged reading of Schubert’s masterpiece, one I shall remember for a long time.
Opus 13 were back that evening as the first number in a concert in Crail Church, the better known (and only complete) of the two Grieg quartets, the G-minor Op.27. The programme, titled ‘Meetings With Great Composers III’, also featured longer-term collaborators and East Neuk favourites, pianist Boris Giltburg and 3 members of the Pavel Haas Quartet.
An ‘idêe fixe’ opens the Grieg Quartet No.1, a melancholy melodic fragment that recurs in different guises throughout the work. The movement proper launches as a nervous scurrying dance, fabulously dramatic with rich sonorous chording and romantic quasi-symphonic harmonies. Opus 13 really excel in this sound-world and I would love to hear them perform the Sibelius ‘Voces Intimae’. Thrilling though the big sound was, a spooky sotto voce episode in the middle of the movement, and the return of the ghost of the idêe fixe high on the cello over tremolo accompaniment near the end, were the most chillingly memorable moments. The second movement, a Romanze, is not really a slow movement; more a charming lilting major-key waltz, interspersed with nervous scurrying episodes. The harmonies of the waltz become increasingly sweet and achingly beautiful towards the gentle end. The following Intermezzo functions as a scherzo, a grim mazurka for tipsy trolls, with a more light-hearted rustic Norwegian knees-up as a trio, complete with whoops of gleeful merriment, before a reprise of the scherzo. A tortured, baleful reappearance of the idêe fixe opens the finale, before the episodic hectic Allegro comodo minor-key tarantella launches. A particularly memorable moment involves the return of the main theme on the viola over strumming on the other instruments. The idêe fixe reappears with a vengeance, but the dance snatches the baton and drives the coda with a final flourish in the major key. Absolutely brilliant playing with commitment and ownership.
This concert continued with Boris Giltburg playing Tchaikovsky’s Dumka in C-minor, Op.59. Beginning with a slow Slavic melody, lyrical, soulful and melancholy in a typically Tchaikovskian way, repeated with a high wandering line that morphed into a romantic accompaniment, it segued into a more animated, cheerful figure, and then a sprightly festive dance. When the melody returned to ‘soulful’, it had lost the ‘melancholy’ aspect. A cadenza led to a final dance and a dignified conclusion. Not, in truth and fairness, a piece I would thirst to hear again, but it received a spirited and committed outing.
After the interval, Boris returned with three members of the Pavel Haas Quartet in a cameo appearance to perform Brahms Piano Quartet in C-minor Op.60. Not perhaps in the echelon of Brahms most celebrated and consequently familiar chamber works, but some collaborations of chamber musicians can bestow greatness on everything they touch, and Boris Giltburg with the Pavel Haas Quartet is definitely one such (and there were goodies to reveal). The first movement, to my personal taste, takes itself very seriously and is not top-drawer Brahms, despite its outward gravitas. Piano chords answered by strings lead to a substantive first theme, spectral and pessimistic. A more cheerful second theme in the major key has more of a spring in its step and the writing becomes more expansive with conversation between the instruments. It was the chamber music interaction between the supremely talented players, especially the eye contact and subtle gestures of mutual acknowledgement, that became the focus of my attention and the greatest source of enjoyment in the first movement. That said, there were lovely moments of tenderness in the development and the sonata form was satisfying. The movement ends in the gloom from which it arose. The scherzo, a scampering nefariousness, pausing to exchange a few conspiratorial words, then off again with grim determination in pursuit of an unseen grim purpose, offered no clue to the beauty about to unfold in the Andante. This was a tender romance, not unlike the first theme of the slow movement of the 2nd Symphony, first played cantabile by cellist Peter Jarůšek, then joined in duet by his wife, violinist Veronika Jarůškova. When violist Šimon Truszka joined, with the piano adding subtle colour and pulse, the effect was spellbindingly magical. The piano’s turn came too, with the pizzicato strings accompanying its song. I had assumed that the work would be not unfamiliar, but I cannot have heard it before, as that slow movement is unforgettable. A violin melody over a nervous pulse opens the finale, joined by the other strings. The second theme, calmer and chorale-like in the major key, with the letter-V figure of the first movement of Beethoven’s Fifth recurring in the accompaniment, develops with different colours and voices, recurringly sotto voce, less subdued at the end. The first theme returns with a softer focus and the tension winds down, two bold chords concluding. For this reviewer, an otherwise lesser Brahms work was lifted to the sublime by a surpassingly beautiful slow movement and the highest standard of chamber musicianship.
Noon on Sunday 30th, the last day of the Festival, brought a programme titled ‘Opus 13 Meet Julian Bliss’ to Elie Church. Virtuoso clarinettist Julian Bliss joined the quartet in a performance of Mozart’s Clarinet Quintet (more accurately, Quintet for Basset Horn and Strings) as the concluding work of the programme. Before that we heard the quartet in Swedish-Hungarian composer Andrea Tarrodi’s ‘Madárdal’ (his 2013 Quartet No.2), followed by Julian playing Romanian composer Tiberiu Olah’s brief Sonata for Solo Clarinet, composed in the mid-1960s.
The Tarrodi is a 3-movement work, the movements based in turn on Romany/Hungarian folk music fragments, two Swedish folksongs, and finally a fusion of the two cultures (a bit like Tarrodi herself). Also woven into the texture is emulation of birdsong from species associated with each nation. There was a freshness and optimism about the music that was delightful to experience, seemingly ‘found’ harmonies and a variety of timbral effects adding colour. One simple but hauntingly beautiful recurring feature in the second and third movements was the two violins emulating two birds calling and answering each other, Sonoko Miriam Welde and Edvard Erdal caught in a spell of avian enchantment. A super piece.
The Olah piece, inspired by a Brâncuşi sculpture ‘The Majestic Bird’ and written in homage to the artist, also evokes a sense of awe at the freedom of birds, but does so in musical language so akin to that of Messiaen that, had I been an eavesdropper passing Elie Church rather than a reviewer with a programme in my hand having had the piece introduced by the performer, I would have concluded that I had heard a clarinettist practicing his part from the ‘Quartet for the End of Time’. Rapid agile runs with wide-ranging tonal leaps, long powerful crescendos on a single note, huge contrasts of legato and staccato, loud and soft, and static and frenetic, were enhanced by unusual timbral effects including phenomenal flutter-tonguing. Pretty amazingly virtuosic and, as a massive fan of Messiaen since my teens when I met him, very much my cup of tea. But maybe not everybody’s, as acknowledged by Julian Bliss in his introductory remarks, saying, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, “Don’t worry if it’s a bit overwhelming – it’s quite short”.
He also introduced the basset horn with its longer body and extended bass range (and somewhat stunted repertoire, effectively limited to Mozart’s Concerto and Quintet), before the sunniest of A-major pieces revived the Scottish summer. I am delighted to report that there was no hint of concertante playing, but only the most congenial chamber music as the first movement wove its magic. A slight relaxation of tempo on the second subject allowed the first violin’s major key sigh of contentment and the clarinet’s minor key response to hold the moment before they took flight together, the phrasing exquisite. The elegantly contrapuntal development, based solely on the second phrase of the first subject, allowed all five players to shine through the idyllic texture. In the Larghetto slow movement, all strings but the cello were muted, Daniel Thorell achieving the same dynamic without loss of tone quality entirely through control of bow pressure – the resulting ensemble tone was very pleasing. The sotto voce return of the main theme at the end was exquisite. The minuet was lyrical and charming. The first of the two trios, for strings only with a frisson of anxiety in the minor key, let us imagine a cloud shadow falling on our garden; but after a reprise of the minuet’s elegance, the second trio restored the sunshine with more than a hint of Austrian schmaltz. The finale, a tripping Allegretto with 6 characterful variations, received commensurate characterful playing. Chamber music at its best – what the East Neuk Festival is all about.
This was Opus 13’s debut at the Festival and their contribution to the range and quality of the programming was phenomenal. I hope they will become a regular engagement, as they are pretty special. I am decidedly a fan.