EIF: Castalian String Quartet

Queen’s Hall - 18/08/23

When reviewing the Castalian String Quartet’s two recitals in the East Neuk Festival just over 6 weeks ago, where they delivered unforgettable performances of Dvořák’s G major, Op.106 and Sibelius’ ‘Voces intimae’, the latter the Festival highlight for me, I confided that I thirsted to hear their Janáček.  My ‘prayers’ were answered on Friday 18th August in the Queen’s hall, where their programme opened with Janáček’s first foray into the genre, named ‘Kreutzer Sonata’ for the Tolstoy tragic novella, in which a wife is seduced by the experience of accompanying a male violinist in Beethoven’s Op.9 A-major sonata of the same name, then brutally murdered by her jealous husband.  The programme included a world première of Mark-Anthony Turnage’s 2021 quartet, ‘Awake’.  The programme concluded with a performance of Beethoven’s Op.130 late quartet, with the original monumental ‘Grosse Fuge’ finale, later published separately as Op.133. 

Why did I harbour high expectations for the Castalians’ Janáček?  Their Dvořák betrayed an inherent affinity for Czech sensibilities, whilst their Sibelius displayed a facility with music that emulates natural speech patterns, a central feature of Janáček’s genius, honed in his operas but permeating all his work.  I was not disappointed.  The playing endowed the music with the immediacy and directness which it deserves.  Independently of any programmatic considerations, the performance gave the well-attended Queen’s Hall an immersive chamber music experience, drawing us into Janáček’s vision of music as the repository of truth and redemption, very much at variance with Tolstoy’s vision of music as a decivilising influence, subverting self-control and releasing uncontrollable passions.  If you ask me, and even if you don’t, we need more Janáček and less Tolstoy.  We got it in spades on Friday.  Quite superb.  I remain in awe of the Pavel Haas Quartet’s Janáček, but the Castalians are at least as good.  Dare I say …? 

I was, however, dimly aware that something was different and puzzled (unobservantly, as I shall reveal) over what it might be.  Before beginning the Turnage, first violinist Sini Simonen addressed the audience.  First, she confided the panic that had ensued when their second violinist Daniel Roberts was taken ill three days before the concert.  However, at short notice, a replacement had been found.  Her name was announced (yes, ‘her’, I am a trained scientist and that unobservant).  I wrote down exactly what I heard, but my first attempts at an online search were fruitless.  At length, trying various modifications, I hit on a photograph that matched the player.  Japan-born and US-educated Runa Matsushita is only 18 years of age, already award-winning as a soloist and, on the basis of the perfection of the Janáček, also a consummate chamber musician.  Neither the richly expressive ensemble sound of the quartet, nor the perfected artistic dynamic of their mutually-responsive music-making, was in any way affected by the substitution.  I find that alone truly remarkable.  Even more so then, that Runa had, in only three days, become fully prepared to undertake a world première, not to mention the rest of the challenging programme.  A phenomenal artist. 

Sini went on to explain the logic behind the programming.  It started with the planned Turnage première, a two-movement work based on an episode in the life of African-Polish violin virtuoso, George Bridgetower, whom Beethoven heard play in 1803, prompting him to write his Op.9 sonata, premièred later that year by Bridgetower and Beethoven himself.  When the pair fell out, Beethoven changed the dedication to French violinist Rodolphe Kreutzer, so the Bridgetower Sonata became the Kreutzer Sonata.  Beethoven seemed to have a penchant for writing people out of history, or at least shutting them out of his own. 

The music of ‘Awake’ is not overtly programmatic, though the two movements are titled ‘Bridgewater 23’ and ‘Shut Out’.  The first violin is particularly prominent in the first movement, with some lovely effects in the other instruments, including harmonics and some lovely pizzicato from cellist Steffan Morris.  I always find Turnage’s music engaging and approachable but was surprised to hear many parallels with Janáček in this piece, especially in the second movement, with voice-like entries and moods shifting towards melancholic, plus some glorious viola tone from Ruth Gibson.  The music subsides in an elegiac mood and finishes quietly.  It’s a thumbs up from me. 

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. 

The slow introduction and sprightly optimistic Allegro launched the B-flat first theme with a smile.  But a weird chromatic scale is caught by the cello at D-flat and deftly turned, with a wink as if it was the most natural thing in the world, to G-flat for the second theme (what just happened?).  I love when Beethoven winks at his audience, but even more when the players join in with a sense of mischief.  Perfect.  The brief scherzo with its conspiratorial tone and contrasting ‘show jumping’ trio section was delicious.  The third movement was played beautifully cantabile, laced with charm, the sforzandi conveying quirky elegance and not jarring (which I hate), the cello jaunty and playful when required.  When the music slides in search of a key, it sounded warmly whimsical instead of anxious.  The conclusion was gloriously mannered.  The triple-time Alla Tedesca, ballad-like, told a charming story, with surreal elements, and was quite magical.  The Cavatina hushed and tender, yet touched profoundly by melancholy and regret, was couched in the loveliest ensemble sound.  An episode where the first violin seems to sob breathlessly was very moving.  In a lunchtime of beautiful music, the Cavatina touched me most.  And the fugue?  A very brisk start and a tentative statement of the two thematic fragments whetted the appetite.  The fugue started dramatically, full of Angst but with total commitment to realising equally the intellectual and emotional elements.  The moments of tenderness were allowed to speak eloquently.  A joyous fast passage makes an early appearance but is overtaken by the more anxious elements in the rich thematic store that Beethoven builds and then develops, almost obsessively and with fiendish complexity.  The underlying logic of the piece was allowed to speak and guide the flow.  In a typical Beethoven ploy, he examines a series of thematic elements for cadential possibilities, then ignores them all in favour of the first theme of the fugue to fashion the final triumphant cadence.  Hope in the face of adversity?  I should think so. 

So we have two instances where Beethoven changed his mind.  Cutting Bridgetower out of the dedication of Op.9 was unjust and callous, but there’s nothing we can do about that now.  Giving in to pressure from audience disapproval and his publisher’s veto to replace the finale of Op.130: that is fixable, in the right hands.  The Castalian String Quartet are most definitely the right hands. 

Cover photo: Paul Marc Mitchell