Ionarts-at-Large: Artemis Splendor

While the Labeque Sisters occupied the main hall (Großer Saal) of the Vienna Konzerthaus, the Artemis Quartet was playing the very modestly filled smaller Mozart Saal for their November 19^th recital of Haydn-Bartók-Brahms. Perhaps a commentary on the state of
audience-sophistication—but one hope’s not and points instead to the fact that the same Artemis-program was, optimistically, repeated in the same space the very next night.

From LISTEN Magazine (Winter 2012): ... Adolescence (Op. 20) With nearly seventy string quartets plus The Seven Last Words, Haydn left an enormous body of work that traces the string quartet from its inception to its perfection. Although Haydn did not turn a wholly new page with his six “Sun” Quartets, Op. 20 from 1772, the set is considered a major step away from his previous work. His publisher advertised Op. 20 as the works “with which Haydn made his name,” and Ernst Ludwig Gerber claims in his Composer Lexicon from 1812 that “starting with Op. 20, Haydn appears in his full greatness as a composer of quartets.” That is more or less what musicologist Donald Tovey suggests, too; from Op. 20 onward, he writes, “further progress is not progress in any historical sense, but simply the difference between one masterpiece and the next. [In these quartets Haydn combines] the world of opera with the eccentricities of C.P.E. Bach.” The nickname “Sun Quartets” goes back to Johann Julius Hummel’s edition, which featured a sun on the title page. These quartets are longer and weightier than their predecessors, and three feature fugues as final movements. Those fugues were Haydn’s way of answering contemporary criticism that suggested the trios and quartets of several composers — Haydn lumped in among them — were lightweight and ignorant of counterpoint. So Haydn explicitly titled his movements “Fugue on Two Subjects,” “Fugue on Three Subjects” and “Fugue on Four Subjects.” Haydn’s counterpoint skill surely impressed the critics; what impresses us today is the lightness and joy of these fugues. They are not at all the “German,” heavy, terribly rigorous, intellectually towering fugues that might come to mind courtesy of Bach and Beethoven. Haydn achieves gaiety, even when he uses the grave “And with His stripes we are healed” theme from Handel’s Messiah as his fugue theme in the F-minor Quartet…

J.Haydn, String Quartets op.20, Quatuor Mosaïques naïve G.Ligeti, String Quartets, Artemis Quartet Virgin/Erato L.v.Beethoven, String Quartets, Artemis Quartet Virgin/Erato

Elegance married to wit

It started with a bit of complauding™* the fact that Haydn (op.20/2) was used to open the recital. But such fine, accurate, and elegant Haydn it was, and so lovely and mellifluous, that my pet peeve of Haydn-up-front instead of making him the crowning glory of any recital or concert, was overcome within just a few bars. Without suggesting that there cannot be other perfectly valid ways of playing this music, theirs seemed a particular apt way of performing chamber music in general and Haydn in particular: The particularly well-articulated second movement’s unison opening was beautifully taken over by the cellist (Eckart Runge); the fourth movement was gracious and fleeting without daintiness.

The Artemis Quartet is one of those who embrace the charming gimmick of standing while playing (with the cellist brought up to height by means of pedestal)—like the Zehetmair and Brodsky Quartets. In the clothing department they’re mercifully more reticent than the clownfish-imitating Brodskys were, or the Pajama-and-gown-wearing Belcea Quartet (the other in-House quartet of the Konzerthaus) are. They make up for it with ostentatiously groomed hair. Not much of a blemish, admittedly, even if the results veer closely towards “Early-Anthony-Kiedis-meets-Dave-Grohl” (just barely avoiding “Dave Navarro”) in one case, and a triple-shampooed Luciano Pavarotti in the other.

How to rock a boat with gloved hands

Beyond the superficialities, there was Bartók’s Fifth Quartet to admire (which would have made an admirable curtain-raiser, too). Here the elegance that had been married to light, understated wit in Haydn was—equally effective—now forged to tenacity. Part of this “civilized ferocity” was not so much style and interpretative stance but simply accuracy under all conditions. In her dogged (and successful) pursuit of excellence throughout the first movement, first violinist (Vineta Sareika) made Hoffmann’s Olympia—equals in animation—look natural.  The second violin (Gregor Sigl) excelled in creating the silvery background eeriness inside the third movement. The pizzicato-opening of the 4^th movement was notable for the beguiling playing of the thematic material by the viola (Friedemann Weigle), with ear-perking color and character to spare. The fifth movement—one of Bartók’s compellingly-catchiest—was famously furious.

After intermission, the Artemis Quartet meandered their way through the hectic opening of Brahms’ overwrought First String Quartet (1873), as if engaged in a collective finding process at the end of which might wait that elusive, difficult goal of a truly satisfactory Brahms string quartet performance. The Artemis Quartet went about this search—at first—with especially soft, flexible dynamic nuancing from which they lunged into the flurries of notes that Brahms dowsed his score with in regular intervals. Increasingly comfortable toward the conclusion of the first movement, the spirit of attaining Quartet-victory from the jaws of Brahms was carried over into the Romance poco adagio second movement (which can sound like a slowed-down Offenbach-Barcarolle (1864)).

After its share of dour touches, the Allegretto becomes the least ungrateful movement of op.51/1, with its folky touches: It raises hopes, treacherously, before the finale… which shows Brahms at his deliberately most humorless. It’s as if Brahms had wanted to browbeat us into accepting that string quartet-writing post-Beethoven was a mighty serious business and ensembles that wish to navigate this safely must deliberate to what extent they give into this desire and to what degree to resist it. The Artemis foursome stormed along that thin line with supple grace, right toward a most gratifying conclusion.

A thirst for good chamber music on my part had long needed quenching and this was a damn good way to do it. Most ironically it has made me hungry for more… and still more ironically I got more, too soon: A highly unnecessary but admittedly enchanting encore of the Adagio from Mendelssohn’s Second Quartet—without the slightest signs of Brahms-exhaustion—closed the recital on a note of affection.