You may not believe this, but Schubert's notorious Rosamunde Quartet, which opened last night's performance, has only been a staple item in the Julliard String Quartet's repertoire for just over a year, as their decision to include it in their current concert repertoire comes from their young new first violinist Nick Eanet, who made his debut with the quartet in July last year. Indeed, the word on the street is that Eanet brought this very work with him on the intensive two-day trial he had to undergo when being interviewed for the position of first violin.
Nor is the first violin's trial period for a quartet of the Juilliard's stature an ordinary interview: apparently, it involves being shut away for 2 consecutive days in a house in a village in upstate New York, continuously rehearsing and discussing music while being groomed for future collaboration. This is an image that speaks simultaneously of unbending rigour, claustrophobic intensity and of wild, unabashed romanticism—which is exactly what the best string quartet playing conveys.
In this context, Schubert's precious gem of a quartet is the best possible contribution a new violinist could bring to his/her ensemble: its fabric is spun out of classical conventions, and yet the music is also strewn with a surfeit of melodic ideas, each of which sounds so uncannily familiar to us, it is as though it was magically summoned from a collective melodic reservoir we never knew we had access to. Schubert is often spoken of as the first romantic, and yet last night's performance reminded us that every bar of his Rosamunde quartet is also a lesson in understatement, in letting elegant delivery speak instead of emphasis.
The quality of Eanet's tone was apparent in the very opening bars, as he let his melodic entry hover weightlessly above the roving ostinato of the second violin—a weary Gretchen am Spinnrade—and the low sobbing of the viola and cello. The quartet sounds as though it has been playing in its current figuration for decades. The chemistry between them was best exemplified by their extremely nuanced ritardandi, which they used continuously to add clarity to their enunciation.
The ensuing two works are two long-standing features in the quartet's repertoire, and they traced an interesting trajectory in the overall economy of the programme. Bartòk's String Quartet No.2 sounded unusually irksome just by virtue of its juxtaposition with Schubert. It is strange to think that German twentieth century musician and philosopher Adorno had to wait until Bartòk's third String Quartet to recognize the composer's contribution to modernist composition: for much of the deep concentration on thematic economy and rigour is there in the preceding one. The Juilliard Quartet elegantly untangled its way out of the thickly woven thematic material and then launched itself into an electrifying rendition of the demonic folklore of the second movement, which they played with relish and rhythmic tautness.
The choice of Beethoven Op.135 String Quartet as a closing item was an extremely inspired one. From the standpoint of programming, it provided something of a synthesis between Schubert's Viennese melancholy and the deep modernist concentration of Bartòk. By listening to Beethoven's quartet, however, you'd never guess it was written only two years after Schubert's Rosamunde Quartet. The daring construction, the relentless play with the listener's expectation, the feverish pace all seem to point to a modernist aesthetic that does not fit in with our notion of Germany in 1826. Yet Beethoven's quartet also features something that is altogether rare in string quartet writing of the past two centuries: humour. Indeed, do not let the anecdotes of Beethoven's mounting insanity in his later life fool you, for the composer of Op.135 knew exactly what he was doing. So, thankfully, does the Juilliard String Quartet: their playing does not attempt to smooth over Beethoven's eccentricities but embraces them bravely and expertly.
This involves taking risks, and while the first violin's tone may temporarily get carried away with the drunken dancing of the second movement, the overall effect is the exact embodiment of the type of musicianship that the Juilliard Quartet stands for. As I hummed the Es muss Sein motif on my way out of the concert hall after the concert, I saw many fellow concert goers' faces lit up with the joyful recognition of what they had just heard. May this kind of post-concert buzz be produced by the Juilliard Quartet and their new recruit for many years to come.
Photo: The Juilliard Quartet
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