New Program
We are at work on our first program of the season. The Ciompi Quartet bases its year on the four concerts we present at Duke. We avoid programming the same work within a five- year period, so that we generally are working on pieces that are fresh for us and for the audience. We draw our programs for concerts outside Duke mostly from this group, although there are some works that come up more often, such as the Debussy and Ravel quartets, and some popular quintets –Schumann, Dvorak and Brahms piano quintets, the Brahms clarinet quintet, and the Schubert cello quintet.
Currently we are rehearsing Haydn’s Op. 20#1, Shostakovich first quartet, Op. 49, and Dvorak’s Op. 105. The Haydn and Shostakovich are new to me, not surprising in the case of Haydn, who wrote eighty-three quartets. I don’t imagine I will ever get through them all. But Shostakovich wrote a mere fifteen, and there remain but one or two which the Ciompi has not performed.
We will be performing these two pieces on our first lunchtime concert at Duke on September 27. All four of this season’s lunchtime concerts will pair a Haydn Op. 20 with a Shostakovich quartet.
The Op. 20 quartets were my idea, to which my colleagues graciously agreed. I find this set of six quartets to be among the most inventive of all of Haydn’s essays in the genre. They, along with the six from Op. 33, lay the groundwork for all that follow. The movements are not as consistent in Op. 20 as in later works: there are four fugal finales, a Capricciso, and a Menuet alla Zingarese. The f-minor quartet is among the darkest of all Haydn’s works, while the A-major is one of the sunniest.
The opening movement of the E-flat quartet is marked “Allegro moderato.” It is of a type that Haydn favored early in his career, but then mostly abandoned in favor of quicker types. Here, the themes are broad and the development expansive. It is not in a hurry but seems perfectly confident of its progress. For the first time the four instruments (I want to say people) are each individuals, and Haydn takes care not only to reveal their separate voices but to examine how each fares in duet with each of the others. (Darius Milhaud wrote duos for two violins, violin and viola, violin and cello, and viola and cello. He explained that now, if two members of a quartet miss a rehearsal, there will always be something for the other two to work on!)
As always, when presented with a “new” Haydn quartet, I am amazed and overjoyed at the master’s creative force, his range of emotion, and his store of cleverness.
Fred Raimi
Blog Two
On reflection, I thought that my first blog was deficient in two important ways. First, the performance of Haydn’s “Rider” quartet by the great Takacs failed to convince me of its value. I attended the concert with an open mind, hoping, that a great performance would enlighten me. It rather confirmed my impression that this was not among Haydn’s great quartets. There’s nothing wrong with it; it simply doesn’t sustain the high level of invention of the majority of his mature works. Second, and more important, I regret that I didn’t attempt to say why I am so crazy about most of Haydn’s quartets. Of course, it is not easy to talk about music in this way, but that’s no excuse: if I criticize a Haydn quartet, I should try to compare it to what I regard as great in the others.
Let me use the beginning of the “Rider” quartet, because its opening ideas are absolutely first class. When I play this music it brings me a special joy. I sense here the wonder of the human mind. The unison g-minor opening (whether you call it resolute, limping, or something else) followed by a LONG silence and a soft, diminutive cello rephrasing of the bombastic g-minor arpeggio, is fantastic, exactly the sort of brilliant exposition of an idea that I love in Haydn. In this case, the silence (the musical term for which is rendered “pausa generale” or “grand pause”) is not at all for comic effect, in which Haydn is the supreme master, but purely dramatic. Haydn continues to startle and amaze us with several phrases of counterpoint at whose center is a searing dissonance. So far, so good. In fact, so great! But this section leads merely to a rather routine stream of running notes. Such a passages, showing off technique, appear in every quartet, and they can be thrilling. (We plebeians of the group must render our thanks to Papa for allotting to ushere at least a portion of the glory, routine or not.) Then comes a wonderful second theme, with the joyous bounce of the opening idea but the gracefulness of a courtesan’s curtsey. Again, Haydn is on course to a masterpiece, but again, he is unable to complete the run. Nothing else in the movement engages with the same brilliant juxtaposition of gestures. The following slow movement, with its unearthly, trance-like shift to E-major is once more not followed with material sufficient to sustain it, and the sole element in the last two movements that I find up to Haydn’s customary genius is the tune that he invents for the finale’s second theme.
I label Haydn’s musical process I love “invention,” hoping to suggest that Haydn illuminates a feeling state of creativeness, spontaneity, play, mental freedom in his ordering of time. This, for me, is Haydn’s special territory. It is a realm more of mind than of feeling, if such a distinction can be made. To spread myself even thinner, I would add that Haydn shares this side of the coin with Bach and Beethoven, while Mozart and Schubert occupy the reverse side that of feeling. (Wow! Talk about a set-up for future recrimination!)
But what a standard I’ve created! I’m glad that I don’t apply it to myself! But I intend it for only the greatest of artists. Hundreds of 18th century composers can captivate a listener for a moment or for several moments. Only the great ones can carry us through the duration of a sonata-allegro with unceasing delight.
-Fred Raimi , Ciompi Quartet, March 21, 2011
Blog One - Tackas and The Rider
I plan to write here regularly - but not to define regularly, at least to begin with - about the Ciompi Quartet, our music, our concerts, our rehearsals, our lives.
Today, however, the Ciompi is on vacation for a week, and I’m just back from a concert by the Tackas Quartet, the ne plus ultra on the current quartet scene.
By chance, the Tackas played Haydn’s “Rider” quartet, Op. 74#3, which we did on our most recent Duke concert. I’m a big fan of Haydn’s quartets, as I should be. But this particular piece is not one of my favorites; I would go so far as to say that it is one of the very few that I’m not crazy about. The formal arrangement of each movement seems uninspired, and the two great tunes are the major mode melodies that contrast to the g-minor openings of the first and last movements.
This conjures an interesting question: should musicians question the worth of the music they play? Many, I imagine, would say “no.” The argument would be that our role is to play the music with utter love and devotion. And indeed, when I perform this Haydn quartet, my misgivings are put completely to the side, and I play with all my energy.
But the other side of the coin is worth a look: if I can’t criticize a work by Haydn (or any other of the great composers), how then can I really love other quartets? How can I say, “This quartet (X) really turns me on. I find special beauty and depth in it,” when there is nothing to contrast it with?
Anyway, I had the temerity to ask the cellist of the Tackas about this after the concert. I think he took me seriously, especially after my lavish praise of his and the group’s playing. But his response about “The Rider” was: “So, what’s wrong with it?” And he sang the opening figure of the work. But here’s the thing – he described it as “limping,” which seems wrong to me, and on top of this the group had done a bad bowing – down/up/down//up/down/up, etc., etc. So the plot was suddenly even thicker: Perhaps my problem with the piece was simply my misunderstanding of it! If I hadn’t gone with the majority wanting to play the opening resolutely and down/up/up//down/up/up, etc., I might have come to include the quartet in the very highest rank! (Hsiao-mei, as it happens, was the only one of us to even consider the Takas’ bowing.)
So, all in all a valuable lesson for me. And if I ever come to understand the lesson, I’ll let you know.
-Fred Raimi, Ciompi Quartet