Théâtre des Champs-Élysées
Christian Mason: Towards a not yet remembered past (French premiere)
Beethoven: String Quartet no.15 in A minor, op.132
Yunpeng Zhao, Léo Marillier (violins)
Founded at the Paris Conservatoire in 1996, the Quatuor Diotima celebrated its thirtieth anniversary at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in typically forward-looking fashion: nowhere more so than when looking back, whether in Christian Mason’s Towards a not yet remembered past, which they premiered six weeks ago, or to Beethoven’s A minor Quartet, op.132. The quartet is more readily associated with twentieth- and twenty-first century music, but it has always performed earlier music too, bringing that distinctive standpoint to Beethoven, Schubert, and others. Having recently recorded and released a set of Beethoven’s late quartets – now, as then, the absolute summit of the repertoire – the Diotima offered programming and performance that were typically revealing, refreshing, and rejuvenating.
Responding to earlier works for string quartet, both the 2020 The present moment used to be the unimaginable future and transcriptions and recompositions in his Tuvan (2016) and Sardinian (2018) Songbooks, the seven movements of Towards a not yet remembered past alternates application of the latter approach to the ars subtilor of the Chantilly Codex by (Jean?) Solage, Jacob Senleches, Guillaume de Machaut, and Baude Cordier, with ‘original’ composition, although how meaningful the distinction might be is, if not the point, then at least a point. In listening to recordings of the late-fourteenth-century works, Mason says he was struck by the extent to which the scores are not fixed, but rather offer the seeds of possibility for different development, depending on the manner in which they are cultivated, hoping also that the same might be true of the ‘original’ movements in his work.
Solage – perhaps better, ‘Solage’ – emerged
slow, yet febrile, gradually developing in the way one fancied (misremembered?)
an ‘old’ quartet introduction doing. When ‘new’, one sensed something ‘old’,
yet never fixed, behind. Which art is the more playful, the more complex? The
question seemed almost, yet not quite, beside the point—as in any interpretation,
or layers thereof. Sudden violent eruption, pizzicato intimacy, and more: were
they sides of the same coin, necessary responses, or a handful of possibilities
among many? The second movement began, it seemed, not entirely dissimilarly, though
developed quite differently, its lyrical vein suggesting if not exactly the Classical
procedure of a slow movement, not exactly not that either (even when it sped
up). Senleches seemed – though this may have been my ears adjusting – more clearly
of the past, though certainly not without contemporaneity with its impression
of modern as well as earlier modality.
If the second movement were not entirely unlike a slow movement, the fourth was
not entirely unlike a scherzo, at least in initial bearings (mine, perhaps,
rather than anyone else’s). Like those of Chopin and Brahms, though not
Beethoven, there was nothing joking about it, but tension and rhythmic
propulsion were clear in work and performance. Was there something of a particular
sense of witness here? I fancied so, even if I could not necessarily explain
what I mean by that. Listening, historical and contemporary, can be like that—as
can performance and indeed composition. Muted Machaut, upper strings chattering
against a cello melody – at least in ‘our’ terms – drew a ‘modern’ response whose
intensity grew and subsided in a way one could imagine Beethoven might have
recognised and admired. The Cordier movement was very much a finale: ‘old’ joy
to be had in dancing, but also in quasi-Classical function as a movement. This
was, then, a fascinating musical tour and progress, which I hope to make again.
Without a great break – not attacca or anything like that, but no interval – Beethoven began, similarly almost as if a response to what we had heard previously: Mason and the fourteenth century, although soon going very much its own way. (Again, this may have been more my ears than anything intrinsic to the work, or even the performance—but perhaps not.) The first movement received, at any rate, an intensely dramatic, modern(ist) reading: not imposing anything from without on the work, but rather taking nothing for granted. I thought of Michael Gielen’s symphonic Beethoven: highly recommended to those who do not know it. Form emerged from the material, just as it should. In the shadows, there was sadness, perhaps even tragedy, but resistance inevitably grew too. Beethoven is nothing if not dialectical—and again, we had this prefigured in Mason. Beethoven is also nothing without his human spirit—and this was unquestionably present.
There are no easy answers in this music; nor was there here, the minuet quizzical, Beethoven too at play with music of the past, albeit a more recent past. The trio undoubtedly recalled Haydn, as much from the Diotima’s standpoint as Beethoven’s. But there was something darker hinted at too, the tightrope between disturbing delirium and delightfully tipsy skilfully navigated. The ‘Heiliger Dankegsang’ reimagined the Lydian mode, again recalling Mason’s play, albeit with an overriding effort at reconciliation through the fissures which was very much of Beethoven and his time. The Diotima did not take this as holy ground in the sense of something not even to be questioned, but rather as music of such stature that all must be summoned in approaching a fragile peace in dialogue between the two periods. If the joy that emerged was hard-won, so should it be. This was music of kinship with the Missa solemnis, in which nothing can or should come without a struggle, but above all without integrity. Moving through the fourth-movement transition to the finale, we likewise knew that the journey was far from complete. Indeed, the latter’s progress, even when one ‘knew’, constantly surprised. Beethoven – late Beethoven in particular – is always like that, or should be.
Following a series of filmed tributes in
multiple languages from composers with whom the Diotima has worked, ranging
from a joint appearance from Rebecca Saunders and Enno Poppe, through Georges
Aperghis to (spoken and written, but not seen) Helmut Lachenmann, the players
launched into a Happy Birthday encore which, wonderfully in keeping both
with the programme and the ensemble’s broader identity and activity, took us on
a whistle-stop variation tour through musical history and styles. Key figures
in the history and pre-history of the string quartet were present, Beethoven still
the core, Shostakovich an insistent guest. There was a tango, a waltz, and – my
favourite – a surprise ‘guest appearance’ from Wagner, courtesy of the Siegfried-Idyll.
If ever you had wondered how that song might be transformed into that tone poem,
this would have been your moment. And likewise, if ever you had wondered what the
Wagner ‘Starnberg’ Quartet might have sounded like, if it had ever been more
than a hopeful misunderstanding, this would too. Above all, though, it was a
moment of celebration for a fine, enterprising quartet it is difficult to
believe has been together for thirty years—but which bids fair to be so for at
least thirty more.
