Grosser Saal, Mozarteum
Bartók: Rhapsody no.2 for violin and piano, Sz 89
Kurtág: Selection from Játekók and Jelek, játekók és üzenetek; Kafka-Fragmente, op.24: ‘Ruhelos’
Bartók: 44 Duos for two violins, Sz 98: ‘Szól a duda’; Contrasts for violin, clarinet, and piano, Sz 111
Mozart: Clarinet Quintet, KV 581
Patricia Kopatchinskaja, Jonian Ilias Kadesha (violins)
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| Images: © SF/Marco Borrelli |
The second of my ‘Hommage à Kurtág’ concerts proved in more than one sense a concert of two unequal halves, a scintillating selection from Bartók and Kurtág followed by a bizarre, if mercifully shorter, mauling of Mozart that would have been better left unimagined, let alone performed. In its violin and piano version, Bartók’s Second Rhapsody imparted a curious, welcome sense in its first movement of first being heard from a slight distance, quickly coming into focus, as if the players had drawn physically nearer to us. (They had not moved at all, at least in position.) Pianist Olga Pashchenko and violinist-cum-animating-presence Patricia Kopatchinskaja proved animated guides, the former’s shading of post-Romantic tone as absorbing as the ghostly echoes of the latter. Dancing, revelry, and other wildness characterised a whirlwind second movement of considerable ferocity.
The duo joined by violinist Jonian Ilias Kadesha, violist Lawrence Power, and cellist Sol Gabetta, we heard a selection of piano pieces from Kurtág’s Jatekók and string solo and trio pieces from another of the composer’s collections, Jelek, játekók és üzenetek (‘Signs, games, and messages’). ‘Hommage à Kurtag Marta’ functioned almost as if a Bach prelude from the 48, inviting and of course in this case remembering, followed by a haunting ‘ … féerie d’automne’ from Kadesha. ‘Ligatura Y’ for string trio suggested music not only for but by strings, sound and its organisation seemingly arising from the instruments themselves, however strong the illusion—and strong it was indeed. Power’s solo viola ‘In Nomine – all’ongherese’ was eloquent, rich, thoroughly absorbing, from which Pashchenko’s return in ‘… lehullot levelek’ stemmed with unforced inevitability, kinship within Kurtág’s œuvre as keenly perceived as that with his composer colleagues. ‘Népdalféle’ (Kadesha) and ‘Fanfárok’ (Paschchenko) led to an intense ‘Jelek VI’ for string trio (Kopatchnskaja, Power, Gabetta), its rests as musical and overwhelming as its notes, Webern’s ghost still an honoured guest at the feast. Kadesha’s ‘Hommage à J.S.B.’ suggested Bach writing in the style of Kurtág rather than vice versa, a second, piano piece of the same name over in a flash. Gabetta’s solo ‘Az hit …’ (actually a transcription from a soprano original) was as richly eloquent as Power’s viola solo, kinship again fruitfully acknowledged.
The Prelude and Waltz from the first book of Játekók and a dancing string tio ‘Hommage à Ránki György’, fresh from the tavern led us to a changing of the guard in Kopatchinskaja’s party piece ‘Ruhelos’ and a Bartók duo reimagined so as to involve all players, Bieri included, in a captivating piece of bagpiped music theatre. Contrasts, from Bieri, Kopatchinskaja, and Pashchenko, seemed to create a world before our ears and express its essence similarly before us. If there were inevitable echoes of other worlds from rural Hungary to nightclub blues, especially in the first movement, this could only ever have been Bartók. The initial, rapt stillness that yet moved of the central movement ran deep in a detailed performance whose impassioned outburst both surprised and yet confirmed. Organised delirium, to borrow from the Boulezian future, characterised an infectious third movement, chamber-music give-and-take ever new and rooted.
If only that had carried through into the Mozart Clarinet Quintet. To be fair, chemistry in the expanded ensemble was equally palpable. What a pity, then, that it was so misapplied, Kopatchinskaja and Bieri apparently leading the show. The first movement begin oddly sotto voce, as if founded on a need to make Mozart sound ‘like’ Kurtág on the surface, rather than explore what kinship might lie within. I suspect that was the ‘idea’, but in practice, the complete lack of line throughout the entire piece would have made equal nonsense of Kurtág—or Bartók. In fact, what we heard sounded more akin to a caricature of the already self-caricatured Nikolas Harnoncourt, with strange pieces of 1960s music theatre thrown in for no apparent reason. I found myself wanting to cry out: ‘could you just calm down and let Mozart speak, preferably sing?’ There were odd sources of light, still mannered, but at least vaguely coherent, such as the first movement’s development section, but alas few and far between. The third movement came off best, the minuet relatively mainstream in conception and all the better for it, although both trios were more odd than anything else, the first seemingly wanting to be Beethoven, the second Haydn, Mozart nowhere to be found. Much of the finale sounded as if it had been turned inside out with choppy phrasing, perverse emphases, and unfathomable tempi.
