St. Lawrence String Quartet
Saturday, November 6, 2004
Geoff Nuttall, violin
Barry Shiffman, violin
Lesley Robertson, viola
Christopher Costanza, cello
its genesis in Toronto in 1989, the St. Lawrence String Quartet has delighted
audiences across Europe, Asia, North America, and South America, establishing
itself as one of the world-class ensembles of its generation.
During the early 1990s, the St. Lawrence won the Banff International
String Quartet Competition and the Young Concert Artists Auditions.
The ensemble’s debut CD, released in 1999, received both Germany’s
Preis der Deutschen Schallplattenkritik and Canada’s Juno Award.
For ten years, the ensemble has been the Resident Quartet to the Spoleto
USA Festival in Charleston, South Carolina, and has been Ensemble-in-Residence
at Stanford University since 1998. The
St. Lawrence String Quartet can be found on the Web at http://slsq.com.
St. Lawrence String Quartet appears by arrangement with David Rowe Artists,
St. Lawrence String Quartet records exclusively for EMI/Angel.
in E-flat major, op. 33, no. 2 (H. III:38) ("The Joke") (composed
decade passed between Haydn's epochal "Sun" Quartets, op. 20 (1772)
and the quartets of Opus 33, written (as he put it) "in an entirely new and
special way." Just what
constituted this "new and special way" has been a topic of contention
ever since. Some commentators point
to their lighter character, manifested in Haydn's first use of the scherzo
instead of the minuet (hence one of the nicknames for this set, "Gli
Scherzi"). Others see these
six pieces as a watershed in the history of both the classical style and the
string quartet due to the new textures and developmental techniques Haydn uses.
More cynical observers suggest that Haydn was indulging in advertising
hyperbole, the 18th-century equivalent of "new and improved."
In any case,
Opus 33 has accumulated its share of collective sobriquets. The lightness of the set bestowed both the forward-looking
name "Gli Scherzi" and the nostalgic "Divertimenti."
Their dedication to Grand Duke Paul of Russia got them called the
"Russian" Quartets. And
the moniker "Jungfernquartette" ("maiden" or
"virgin" quartets) honors the image of a young woman found on the 1782
edition's title page.
“Quartet in E-flat major, op. 33, no. 2” has its own title, "The
Joke." Perhaps the joke is on
anyone trying to find Haydn's "new and special way" in this work that
remains fairly conventional until the end.
The sonata-form opening (“Allegro moderato, cantabile”) is followed
by a scherzo distinguished from most earlier minuets only by a somewhat lighter
texture and a slightly quicker tempo. The
slow movement (“Largo e sostenuto”) harkens back to Haydn's baryton trios
for its structure and glances ahead toward his “Quartets op. 76” of
1797-1798 for some of its effects. It
is the coda of the rondo “Finale” that earns the “Joke Quartet” its
name. Following a gloomy adagio
episode, the main theme sounds again with rests between each two-bar phrase,
then yet again with rests twice as long. The
result is among Haydn's oddest endings, calculated to keep audiences off balance
scholar H.C. Robbins Landon attributes some of the humor of Opus 33 to the
composer's state of mind.
By 1781, "Papa" Haydn was likely absorbed in the early days of
an affair with the young mezzo-soprano Luigia Polzelli, wife of an infirm Esterháza
As she was muse to his growing maturity, Haydn gave her parts in his
operas and transposed to her voice range arias in other productions of the
Rumor has it that he was also "Papa" to one of her sons.
Golijov (born 1960)
in La Plata, Argentina, to a family of Eastern European Jewish heritage, Osvaldo
Golijov studied composition and piano before moving to Israel in 1983.
In 1986, he came to the United States, studying with George Crumb and
earning his Ph.D. at the University of Pennsylvania.
Since 1991, Mr. Golijov has taught at College of the Holy Cross in
Worcester, Massachusetts, and also serves on the faculties of the Boston
Conservatory and at the Tanglewood Music Center.
“Yiddishbbuk” and his relationship with the St. Lawrence, Mr. Golijov has
broken song played on a shattered cymbalon.” Thus, writes Kafka, begins “Yiddishbbuk,”
a collection of apocryphal psalms which he read while living in Prague's
Street of the Alchemists. The
only remnants of the collection are a few verses interspersed among the
entries of Kafka's notebooks, and the last lines are also quoted in a letter
to Milena: “No one sings as
purely as those who are in the deepest hell. Theirs is the song which we
confused with that of the angels.” Written in Hebrew characters and
surrounded with musical notation, marks similar to those of the genuine texts,
the psalms' only other reference to their music is “In the mode of the
on these vestiges, these inscriptions for string quartet are an attempt to
reconstruct that music. The
movements of the piece bear the initials of the five people commemorated in
the work. The first movement
remembers three children interned by the Nazis at the Terezín concentration
camp: Doris Weiserová
(1932-1944), Frantisek Bass (1930-1944), and Tomás Kauders (1934-1943).
Their poems and drawings appear in the book “I never saw another
butterfly,” published by the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum.
The second movement bears the initials of the writer Isaac Bashevis
Singer (1904-1991), and the last movement the initials of Leonard Bernstein
Golijov and the St. Lawrence String Quartet
If it's true, as
Borges said, that in every man's life there is a moment that defines his
existence, then meeting the St Lawrence String Quartet was that moment for me.
In truth, I had experienced other defining musical moments up to that
one: as a child listening to my
mother practice Bach, and being struck by the mystery of simultaneous lines,
each complete and beautiful in its own right, making perfect sense together;
seeing Piazzolla play in La Plata when I was ten, and being unable to sleep
that night; listening for the first time to a recording of “The Firebird”
and then, as a teenager, to Mahler's “Second Symphony.”
Years later, freshly arrived in the United States from Jerusalem, I was
shaken by the Kronos Quartet playing Reich's “Different Trains.” And of
course there had been “life” moments too, some of them beautiful, some
tragic, some sad. But life and
music converged like never before when I met this quartet in Tanglewood in the
summer of 1992.
had written “Yiddishbbuk” for the St Lawrence without knowing who they
were, trusting to the excitement that Gilbert Kalish and Richard Ortner felt
for them. I was, as usual, late
with the piece and came to the first rehearsal, two weeks before the premiere,
with only the first movement written. Before
playing a single note they told me in so many words that they could make no
sense of it. I was completely taken aback by their open mistrust, but
ready to fight. Barry challenged
me to sing it: I sang for a
minute and they all said, “OK, now we get it.”
They grabbed their instruments and played that first movement. It felt like lightning.
For the first time in my life I was listening to what I had written
being played as vividly as I heard it in my head. I was frozen, speechless, and heard Geoff ask, “Ozzie, when
will you bring the rest of the piece?.”
(“Ozzie?” I just met
this guy ten minutes ago, he said he didn't know what to make of my music and
now I'm “Ozzie”?) In the
event, I wrote the rest of it and then some more.
There was no further need to sing:
Now we were able to work by telepathy.
At the premiere they came on stage like hungry cannibals and I felt a
strange sense of tranquillity.
decade after that first summer I feel our journey of friendship and music to
be one of the greatest gifts in my life.
They are now part of my family. In
fact, they have a knack for creating family wherever they go:
They play music completely open, without a skin layer to protect them,
and they also live their lives like that.
They “Ozzify” anyone they meet in a matter of seconds, and whenever
I am with them I feel that life is just beautiful.
under a 1990 Fromm Commission from Tanglewood, “Yiddishbbuk” premiered there
in 1992, and was awarded the first prize in the Kennedy Center’s Friedheim
Awards in 1993.
Ilich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893)
no. 1 in D major, op. 11 (composed 1871)
name Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky does not usually come to mind in the context of
chamber music. Only a relative
handful of works constitute his contribution to the genre: his three string quartets opera 11, 22, and 30; his
piano trio, op. 50; and his string sextet, op. 70, to name the most prominent.
Yet his claim as one of the pioneers, along with Alexander Borodin, in
the development of the Russian chamber music tradition cannot be disputed.
His quartets in particular, which incorporate nationalist qualities but
are not mere embellishments of existing folk music, are often heard as
harbingers of the style so magnificently realized by Dmitri Shostakovich in the
“Quartet no. 1 in D major, op. 11” was written out of economic necessity at
the urging of his friend and mentor, the conductor Nicholas Rubinstein.
In early 1871, the two were trying to organize a concert of
Tchaikovsky’s works in Moscow, but could not afford to employ a full
orchestra. Having only a few
small-scale works at his disposal, including several piano pieces and a set of
six songs, Tchaikovsky devoted most of February 1871 to the “Quartet op.
11.” Although hurriedly written,
it became one of his greatest successes. The
“Andante cantabile,” in particular, has had an active life of its own in
several alternative transcriptions. In
his diary, Tchaikovsky expressed pride that, while sitting next to the great
writer at a performance of the movement, Leo Tolstoy wept.
and spacious, the “Moderato e semplice” is followed by the aforementioned
“Andante cantabile.” Its first
theme is based on a folk song that Tchaikovsky had heard several years earlier
in Ukraine and had already included in a collection of folksongs he had arranged
for piano duet; the second theme is the composer’s own.
Especially noteworthy is the central passage where the first violin plays
the folk melody over descending chromatic pizzicati in the cello. The rhythmically furious scherzo, marked “Allegro non tanto
e con fuoco,” recalls Schumann to some ears.
The “Allegro giusto” finale exhibits the gusto of a Russian dance.
notes by Jay Weitz, Consulting Database Specialist for music, OCLC Online
Computer Library Center, Dublin, Ohio. He
is a contributing performing arts critic for the weekly alternative newspaper Alive:
Music, Art, and Culture in Columbus (http://www.columbusalive.com).
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