Shostakovich: String Quartets, Vol 4 (Brilliant Classics)

Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-1975)
Quartet No.1 in C major, Op 49 (1938)
Quartet No.13 in B flat minor, Op.138 (1972)
Two Pieces for String Quartet (Op.36a, 1931)
Two Pieces for String Octet, Op. 11 (1924-5)
Quartet No.14 in F sharp major, Op 142 (1972-3)
Quartet No.15 in E flat minor, Op 144 (1974)
Quartetto Noûs
Quartetto di Cremona (Op. 11)
rec. 2024, Bartók Studio, Bernareggio, Italy
Brilliant Classics 96424 [2 CDs: 120]

I should acknowledge that I have myself been associated with most of these works for over fifty years, as violist of the Fitzwilliam String Quartet. Indeed, we played some of this music to the composer himself. Whether or not it is ethical for me to judge others’ performances in a public domain is therefore debatable. I can reassure readers that I would always treat colleagues not as competitors, but with sincere respect; and that the intention here is to present an honest account – rather than any personal opinion– of what I hear.

I had not encountered Quartetto Noûs before – and have been seriously impressed. They all play their instruments supremely well, to a technical level which would have been the envy of the four of us in our early days. They have now recorded, to considerable acclaim, virtually all Shostakovich’s quartet music. So, I approached this set with enthusiastic anticipation, as to what they might bring to such ground breaking repertoire.

In the first instance, that proves to be a beautifully warm, heartfelt sound, with commendably contained vibrato and control of legato bow strokes – entirely appropriate for the opening of No.1. They set off at exactly the broad tempo the composer asks for – where others seemingly don’t believe in it. Likewise, the next movement: also marked Moderato, and with precisely the same metronome mark (but entirely different character): the violist, Sara Dambruoso gets this just right – together with an awareness that next time round she will be underpinned by a gently marching pizzicato bass. The fleet, shadowy scherzo is thrown off with panache and (appropriately subdued) brilliance – as also is the crazily buoyant and witty finale.

A particularly fine account of No.1: a world beating performance, even? Well, not quite: there are just a few little quibbles to mention – although I should emphasise they are mostly a matter of taste. For example, a couple of tiny ritardandi creep in here and there: my only point is that when he wants a ritardando Shostakovich invariably notates one – and in any case he tended not to allow himself “indulgences” in his own performances. More importantly, I found increasingly that they don’t always go far enough in their exploitation of pianissimo – such an integral part of this composer’s palette. I’ve already become a big fan of Ms Dambruoso’s viola playing! But she might have resisted an intrusive “comma” after the first beat of the bar before fig 4 (1:14), and been more secretive with her repeated quavers, introducing the smokey texture of the second subject. Then in the finale, there is virtually no difference in dynamic or colour between figs 69 and 70 (2:21 – 2:30). Such details could have transformed a highly accomplished reading into a great one!

The two early pieces are also given particularly persuasive performances – and of those for string octet as well, to the extent that the group seems to identify with the Shostakovich of the 1930s in a truly special way. I did spot another comma, this into fig 7 (2:10) of the Elegy: it interrupts a natural perfect cadence, however much it may have facilitated a transition from tremolando bowing; yet is perhaps justified through their capturing of the ensuing dreamy backcloth to perfection – as they also achieve with the Gymnopédie-like accompaniment at the very opening. I’ve not heard a better account of this haunting piece. The young (somewhat inexperienced) composer asks a bit much of our plucking fingers in the Polka: there is no way we can play the notes as fast as the xylophone in the original orchestral version of this music, and these players sensibly find a tempo which is both practical and effective. The Quartetto di Cremona support their protegés admirably and wholeheartedly, and they all rise to each challenge thrown at them by this prodigious teenager. I only wish his entreaty for ppp, immediately after the declamatory beginning of the Preludio, could have been observed more imaginatively and daringly – similarly so with the ethereal texture which closes this extraordinary piece. Minor nit-picking aside, there is no doubt that the wickedly dissonant Scherzo, in the hands of these brilliant players, thrillingly brings the first CD to a hair-raising end!

I love the way Sara Dambruoso plays the opening of No.13 – which must be one of the composer’s most original and disturbing compositions. Her colleagues then steal in with appropriate sorrowfulness – although older generations of Russians did give us a more inward depth of sound here; likewise, a more dark vibrancy for the “second subject” (fig 4, 2:20). I wasn’t nearly as terrified as I should be by the first screaming outburst (fig 6, 3:23); but the wind-down to the Doppio movimento is well judged.

Thereafter, I feel I can only make minor observations – in the context of the personal statement made at the outset of this review. For example, by this point I was feeling troubled by a habit which had already crept in: that of cutting notes – and especially rests – short of their full value: crucially, Ekaterina Valiulina, the first violinist does not wait for her colleagues’ 6-beat diminuendo to reach its essential low level, before entering at fig 10 (5:26) with that characteristic tapping rhythm. No.13’s single, arch-like structure is marked to be played at the same basic pulse throughout – with the central section moving at double speed: the temptation, not resisted by Quartetto Noûs, is to up the tempo a bit further, making it sound like “fast” music – which thereby compromises its strangely timeless, jazzy feel. Theres a wonderful cello recitative from Riccardo Baldizzi at fig 54 (14:52) – as well as I’ve heard it done. At the very end, the viola emerges alone, climbing higher and higher as if to disappear. Sara Dambruoso plays this faultlessly – no mean feat in itself (although attempting a true pianissimo does make it harder to bring off; as the two violinists join her at the top, they make the final shriek as shocking as it really has to be.

Next, there is the unexpectedly radiant Quartet No.14 – sandwiched between two of the darkest works in our repertoire. Riccardo Baldizzi here finds himself confronted by an even more prominent part than in Mozart’s “Prussian” quartets – which he handles triumphantly! For example, the passage from just before fig 12 to fig 14 (2:04 to 2:33) is delivered with imagination and panache; and, from fig 17 (3:12), with the implied shadowy hue. Indeed, everyone buys into this area of the work with commendable thought and integrity – although at other moments they weren’t quite as expressive as they might have been: for example, the viola solo which links into the afore-mentioned fig 17: maybe Sara Dambruoso simply chose a cooler approach, which is perfectly valid. Nevertheless, there are places in this movement which ought to sound almost psychedelic: not least towards the end, where the music comes to a standstill, ahead of a big viola solo – delivered magnificently.

Ekaterina Valiulina plays beautifully at the beginning of the Adagio; and as the others join in from fig 44 (0:43) they find just the right stillness and introspection. Conversely, the pizzicato accompaniment to the serene cello melody at fig 52 (4:56) sounds uncharacteristically pedestrian, and not as involved with their colleague as Baldizzi’s delicate playing might have inspired. I didn’t quite understand why, from seven bars after fig 57 (7:54), they allowed the occasional bar to move on a touch – the cellist even entering a beat early in the bar before fig 58 (8:15); nevertheless, their sounds here are appropriately otherworldly.

The finale presents considerable challenges, but Quartetto Noûs are equal to them: to the extent that one or two moments almost sound too easy! For instance, they positively sail through the extraordinary Klangfarbenmelodie section from fig 69 (1:20): a truly scary passage in performance, every bar a potential pitfall! After this massive crisis has subsided there emerges a touching tribute to Sergei Shirinsky (the Beethoven Quartet cellist), recalling the poignant solo at the climax of the fourth movement of Quartet No.8, itself an elliptical reference to Katerina’s aria to her lover (also a Sergei) in Act III of Lady Macbeth of the Mtensk District. It’s a special moment, surely enough so not to require the Noûs’s abrupt change of tempo? Fortunately, Ms Valiulina thereafter delivers her high rocking solo most exquisitely; and Ms Dambruoso’s tenor version equally so, her eventual explosion of passion arising from the same material. The closing pages are well handled, even if the sheer drama could have benefitted from a touch more space at times, the silences made more potent.

However, they offer No.15 for what it is, with honesty and devotion. They give us a noble, contemplative, deeply Russian tone for the opening fugato, as befits the music’s unearthly beauty. Their chosen tempo is exactly as in two of the work’s earliest recordings, their impressive discipline ensuring they hold this, for the most part, right through the Elegy – with hypnotic effect. They also at times find a genuine pianissimo, together with the patience to fill silences and hold long notes for their full duration. I found this to be one of the most deeply sincere, most faithfully accurate performances that I have heard of this great Elegy: a considerable challenge for performers and listeners alike.

It’s to the group’s great credit that they are not afraid of sounding rough with the disconcerting succession of violent explosions, which constitutes the extraordinary opening section of the Serenade. Unfortunately, when they reach the serenade proper – a kind of macabre slow waltz with a limp – they decide to move the tempo forward, rather than trusting the composer’s concept of a single tempo throughout. In Ekaterina Valiulina’s hands the ensuing Intermezzo explodes onto the scene in a violent torrent of notes – as it properly should, if not always with quite such impressively controlled vehemence as here. She’s a bit prompt with her sweet farewell, which nevertheless guides us gently into the Nocturne. Here the issue of adhering to an all-pervading pulse comes up again: the movement can indeed flow perfectly well of its own accord, without the need to adopt a more obviously fluid tempo. Nevertheless, they play it most beautifully, with real feeling. After a very long notated silence (not quite long enough here), the Funeral March finally arrives on stage with emphatic unity. Its first solo strain is superbly delivered by the cellist – once again, with an awareness that this is a real Slow March, with an imaginary drum beat – although Baldizzi’s pizzicato version at fig 62 sounds a tad upbeat, when it perhaps could be more ominously scary.

The final Epilogue seems no longer of this world. Indeed, it is hardly a movement in its own right at all, more a painfully poignant recollection of previous experiences: in which case, a further instance of moving the music on means that the Noûs’s “recollection” of the very opening fugato is not entirely faithful! Instrumental colour is exploited by the composer in a highly original way, imparting a truly eerie, almost supernatural, quality – once likened by a prominent Latvian writer to “the howling of the wind in the cemetery”: surely referring to an astonishing passage of collective demisemiquavers – negotiated convincingly by the Noûs players. Shostakovich takes leave of the string quartet in a state of resignation and acceptance; and the Quartetto Noûs likewise bids farewell to a recorded cycle which, if volume 4 is anything to go by, deserves to feature high amongst the many versions now available.

A few observations on presentation: firstly, I was taken aback that the outrageous recklessness at the end of Quartet No.1 was so quickly followed by the deeply contemplative opening of No.13. Indeed, listeners might agree that the gaps between all the works are far too short; or even question the order in which the programme is delivered: fully 32 years are bridged here in just a few seconds; and after the frightening conclusion of the Thirteenth we lurch back even more years to the composer’s arrangement of an aria from Lady Macbeth. Not everyone will feel so strongly about presenting such a programme in chronological order; but this particular juxtaposition feels bizarre to me. Oreste Bossini’s booklet notes are knowledgeable and informative, sometimes colourful; yet hampered by less than faithful translation: more thorough proof reading might have resulted in an occasional bizarre phrase making more sense – and also correcting one sentence which somehow got in twice! The cover photo is attractive, and that of the Noûs themselves appropriately serious. But no image is to be found of the creator of all this life-enhancing and life-changing music! An oversight which can only be regretted.

Alan George

Buying this recording via a link below generates revenue for MWI, which helps the site remain free