
Music Review by Larry Wallac
The Brentano String Quartet at South Mountain Concerts
Sunday October 2, 2022
Haydn, Quartet in B-flat, op. 33 no. 4
Bartok, Quartet no. 5
Dvorak, Quartet no. 14 in A-flat, op. 105
You can almost draw a straight line on a map of central Europe through the birthplaces
of the three composers represented on last Sunday afternoon’s concert. It would run northwest and southeast from the center point in Ruhrau, currently in eastern Austria, where Joseph Haydn was born in 1732. One hundred seventy miles northwest is Antonin Dvorak’s birthplace Nelahozeves near Prague. Two hundred miles in the
opposite direction is Nagyszentmiklós, Romania, the birthplace of Bela Bartok. The borderlines of these countries have snaked around during the last several centuries: at the time of his birth Haydn’s native town was on the Hungarian-Croatian border, while Bartok’s was solidly inside the Hungarian part of the Austro-Hungarian empire. All three composers were outsiders to the imperial center Vienna; their early years were steeped in rural folk music which provided foundational experiences throughout their creative
lives.
The classical string quartet was a central European product. Divertimenti for two
violins, viola, and cello were written shortly before Haydn wrote the first of his eightythree
works in that genre, but it was Haydn who brought it to its first maturity, a fact
acknowledged by Mozart who dedicated six of his finest quartets to the older composer.
After Schubert it became a less crucial medium, but remained a mark of prestige for
composers like Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Brahms. While Antonin Dvorak started
his career under the powerful romantic influence of Richard Wagner, once he gained
the favor of Brahms his music took a decidedly classical turn toward symphonies (nine)
and string quartets (fifteen!). Like Haydn, Dvorak’s works in this form often display folk
characteristics, especially in dance rhythms like the Furiant that appears in the scherzo
of Quartet no. 14.

Bela Bartok was a virtuoso pianist whose early compositions utilized the central European harmonic language of late romanticism, primarily that of Franz Liszt and Richard Strauss. His first major work was a romantic tone poem celebrating the life of Lajos Kossuth, the Hungarian national hero of the nineteenth century. Soon afterwards, Bartok discovered the music of Debussy, which opened up the possibility of developing
new musical languages; he also began to study Hungarian folk music in a systematic way that anticipated the more ‘scientific’ methods of modern ethnomusicology. By 1909
(when he was 26) the first of his six string quartets simultaneously (but not coincidentally) displayed radical harmonic changes inspired by Debussy and the influence of folk idioms which did not adhere to the rules of classical harmony. Subsequently, his five other quartets continued to show the evolution of his musical thinking which was powerfully influenced by his folk music studies, perhaps nowhere more clearly than in his Fifth String Quartet of 1934.
How do these works reveal their folkish roots? Certain musical tropes point the way:
short, clear, symmetrical phrases suggest the regular strophic structures of folk-song;
when combined with animated rhythms they can also suggest dances. More specific to
central or eastern European sources are rhythmic complexities associated with
particular dance forms. Dvorak was very fond of the Czech dance Furiant which he
included and labeled in a number of works. In this quartet, the third movement is only
marked “molto vivace” (very lively), but it uses the device of hemiola in a “rapid and
fiery” manner associated specifically with the Furiant. (Hemiola is a form of syncopation
resulting from changing from a fast triple meter to one twice as slow, or vice-versa:
think about the rhythmic setting of the lyric “I like to be in America” from West Side
Story, where its presence and usage points to Latin America.)
Another folk trope is humor, which can be an elusive quality in purely instrumental
music. The greatest master of musical humor was Haydn, who could indulge in broad
slapstick, as in Symphony no. 93, where, in a quiet moment, the bassoon unleashes a
single low, loud note, as if a member of the audience had committed an embarrassing
indiscretion; or in Symphony no. 94 which is famous for its “surprise,” a comment on
the audience’s tendency to grab a quick nap. In the B-flat quartet on the Brentano’s
program (op. 33 no. 4) the humor takes the form of constant disruptions of the musical
flow, starting as early as the second full bar. During this opening section, there is an
anapestic figure (short-short- long) that is tossed around the instruments like a hot
potato, with the cello being caught out alone at the end, like a game of musical chairs.
That Haydn regularly infused such humorous tropes into the so-called “serious” forms of
symphony and string quartet speaks not only to his individual personality, but to a
down-to-earth conception of music-making derived from his early home-life in rural
Hungary where the family would make music together, led by his very musical father
who could not read a note. Remembering that Haydn essentially established the string
quartet as a “serious” art-form, we can nevertheless recognize the origins of the social,
conversational, and playful character of his chamber works. The six string quartets of
op. 33, composed in 1781, were transitional, meant to be played at home but also
suitable for audience consumption. They were undoubtedly among the works that
Haydn enjoyed recreationally as second violin with his musical friends Tomasini (his
concertmaster), Mozart on viola, and Dittersdorf on cello. One can only imagine how
much fun these connoisseurs had playing these works, especially in spots like the
pizzicato ending of the B-flat quartet that sounds like the players are winking at each
other as they tiptoe out the door. Ideally, these works should be enjoyed in intimate
surroundings where the audience can feel like they are over-hearing them rather than
having them presented. In the long concert space of the South Mountain barn, the
experience was more the latter, especially from the rear; and it was a bit harder to enjoy
the banter and fun from a distance, although first violinist Mark Steinberg looked like he
was dancing in his chair.
Folk roots of a more specific kind were discernible in Bartok’s quartet. For this
composer, an obsessively detailed study of eastern European folk music fed his mature
compositions, and this became especially clear in his later works of the 1930’s, when his
language started to relax and become more accessible. This was the great period of his
Second Piano Concerto, the Divertimento for Strings, Music for Strings, Percussion, and
Celesta, and Contrasts (composed for Benny Goodman). The Fifth Quartet fits right in to
this series of more accessible masterpieces. While it contains some of the raw
emotional expressionism described by my colleague David Edwards in his preview
bartok-back-home-to-south-mountain/), it does so within a powerful, classically
balanced musical form of Bartok’s own devising. This is often referred to as “archform,”
in which the music progresses to a unique mid-point and then reviews the
previous material in backward order, using techniques of variation to provide an
experience which blends the familiar with the new. Such an approach to formal design
combines the forward-directed motion of traditional tonality with the cyclic motion of
ritual, suggesting a kind of timelessness that Bartok valued about the folk cultures he
studied. Ironically, that appearance of permanence would shortly vanish from the folkworld
following World War II.
Bartok’s Fifth Quartet has five movements; the first and fifth and the second and fourth
are paired, with the third acting as the keystone of the arch. Bartok also used this
layout in his previous quartet (no. 4), but that work was fiercely avant-garde; audible
references to folk melodies and rhythms are harder to find there. The second and
fourth movements are very fast and use special sonorities: mutes in the second and
plucked strings in the fourth. In the Fifth Quartet the corresponding movements are
very slow, evoking the sounds of the Hungarian country-side at night, full of mystery and
the songs of night-birds and insects (a favorite musical landscape for Bartok also found
in the Concerto for Orchestra’s third movement). Logically, the central movement is
rapid. It is also the catchiest and most accessible section, utilizing unsymmetrical
Bulgarian dance rhythms. (These can also be found in his contemporary set of piano
pieces “Mikrokosmos” whose last volume contains “Six Pieces in Bulgarian Dance
Rhythms.”) The lively irregular accents are set out right away: 4 + 2 + 3, and maintained
with variations throughout, providing a feeling of central European “swing.” The many
short sections here suggest a group dance where individual soloists step up to take a
solo turn showing off their favorite steps. The movement is a kind of miniature archwithin-
an-arch: a central episode has the first violin playing a simple folk tune against a
background of strange sounds from the rest of the group, a reminiscence of night music
but in a faster tempo. The remainder of the movement reviews the earlier material to
complete the arch. On a larger scale, the last movement returns to the material of the
first, and closes with a very clear inversion of its opening bars. At the final moment, a
childish music-box tune is heard, then repeated with the melody in “the wrong key,”
another way of winking sardonically at the audience. The Brentano presented this very
demanding music with a fervor and confidence that invited the audience to recognize its
intensity but also to enjoy its melodiousness and humor.
