If you were to attend a concert at which a Dvořák string quartet was played, probably it would be the American, or one of the final Opp.105-106 pair. Those wondering about the quality of the other eleven quartets that came from Dvořák’s pen got at least the beginnings of an answer in this recital given by the string players of Ensemble 360.
The String Quartet in C major, Op.61 is the American's immediate predecessor, though over a decade elapsed between the two. Given its relative obscurity, it was brave of Ensemble 360 to make this the centrepiece of their programme. Was it a risk worth taking? The answer, on this evidence, was a qualified yes. Unlike later Dvořák, with its clear textures and singing melodic lines, this 1881 quartet seems intent on establishing Dvořák’s seriousness as a composer following in the footsteps of the 19th-century Viennese masters. There’s clear evidence of Beethoven’s influence in the densely-argued development of the first movement, and even more of Schubert’s in the sensitive lyricism of the following Poco adagio e molto cantabile – and, to my ears at least, the occasional hint of Bruckner in the methodical unfolding of that movement’s counterpoint. In truth, it didn’t always make for satisfying listening, wholehearted though the playing was. Only in the final two movements, with their increasingly Slavonic feel, did it seem as though the players relaxed into the task, with Ben Nabarro’s first violin singing sweetly and the other parts highlighting the folk-like rhythmic motifs being passed to and fro.
After the interval, and fortified by the arrival of reinforcements in the form of one of the BBC Philharmonic’s double bass players, Ronan Dunne, Ensemble 360 tackled Dvořák’s much more genial String Quintet No.2 in G major, Op.77. That opus number is misleading, this being one of those works that Dvořák’s publisher, Simrock, put into the public domain in the pretence that it was a new composition to capitalise on Dvořák’s increasing fame after the commercial success of the first set of Slavonic Dances. In fact the quintet was originally labelled Op.18 by Dvořák, which gives a better indication of its place in his oeuvre, being roughly contemporary with the Serenade for Strings, with which it shares an altogether radiant sense of bonhomie.
After the first half’s quartet, this quintet provided much easier listening, with its simplified textures, largely untroubled song-like melodies, and a greater freedom for the cello with the bottom line now underpinned by the double bass. It is, admittedly, not entirely sunny, and the players drew out the emotional darkness and turbulence of the first movement’s development section. The high point was undoubtedly the slow movement, in which the players exchanged the gently rocking cantabile melody with great tenderness and, after the passionate climax in which the double bass came to the fore, gently wound down the tension as the initial melody floated into higher and higher registers before its finely-spun web disappeared into silence.
If the closing work highlighted sonic beauty, the opening item on the programme, Britten’s Three Divertimenti for String Quartet, offered the opportunity for something considerably more gritty, even if it did make a curious companion for the evening’s other works. Though Britten withdrew the piece after its unhappy first performance, only appearing in print after his death, it has that sardonically modernist wit that is characteristic of Britten’s early work. The playing here was a touch ragged, particularly in the brash opening March, but the second movement Waltz was charming and the final Burlesque fizzed with relentless energy.
