Takacs String Quartet plays on the house

Author: Andrew Throdahl

The Takacs (pronounced Tah-kash) String Quartet, composed of four personalities and their corresponding hairstyles, sounds more unified than ever. In 2005 Geraldine Walther (who sports a Carol Brady hairdo) replaced Roger Tapping as violist and now seems to have definitively fused into the group. In the course of their Sept. 28 recital, the quartet's strengths slowly unfolded in what amounted to an essentially perfect performance. This was their 22nd appearance at Middlebury, and the ensemble looked pleased to be back.

Their program, which consisted of late Mozart, late Bartok and late Schumann, stood off the beaten path. I will probably always associate these works with the Takacs' performance, which is more than can be asked of most performers.

Mozart's Quartet in D Major, K. 575, seemed to be painted in pastels. Perhaps the Mead Chapel acoustics made the fortes mezzoforte, and the pianos pianississimo. In any case, it was almost nerve-wracking how delicate the piece was - it felt as if someone would drop out, especially Karoly Schranz, whose dynamic Muppet hair shivered and shook with each sixteenth note. This was a plus for Mozart's meticulous filigree accompaniment, as cellist Andras Fejer (he has an afro) hardly had to play out during his solo in the trio of the minuet. The variety of dynamics in the fourth movement was extraordinary, but one had to lean in to hear it. Perhaps I was just itching to see some bow hairs break, which is what came next.

Bartok's mournful sixth quartet can easily turn into a sort of acoustic oatmeal laced with depressants. The Takacs' solution was to underscore all of Bartok's disparate textures, which, to say the least, is an extraordinary technical achievement. They adapted comfortably to each puzzle-like configuration and, as in the Mozart, changed dynamics in a split-second. Their sul tasto playing was made extra-abrasive in order to really stand out.

In general, the Takacs players are more conscious of musical gestures than other chamber groups. For them, it isn't necessarily about note-for-note accuracy as much as conveying, for example, that a phrase moves upwards. A downside to this is that it makes the counterpoint cloudier. The first movement of the Bartok, which is difficult to follow even with the score in front of you, might have improved with stiffer playing, or less vibrato. Nevertheless, all of Bartok's "special effects," which riddle the second and third movements, were just peachy - the glissandi sounded like lasers.

An alien presence unsteadily brings the work to a close. It was surprising to see a standing ovation after such a terrifying ending. This, if anything, is proof that the audience loves its response to the music more than the music itself. If the Bartok sixth was its cinematic equivalent, something like Ingmar Bergman's ultra-downer "The Seventh Seal," people would collapse in despair after watching it. Intermission was inappropriately cheerful.

Schumann's string quartets have always sounded spineless when compared to his quintet, quartet and trios, all for piano. The closing rondo presses its theme on the audience unsympathetically. The Takacs players performed the catchier second movement with faultless brio and the third with genuine heart, but, despite their best efforts, the piece was still lacking in some respects. Do I sound like too much of a pianist when I ask, "Where is the piano?"

It's wonderful to show up to a free performance by one of the world's greatest ensembles, to simply stride through the doors and be handed a program without having to exchange it for a ticket. But where were the students? The audience was 90 percent assorted members of the town. The Bartok seemed to mourn the disinterest of students, even when it was played for them free of charge. Need I remind you that the most popular argument against classical music, or any real art, is that its too expensive, and therefore elitist? Mead Chapel was packed, but the experience was as isolating as ever.