The Week's Music...

New Zealand Listener, Volume 34, Issue 873, 27 April 1956, Page 18

The Week's Music...

by

SEBASTIAN

{tT is probably fortunate that a combination of the Pascal Quartet’s standing and standard does not come | here more often. than annually; the critics, whose bread and, butter is local talent, would become hypercritical and flay the lesser efforts of our countryh men with too-envenomed pen, spreading and discouragement in every | musical direction. Fortunately, I say, | this is not the case; but it does illus- _ trate the difficulty of tempering criti- | cism when musicianship is taken for granted, and we are dealing with de_grees not of mere intricacies of nota- | tion, but the more intangible subdivi- | sions of perfection, In such circum- | stances, points that anyone may grasp | are fewer, and a review becomes a purely subjective matter of one’s own opinion and reaction, a thing to be discussed perhaps, but one that does not admit of argument. Such a preface is necessary before mentioning the Quartet’s recitals (YC links), dissecting that which is properly indivisible. This problem was manifest in Debussy’s G Minor Quartet, a thing of light and shadow, which might fall to pieces at a touch, yet appears strong as a whole. The Quartet’s performance added to the impression of strength, with no®concessions to the airy-fairy school of impressionist

playing. Of a somewhat similar character, though more serene and flowing, is Ravel’s lovely F Major Quartet, which has long been one of my favourites; I suppose the best tribute I can offer to the playing is that it approached my conception of the work (since it is always easy to offend where favourites are concerned). The treatment was more placid, without the frequent harshnesses that add flavour to the Debussy: but there was nothing insipid about either tone or style, Again serene, in the more classical sense, was the Mozart C Major Quartet, which is famous for its dissonances --though these are so mild to our ears that they usually have to be pointed out. This was happy playing of a happy work, with impeccable taste jand that approach in which wonder is not dulled by familiarity. Less interesting, albeit less familiar, was Mendelssohn’s first Quartet, but even here the performance compensated for any deficiencies in the music, If there was matter for complaint, it was the glib announcers’ in various centres, reading programme details with a priestly unction that was irritating, especially in places where they sounded bored as well. For the Pascal Quartet, reverence may be excusable, but boredom is tantamount to crime.