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CHAMBER MUSIC REVIEW
December 9, 2003
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By Michelle Dulak
Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld was chided recently about a sentence in which he tried to distinguish among "known knowns,"
"known unknowns," and "unknown unknowns" — that is, what we know we know, what we know we don't know, and what we don't even
know we don't know, because it lies so far outside our calculations. I thought the criticism was silly; everyone recognizes the
tripartite division, and not only in military matters. If you go to a recital by a mezzo, a violist, and a pianist, for example,
you are going to get the Brahms "Viola Songs"; it's just a fact (a "known known.") You will also get some music for mezzo and
piano, and some for viola and piano, though there's no way to predict what it might be (that would be a "known unknown"). And then
there might be something else, something utterly unfamiliar (that would be the "unknown unknown"). So it was at Old First Church on
Friday night, and it made for a wonderful joint recital.
The musicians were Donna Bruno, mezzo-soprano; Elizabeth Prior Runnicles, viola; and Mack McCray, piano — a "dream team" for
the Brahms Op. 91 songs if ever there was one. Bruno — a former Adler Fellow among other things — has a lovely, glowing
mezzo voice that is remarkably even from top to bottom. (And there is quite a lot of bottom; she has the striking low notes that
ordinarily come with a much larger and clumsier voice.) Runnicles has that passion for deep, dense "viola sound" that too many of
her compatriots are willing to forsake in the interest of greater agility or whatever; it's a continual pleasure to hear her
getting the sound and the agility to boot. And McCray's playing, warm without being cloying, rich without congealing, was
the perfect complement to the chocolaty goodness taking place upstairs.
The Brahms songs are more or less on the borders of the standard repertoire; Charles Martin Loeffler's 1904 Quatre
poèmes, Op. 5, are somewhere well past the edges of the chart, which given the quality of the music is ridiculous. It's
heady stuff, perfumed and exotic in places, rustic and "authentic" in others — the second song, "Dansons le gigue!" (Let's
dance a gigue!), goes into a distinctly British-modal-folk-music vein. Loeffler — born in France to German parents, and by
this time an American citizen — must have been by then about the most cosmopolitan man alive; but a careful listen suggests
that his heart belonged to France.
(The program's careful translations of the song texts were all credited to Ms. Bruno. For some reason, only the first of the
Loeffler texts made it into the printed program.)
Among the concert's quasi-exotica was Hummel's Fantasie for viola. I have to give the performers credit for recognizing Mozart's "Il mio tesoro" (from Don Giovanni) as the centerpiece; the note-writers for the two recordings I know both somehow failed to notice that, even though it's obvious as all heck. The Fantasie's a goofy piece — starting portentously with something like an opera seria's accompagnato recitative; then straight into the Mozart bit; and then into a wacky D-major finale that hasn't anything to do with anything before. Runnicles made as much of it as I expect anyone ever has, and all with a straight face, too (though there was no shortage of wit in the playing!). Just before, Bruno sang a set of Schubert songs — written in Italian; beautiful and simple canzone that, like the Loeffler songs, ought to be known a lot better than they are. And Johann Christian Bach's "Ebben, si vada . . . Io ti lascio," which opened the concert, brought the unusual spectacle of Ms. Runnicles playing the violin, very gutsily, with something of the same depth of tone she produces on the viola. The one (minor) disappointment was also the one piece of genuine "standard rep" on the program: Bach's third gamba sonata, BWV 1029. It was very beautifully played, rather too beautifully for its own good. In the central slow movement the liquid viola tone and the delicate piano were a marvel; in the outer movements the same approach sounded a little mincing in the piano and all too soft-centered in the viola. I don't object to modern-instrument Bach (having played a lot of it myself), but when I find myself longing for a nice raspy gamba and a nice jangly harpsichord, I think something has gone wrong in the performance. But all was forgiven when Bruno returned to sing three of Pauline Viardot's adaptations of Chopin mazurkas. She gave them the full chanteuse treatment, even breaking out the little white handkerchief for "Plainte d'amour," and setting it on the piano lid where everyone could read it as a future prop. As for the music, it was terrific; I can't imagine why more singers don't snap these settings up. The principal difficulty would seem to be finding a pianist not inclined to be resentful about stolen Chopin mazurkas. If Mack McCray wanted his lawful property back, he certainly concealed the grudge well on Friday night.
(Michelle Dulak, editor of San Francisco Classical Voice, is a violinist and violist who has written about music for
Strings, Stagebill, Early Music America, and the New York Times.)
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Donna Bruno
Elizabeth Runnicles
Mack McCray