San Francisco Classical Voice

Much better fortune lay in the Dvorák Quintet, Op 77, from 1875. Now joined by string bass, the Emerson flew the white, blue and red tricolor of Czech warmth and melody. I was struck by how readily they adapted their sound to its textures. In many ways that sound was led by violist Lawrence Dutton. He was motivated by Dvorák himself, who was a superb violist in his own right. Few pieces secure for the viola such prominence as this.

The performance was a marvel of automotive engineering. No turn was too tight. Tempo transitions were impeccable as air. The ride was bumpy as syncopation might demand, or as easeful as its cantabile could ever hope. Cellist David Finckel offered the highest magic of the day, singing an arioso above the pizzicato of the bass and second which drew total attention. He and bass Edgar Meyer were in concord throughout, this no less magical. The work ended with a whoop, a cascade of false endings each more exuberant than the last.

However, the concert was stolen entire by the Meyer Quintet. Its composer ambled out, tuxedo top now missing, shirt-sleeves rolled up, music on the floor, and stood as central to the ensemble as he was to the work. The many young people in attendance ate it up. Meyer has earned his woodsy celebrity.

A word about his performance technique. Although often compared to the astounding bassist Gary Karr, they are nothing alike. Meyer produces a straight-ahead sound, vibrato has little place in it, and his inspirations are novel and eclectic. If anything, Meyer comes more from the Jaco Pastorius school of up-front grittiness and desire.

His Quintet bears all these traits. In four movements, it is a brilliant survey of his instrument's timbre and potential and its influence on others. Although not a concerto, it does assert a primacy.

The first movement opens with a wistfulness built on a ground, and moves through a set of casual variations. Sometimes pointillistic, sometimes a hoe-down, it is always fascinating. The second movement is much more jazz-inflected. The bass, especially in pizzicato, is central to its ambition. Cellist Finckel drove it with a steely, off-kilter ostinato, and the violins commented from a muted distance. Like much jazz, in its breaks it passed the baton from player to player. Its relentless energy built to a joyous, dancing climax, and drove the audience to open laughter.

The third movement examined multiple parallels between viola and cello and the two violins, with the bass enquiring from afar. It has round-like elements. The bass offers drone effects, ending the movement with something quizzical and unsure.

Meyer describes the final movement as a rondo. It has the energy of a barn dance, every partner calling the numbers, and all of them flying into the night. The bass delivers a rhythmic rodomontade, boasting of its power to push the band in its own direction. Everyone now convinced, the work ends in a frenzy of contradiction and delight. Spent of notes, Meyer twirled the bass in its own private curtain call. His Quintet is a superlative work, and could not have been given a more winning performance.

There was a weird encore. Violinist Eugene Drucker, straight-faced, announced that the Dvorák Quintet played earlier "sometimes has five movements" and that they would now perform the "missing" Nocturne. Good thing too, as it went missing altogether first time round. No further explanation was offered, but everyone smiled half-knowingly.