Jean Sibelius' only mature quartet, Op. 56 in D minor, titled Voces intimae, is a tough work from the period of his equally tough Fourth Symphony. Again we had the notes arguing with the program listing over whether this is best translated as "Intimate Voices" or "Inner Voices" – the program gave the former, which will also be the general title of the upcoming CD. The work has some marvelously characteristic Sibelian moments – the tiny scherzo of fleeting semiquavers is dazzling – but overall it's a complex, gnarly piece with a lot of irregular phrasing and voices running off in different directions.

For the most part it received a dry, academic performance, abetted by the hall's lack of reverberance, though one had to be impressed at the tight focus of the ensemble, the players' close control of dynamics and the distinctive shining sound of David Finckel's cello, particularly evident in some solo moments here. The third and fourth movements (of five) are rather uninspired thematically, except for the opening of the fourth movement, where the first violinist – Eugene Drucker in this work – grinds out in downstrokes a low-pitched theme reminiscent of the opening bars of the violin concerto's finale. Still, the players cut against the difficulties, keeping it flowing and even interesting. Suddenly, in the middle of the fast-paced finale, the music came to life and began to jump delightfully to a bouncy conclusion.

This set the mood for Edvard Grieg's Op. 27 in G minor, his only completed quartet, after intermission. Though more astringent than Grieg's pops-concert and piano-bonbon reputation might suggest, it's not a difficult piece to listen to: thickly scored with lots of resonance and filled with jaunty folk dances. Out went the dryness of the Sibelius; forgotten were Dinkelspiel's acoustics. The Emersons tackled Grieg with the energy, verve, and wit that a great ensemble should display in such music.

Grieg tends to halt the flow to switch gears, and his developments set motor rhythms running only to derail them, repeatedly and frustratingly. But the players sailed cheerfully past these awkward spots, becoming especially lively in the sections most obviously inspired by folk dance. There were plenty of solo passages for everyone, and violist Lawrence Dutton's eyes gleamed as he rattled out rhythmic accompaniments with a bright metallic tone, often with the help of Finckel and Drucker. (Setzer was again playing first violin.) The players' enjoyment was equally obvious during the syncopated pizzicato chords in the saltarello finale.

Drucker as first violinist announced the encore, the minuet from Mendelssohn's Op. 44 No. 1 in D major. Setzer immediately interjected, “He wrote it on a trip to Scandinavia.” (A joke, I think, though the composer did in fact dedicate the set to the crown prince of Sweden.) Not one of Mendelssohn's airier “fairy” scherzos, this sedate little minuet served the purpose of calming the mood without canceling the richness of what had come before.