San Francisco Classical Voice

The classical-music "prodigy circuit" does not feature all instrumentalists alike. Violinists and pianists are the common coin. Other instrumentalists (to say nothing of singers) only rarely come to prominence until their late 20s or so. Among cellists, the only "early discoveries" that spring to mind are Yo-Yo Ma, Han-Na Chang, Jian Wang (discovered by Isaac Stern in his tour of mainland China) and the Bay Area's own Matt Haimovitz and Hai-Ye Ni. But the German cellist Daniel Müller-Schott has quietly come to occupy a position of respect among musicians, most especially after he joined with Violinist Anne-Sophie Mutter and pianist Lambert Orkis in a worldwide piano-trio tour.

It isn't difficult to see why Mutter was drawn to Müller-Schott. If there is a "cellistic" equivalent to Mutter's own playing, or at least her playing of ten or so years ago (when she was as old as Müller-Schott is now), his is it, as was evident at his recital last Tuesday at Herbst Theater. There was the same sheer power — especially of sound — and the same fearsome intelligence. But it was the sound that grabbed me first.

It was a potent sound, ringing and clear, astonishingly projective, and with that satisfying rosiny "chuff" in the bow stroke, yet without any sense of strain or struggle. It didn't seem to favor any register — it sang gloriously on all strings and in all octaves. The paradox, to my ear, is that the timbre was of the sort that ought to demand great physical effort, the kind that must eventually end in forcing and a pinched sound. But the forcing and the pinching never came, not even in the highest register. There was intensity, concentration, but never that contraction of sound that comes with too much effort.

It is a resource that Müller-Schott used intelligently, and he was never overbearing or crass. But even he fell into the usual trap at the opening of Beethoven's "Bei Männern" Variations, overwhelming the piano's statement of the theme with his subsidiary line. He was not helped here by his too-deferential accompanist, Robert Kulek (who, despite a full-up piano lid, was all but wiped out by his partner on several occasions). No matter; it was very nearly the only misstep of the evening.

The Beethoven Variations were finely played, full of contrast and of character. The same composer's A Major Sonata (Op. 69) that followed was something more, for the piece fits Müller-Schott's temper and talents like a glove. Here he could let his sound loose in the great melodies (there are few Beethoven works so full of luscious tunes) and yet navigate the thornier motivic passages with a skill in articulation and in pacing that was less obvious but, if possible, even more impressive.

The gritty-but-not-ugly Shostakovich sonata that ended the second half was terrific. But better (indeed, the highlight of the evening) was Schumann's "Adagio & Allegro." The piece was originally for horn, but Schumann authorized versions for viola and for cello. The cello version Müller-Schott played spent an unnervingly long time on the upper reaches of the A string, but not to any evident discomfort on his part. The Adagio was gorgeous, an opportunity for Müller-Schott to demonstrate that the forceful lyricism of his Beethoven is not his only lyric mode. And the Allegro was a virtuoso's triumph, secure in pitch in the most treacherous places, and topped with an appealing swagger.

There were two encores, Glazunov's meditative "Chant du menestrel" (for which the cellist thinned down his tone more than he had all evening) and Brahms' "Hungarian Dance No. 5," both tailored to Müller-Schott's strengths.

(Michelle Dulak is a violinist and violist who has written about music for "Strings," "Stagebill," "Early Music America" and The New York Times.)

©2000 Michelle Dulak, all rights reserved