San Francisco Classical Voice

It might also be noted that both composers indulged in the still relatively infrequent practice of writing movements that alternate between major and minor tonalities, evidence of which was plain to hear on this program. But the Boccherini here has a suspicious history. No key signature or opus number appeared in the program handout, and the New Grove Dictionary's article on Boccherini lists no piece for this combination (which may be a version of one of his many duos for two violins.) What can be said of the fifteen-minute sonata is that its four movements all embraced an A-B-A form which provided alternate moods, that a hoary old Vivaldi-style crescendo stood out in the second movement, and that Robin Sharp and Scott Kluksdahl gave a spirited account of it.

With greater intensity, partly inherent and largely in the performance, Brown and Bach made the most vivid impact of the evening, choosing, when given the choice, to ‘take the ball early.' The result was a bold and authoritative reading of a visionary score, one of ten major works written in the last18 months of the dying composer's life that constitute the single most astonishing outpouring of masterpieces in the history of music. Schubert titled the piece wisely to avoid the expectation that it would follow classical forms conventionally. Like the last movement of Beethoven's 9th Symphony, it synthesizes a new concept of familiar practices. As Art & Physics author Leonard Schlain might say, art anticipates science.

The Fantasia sets out as a classical sonata but, like the above-mentioned Beethoven, poses, then answers, a previously unarticulated question. But, like the Beethoven, the familiar elements are all there, disguised as themselves in different costumes. The brilliance of the construct was revealed by the performance. Brown and Bach pushed ahead when others might hesitate, might prefer to call extra attention to the implicit “four classical movements” which constitute this manic gush of inspiration. (Doubters might want to ask themselves how they would go about “throwing their javelin into the future” as Schubert decided to do, knowing at age 30 that he was dying.)

The Brahms represents the middle period of the composer's creative life, preceding the Deutsches Requiem, the symphonies and all but one of the great concertos. In his early 30s, the composer was already extending the classical forms into relatively uncharted waters. (Though Boccherini pioneered the string sextet, it was Spohr's single example that suggested the arrangement's possibilities to Brahms.) The exposition of the first movement (and its repeat and recap) is vast and, in the scope of its modulations, harmonically complex. (Little wonder that the tempest-in-a-teapot development section is so brief.) This very complexity would become the hallmark of Brahms' mature style, moving him far beyond the example set by Beethoven in his popular middle-period works.

What preoccupied the performers, however, was getting the character and spirit of the piece into the crosshairs. And they did so on all counts. Theirs was an urgent, compelling argument, full of hefty sonority and rhetorical significance. Brahms' big tunes melted in their sensuality. The “not-really-a-scherzo” scherzo kicked up its heels like one of the German composer's Hungarian dances. With the low strings momentarily sitting out, the violas and violins achieved an eerie atmosphere at the opening of the Poco adagio. The work's last movement bristled with dashing counterpoint. As with the Schubert — and with much credit to these Musicians — Brahms' art in this piece anticipates a new science.