TORONTO — On the circuit for half a century, the Takács Quartet has earned a worldwide reputation for refined phrasing, detailed articulation, and silky sound. All these qualities were apparent Feb. 21 during the ensemble’s seventh appearance in Koerner Hall under the auspices of the Royal Conservatory of Music. The substantial (but not overflowing) crowd rewarded the players with warm applause. I was left wondering whether I had heard too little of a good thing.
The Takács’ penchant for understatement was immediately clear in Beethoven’s String Quartet in F major, Op. 18, No. 1. Marked piano despite its declarative character, the crisp opening turn (which, as the program annotator astutely observed, appears more than 100 times) was closer to an apologetic pianissimo in effect. Still, the sforzandi that animate this movement were nicely timed, and Edward Dusinberre (first violin since 1993) made a curvaceous case for the cantilena of the slow movement. The Scherzo moved along smartly, and the counterpoint in the finale was equitably sorted out. Something in Beethovenian energy was missing.
Brahms’ Piano Quintet in F minor, Op. 34, engendered similar reservations with the reliably articulate Stephen Hough at the piano. There were touches of rubato (and therefore personality), but much of the brawniness and romance of the music had to be edited in. The movement that came off best was the fiery Scherzo, set in motion by the pizzicato pulse of cellist András Fejér, the lone original member of the group. It is interesting to note that Hough played his part from memory.
The program followed the standard model of two masterpieces plus a lesser-known recent score — with a twist. None other than Hough provided the novelty, his String Quartet No. 1 (Les Six Rencontres), a 25-minute, six-movement suite inspired by the example of the 20th-century composers collectively known as Les Six (Georges Auric, Louis Durey, Arthur Honegger, Darius Milhaud, Francis Poulenc, and Germaine Tailleferre).
The pianist noted in a witty spoken introduction that the piece was written as a “filler” for a Takács recording of quartets by Ravel and Dutilleux. He was being too modest about a composition that has fittingly Parisian elements of wit, wistfulness, audacity, and charm. There were no direct quotations, but the bittersweet harmonies of Poulenc (the most gifted of the half-dozen) could be heard, particularly in the movement titled “À l’église.” The performance was as supple as could be.
As if by way of compensating for their refined sound and style, the Takács players, other than Fejér, are kinetic figures on stage — bobbing, weaving, leaning forward, rising an inch or two from their chairs, and (notably in the case of Dusinberre) stomping on the floor at certain climaxes. I am sure that some of this perpetual motion comes naturally, but I wonder if it has also proven helpful in establishing a rapport with the audience.
In any case, it would be interesting to discover how these career chamber artists (including Harumi Rhodes, second violin since 2018, and Richard O’Neill, viola since 2020) would comport themselves if required to work in an orchestra. Fasten your seatbelts, please!
