The Vermeer Quartet presented a highly commendable concert July 24--well-rehearsed, carefully controlled, and enjoyable. The three works on the program (Haydn op. 76, no. 1; Beethoven op. 74; and Berg op. 3) are masterful pieces in interestingly contrasting styles. In matters of performance technique and ensemble, there is little to criticize and much to praise: intonation was generally very good, especially in unison passages; the four voices were usually well balanced and blended, without sacrificing an essential degree of individuality; tempi were sometimes a bit on the slow side, but never dangerously so; the softer dynamic markings were occasionally ignored, but there was always sufficient contrast of levels.

Yet although this was a group of well-matched, dedicated performers who obviously loved what they were doing, it is only fair to say, from the standpoint of structural clarity, that they loved individual phrases to the detriment of the overall design--the forest-trees syndrome. The late George Szell, when asked why his interpretations of the classical repertoire could not be warmer in tone, gave a gourmet's response: "I cannot pour chocolate sauce over asparagus." The metaphor, though exaggerated, describes to some degree what happened in the first half of Monday's concert--thick, sensuous topping (quite enjoyable in the proper context) amorphously coating the crisp organic forms of Haydn and Beethoven. I hasten, however, to make it perfectly clear that the group's well-intended savoring of each morsel never reached the point of outright bad taste.

But, just for example, in the exposition of the first movement, right before the closing section. Haydn makes the bold gesture of virtually sitting on long, accented, harmonically ambiguous seventh chords for six bars, a device which clearly speaks for itself. At this moment, only the basic pulse of the allegro and the tension inherent in these chords keep the piece going; but as though afraid somebody would miss the point, the players retarded the tempo melodramatically, making the subsequent return to the more characteristic rhythmic motion of the piece seem awkward. In the second movement Haydn alternates sections of simple, broad melody (played in this case with a Brahmsian flavor), and mildly rhapsodic filigree (largely in the first violin part) which is given an ostinato accompaniment (sixteenth notes) marked both with dots and the written indication, "staccato." Only during the climax midway through the piece was this ostinato element performed according to the markings--elsewhere, these repeated notes were articulated in a smooth, 'lyrical' way. Thus the movement was robbed of both the intended contrast of the alternating elements, and the overall unity inherent in similarly-executed repetitions of the rhythmic ostinato figure. The scherzo, marked presto, was played too slowly to bring off the abundant rustic humor, while the trio, undoubtedly intended to be the lightest moment in this quartet, became a curiously contemplative "solo" for first violinist Shmuel Ashkenasi. In the final movement, Haydn employs the admittedly questionable device of recapitulating in the parallel major what had been rather serious material in G minor. The pompous ritard prior to this moment, as well as the following saccharine tempo, again made a perfectly transparent gesture seem a bit stilted.

The Beethoven was the best-played composition of the evening. One must note, however, that op. 74 is not one of The Late Quartets, and the somewhat ponderous earnestness in which it was performed was sometimes in conflict with the character of the work, which is frequently effervescent or hauntingly lyrical. The harmonically and melodically rich second movement was overphrased; by the time we arrived at the second theme, so much had been done in the way of nuance that there was nothing left for the rest of the movement--which almost bogged down. The quartet played best in the scherzo (taken at an excellent tempo), in which the structural outline is nearly impossible to obfuscate.

The hyper expressionistic playing of the first half of the concert would have been quite appropriate in the Berg Quartet. Here, unhappily, the energetic intensity of the performance at times bordered on hysteria--the only moments of the evening when solid technical mastery began to waver. Too many crunchy or strained fortissimi, and an over-emphasis of percussive aspects resulted in something like Everyman's stereotype of a 'modern' work; and the audience response was stereotypically reserved. But all of this is contrary not only to the spirit of the score, but also to Berg's expressed attitude toward the performance of his works. Consider his enthusiastic praise of one production of Wozzeck (Leningrad, 1927): "Wozzeck was sung with belcanto. Yes, a modern opera needs just as nice singing as Troubadour! And the phrasing must be just as flexible." Such remarks must also have some significance for the performance of Berg's chamber works.

Objections such as those discussed above are not to be solved by increased rehearsal of the ensemble or greater individual technical facility (which, I reiterate, was largely exemplary). It is a matter of conception. To cries of "purist" and "unimportant details" which may be provoked by the foregoing. I respond: it depends on how you hear things. Music is both feeling and idea--especially in the periods of Haydn, Beethoven, and Berg. The problem obviously in not an easy one; as Szell put it, "the borderline is very thin between clarity and coolness, self-discipline and severity." Nevertheless, to appeal only to the listener's 'gut reactions,' (however tastefully) and his ability to discern technical proficiency, is to offer, unnecessarily, something less than the fullest possible musical experience.