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Like most pursuits mantled in high seriousness, classical music is fertile ground for comedy--witness Victor Borge and Peter Shickele (a.k.a. P.D.Q. Bach), two very funny men whose shtick consists largely of parodies of classical works and performance practice. Both Borge and Shickele show, however, that it is difficult to have a reputation as a serious musician when listeners want you to make them laugh; audiences are often surprised, if not outright dismayed, to get straight performances when they expect "audible punctuation" or Oedipus Tex. Goofing around can preclude a thoughtful engagement with music, but as the Canadian ensemble Quartetto Gelato demonstrates, the two can coexist. And on another level, Chamber Music Northwest's current lecture series shows how a comic approach can reveal a lot about serious music, including its inherent humor. The members of Quartetto Gelato, who played at Music Millennium Northwest Friday night during a brief stop in Portland on the way to the Oregon Bach Festival in Eugene, could hardly do without a sense of humor. Three of their instruments--the accordion, oboe and viola--are among the most commonly ridiculed in music; all they lack is a banjo. (What's a burning banjo good for? Setting fire to a viola.) They also deign to play Gypsy dances, Russian folk tunes and English ballads alongside Bach, Ravel and Puccini, which to some listeners isn't proper--only a cabaret band would program such light entertainment. And then there's the name; "Gelato" comes from their first performance together, a casual dinner gig. Quartetto Gelato certainly takes no pains to prove that it's a serious classical ensemble, but it doesn't have to; the playing speaks for itself. Amid the jokes and humorous observations peppering their concerts is musicianship of a very high order. Before one piece Friday evening, oboist Cynthia Steljes made a few prefatory remarks. "The oboe is the crybaby of the orchestra, always getting the most melancholy music.... So oboists don't get invited to parties, because no one thinks they're any fun," she said in mock lament. "And when they find out that you spend so much time carefully cutting your reeds out of small pieces of bamboo, people with rattan furniture won't have you over." She described circular breathing, a technique whereby the player inhales and expels air from the mouth simultaneously, as a "party trick." Steljes then launched into Antonio Pasculli's Concerto Sopra Motivi dell'Opera La Favorita di Donizetti-Variazioni, a dazzling display of oboe virtuosity that left no doubt about her considerable abilities. Nor is there any doubting her multitalented partners. George Meanwell plays cello and guitar with equal proficiency and writes the wryly amusing yet informative liner notes to the quartet's CDs. Claudio Vena plays viola and accordion in addition to composing and arranging; and Peter De Sotto, in addition to a command of violin and mandolin, has a fine, full-throated tenor voice that rivals those regularly featured in the local opera house. The variety of instruments at their disposal, and the energy with which they play them, creates a sound both bigger and broader than one expects of a mere four musicians. Quartetto Gelato has both great chops and great discipline. Its brio is more typical of a band of gypsies than of the average chamber ensemble, and it serves to place all of its repertoire on the same footing; in the players' hands, folk and classical genres, music by composers both famous and anonymous, blend seamlessly. True, some "serious" music--the string quartets of Beethoven, for example--would seem out of place in their repertoire, but then who's to say that Beethoven would object to an arrangement for oboe and squeeze box? They've proven (on Aria Fresca, their latest disc) that it works for Verdi. The string quartets of Beethoven are the subject of a series of lectures by Bruce Adolphe, education director of the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center, given in conjunction with Chamber Music Northwest's presentation of the complete set over five weeks this summer. In the first lecture, given at the Old Church at noon on Friday, Adolphe focused on portions of the Opus 95 (also known, incidentally, as the "Serioso") and Opus 135, in order to show something of the inner workings of this incredible music. In doing so, he demonstrated that his comic timing is on par with his knowledge of the pieces; that is to say, it's exceptional. Adolphe is a slight, short, quick-witted New Yorker--a bit like the actor Jay Thomas, only less abrasive. His talks aren't meant to mine Beethoven for stand-up, but where humor avails, he uses it adeptly, mixing explanations of hyper-enharmonia and the "fearful symmetry" of the diminished seventh chord with references to the Road Runner and body piercing. Describing the tensions of the opening bars of Opus 135, he pantomimed someone who'd momentarily lost his keys and wallet, and then forgotten whether he'd turned off the gas. "Of course, that's not what Beethoven was writing about," Adolphe said, "although he does forget his keys. [A pause, and then a laugh.] Sorry." The Orion String Quartet was on hand to provide instrumental support, and the group collectively played a good straight man. What Adolphe does in his lectures in no way subverts what Beethoven was doing musically; there's plenty of humor in classical music for listeners willing to hear it. Mozart had an incisive wit, though like Charlie Chaplin, another brilliant comedian, he was given to fits of earnestness. Beethoven, though better known for his tortured mind, had a great sense of humor (as Adolphe describes him, he's like the Jack Nicholson character in As Good as It Gets before he starts taking his medication). The confused opening bars of Opus 135's second movement are laugh-out-loud funny if they're played by a quartet that gets the joke, and they fit the rest of the piece as well as Polonius' bumbling speeches fit Hamlet. What's killing classical music, you ask? Excessive solemnity is one of the culprits--thank heaven there are people who laugh with it while it's still alive. |
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