Lenape Chamber Ensemble

Great music gives pleasure partly by suggesting multiple feelings and mental associations in the listener— inner musings that are sometimes then organized into a theme that's as much a function of the listener as of the music itself. For this reviewer, a mid-summer concert of Beethoven, Faure and Prokofiev by the Lenape Chamber Ensemble conjured thoughts about each composer's circumstances at the moment of creation.

While I usually listen to music with an evenly suspended reverie (somewhat like gazing at the stars on a summer night), at this concert I found myself trying to put myself in the composers' shoes at the moment of creation. That process led me to the question of how music embodies a unique time and place in the composer's life, as opposed to the timeless and universal themes that give the piece a lasting place in the repertoire.

Each composer found himself tested by the context of his times.
With his Piano Trio No. 1, Beethoven (1770-1827) had produced his first publishable chamber work. Faure (1845-1924) was tossed among classical, romantic and impressionistic styles, with pressures from influences as diverse as Caesar Franck and Claude Debussy. Prokofiev (1891-1953) had just been evacuated from his home in Moscow to a safer place in the countryside due to the German assault on the city in 1941. He was also under ideological pressure from Stalin to emphasize socialist ideas in his work.

The musicians of the Lenape Chamber Ensemble performed not only with consummate skill, but also with intense passion, as if trying to convey something of the same frame of mind in the composers. Whether or not my reflections mirrored historical truth, the Lenape interpretations elicited such elements in the music.

Beethoven's problem, vs. Europe's

For example, while listening to a fine rendition of the Beethoven Piano Trio, Op. 1 No, 1, I imagined a young Beethoven as he strove to produce his first publishable chamber work in the midst of a tumultuous Europe, where the only constant was change. Beyond the era's political and military turmoil, Beethoven faced the difficult musical task of distinguishing himself from Haydn and Mozart, whose works provided a powerful stimulus for his own.

In this performance, the Beethoven Trio emerged largely as a period piece, almost a carbon copy Haydn and Mozart— until the last movement, when it was as if Beethoven could no longer restrain himself from injecting his own individuality and power.

Or was it that the performers broke out of their own shell at that point? Is a "pure" rendering of the composer's intent indeed ever possible? This performance by Ayano Ninomiya (violin), Arash Amini (cello) and Marcantonio Barone (piano) challenged me to find the Beethoven of the "Emperor" Concerto and the late string quartets in this early work, when he was still trying to emulate his peers and mentors.

Faure's awesome burden

The program notes regarding Faure's Sonata for Violin and Piano in A Major, Op. 13, began with two quotations that show how the gentle composer had to reconcile different schools of thought, "from the dying splendor of Wagnerianism to the delicate tints of the dawning French impressionism." Faure had his hands full! Yet in this piece, as in many of his compositions, he shows himself to have been a master who stood above the crowd and pursued musical consistency over the requirements of trends and fashions.

Although Faure most likely intended the Sonata in A as a dialogue between violin and piano, with a great deal of counterpoint and development between the two, Barone performed more like a piano accompanist to Ninomiya's forceful violin. So what one heard was a tour de force for violin as much as the equality implied in the sonata form. What came through was a masterpiece that reflects the influences of Franck, Debussy and others yet is firmly rooted in the classical tradition.

It's characteristic of Faure's music that it embodies almost stark discipline, consistency and attention to detail, so that at times it seems almost didactic; yet on further listening, one appreciates its timeless beauty. Ninomiya's virtuosic technique and her fierce digging of the bow into the violin strings brought out how much real emotion is hidden in Faure if only we listeners would hear it. This was a stunning performance on Ninomiya's part, and Barone's restraint was probably warranted.

Soviet "'encouragement'

Prokofiev's String Quartet No. 2 in F Major was composed at a time when the besieged Soviet government had evacuated Prokofiev, along with other important Soviet artists, from Moscow to the Caucasus. There, according to the Lenape program notes by Hoyle Carpenter and Arash Amini, "The evacuees were encouraged to make use of the rich, local folklore, and Prokofiev did so, with great interest and effectiveness, with his String Quartet No. 2, having first written a piano score for it."

These comments are perhaps too generous to the Soviet authorities, who more likely "encouraged" the composer to write in the manner of socialist realism. Thus Prokofiev's Second String Quartet, rendered with great power by Arnaud Sussmann and Ninomiya (once again) on violin, Catherine Beeson on viola, and, again, Amini on cello, constantly evokes "struggle," whether "class struggle," wartime hardships or the struggle of a creative artist with the authorities.

It struck me that Prokofiev may not have been entirely happy with the mission imposed upon him by the commissars who may at the same time have saved his life. The piece, at least as interpreted by the Lenape Ensemble as a constant struggle to find the tonic key, lacked the wide range of emotions that Prokofiev usually injected into his music, from joy to grief and from lightheartedness to anxiety and almost demonic disturbances. It was as if Prokofiev was troubled not only by the vicissitudes of war, but also by the assignment he was given. While his greatness came through, it shone through a cloud cover.