Pro-Palestinian demonstrations have featured at Jerusalem Quartet concerts before; yesterday, there were banners and leaflets protesting the quartet’s perceived status as cultural ambassadors for Israel. I duly felt pangs of liberal guilt and, given the closure of Brussels’ concert halls over the weekend, a modicum of anxiety.
Although protest chants filtered through from outside the hall during quieter passages, the performance passed off without interruption. In Haydn’s cheerful Op77 No1 quartet the playing was not quite bland, but well-behaved: Haydn can stand more vinegar than he got here.
Nevertheless, the dynamic control and sense of interplay were finely-tuned, and the closing movement’s good humour was infectious.
Bartók’s Sixth Quartet, written in 1939, was his farewell to Europe before leaving for the States. Every movement is marked “mesto”: sad; the viola’s opening lament set the tone. Where the Haydn quartet had been rather suave, now the Jerusalem Quartet dug deep, allowing the mood of mournful longing to hit home sotto voce. If there was a hint of violence in the third movement’s pizzicatos, the dominant sense was of pained introspection. Then, in Dvorák’s “American” Quartet, the easy-going folkishness was held in check but the inner tension remained intact.
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