The Goddesses of the Cavani Quartet

February 3, 2006 at 6:54 AM

For months now, I’ve harbored a fervent wish: to see Dvorák’s “American” string quartet performed live. Hearing a recording of it for the first time six months ago, particularly the second movement—the lento—made a powerful impression on me. I hadn’t realized chamber music could be so lush, so evocative and visceral. I vowed to put those swirling notes and moods into words and incorporate them into my novel, as the story-beneath-the-story while my violinist protagonist and her colleagues rehearse for their own performance of The American.

When I learned last week that the Cavani String Quartet—artists-in-residence at the Cleveland Institute of Music since 1988—would be performing this now-familiar quartet, I was thrilled. Tickets were still available and best of all, seating was general admission, first come, first seated. That meant I had a chance at front row center seats. I vowed to do whatever it took to get those seats.

The Kohl Mansion, a venue in Burlingame, California, south of San Francisco, is a spectacular rose-brick Tudor structure, set on forty rolling acres. My friend Missy and I showed up ninety minutes early, plenty of time to stake our claim as “first arrivals” and enjoy the pre-concert lecture, which took place in the library, a sumptuous wood-paneled room complete with fireplace, bookcases and comfortable armchairs. Theoretically, following the lecture, the first-arrivals would be the first to pass from library to the main hall, where they could choose their seats.

But theory couldn’t hold up against reality: dozens of charging seniors determined to get to the hall first. Missy and I stared, stunned, then leapt to keep up. But the damage had been done: by the time we made it to the hall, two dozen people had found seats before us. Equally disappointing, another two dozen of the best seats had “reserved” signs on them. The best we could do were seats off to the side, affording us a good view of the first violinist and cellist. But the violist’s back, we were soon to discover, faced us, and worse, completely obscured the second violinist—the position my protagonist played. The terrible implication of this sank in during the first piece (Mozart’s string quartet in G Major). For six months I’d tried to visualize the second violinist playing the Dvorák—how she and the first violinist (her nemesis from conservatory days, with whom things have now heated up in a different way) would interact together. And now, here it was, and I was going to miss it. I felt almost breathless with disappointment.

“Ask the people closer in if they’d consider moving down,” Missy suggested during the intermission when I fretted about it.

“You mean the ones who mowed us over to get to those seats first?”

“Um, you’re right. Never mind.”

I stewed in growing despair until I saw a staff member pass. I reached over, clutched at her arm and explained my situation. The woman, whom I’ve renamed Saint Patricia (otherwise known as Patricia Moy, executive director of the Music at Kohl Mansion program) listened, and then, to my dazed relief, nodded. “I’ll get you the seat you need,” she said. And within minutes she’d found me a new spot—a spare chair set in the center aisle, close to the front. It couldn’t have been better.

The performance of the Dvorák was everything I’d hoped. The Cavani Quartet—all females—played brilliantly, with an unparalleled sense of ensemble. They supported one another not only with their music, but with exchanged glances, inclined shoulders, nods of approval and the occasional private smile of good friends sharing a delicious adventure. Their interpretation of Dvorák’s work seemed to reflect all the choices I’d have made—lush and theatrical, never too rushed or athletic.

The lento in particular, was riveting to watch. The first violin, played by Annie Fullard, sings its lament—a search for something unutterably sweet and painfully elusive—followed by the reassuring echo of the cello, played by Merry Peckham. But the best part for me was when Mari Sato’s second violin shared the melody with Fullard. The music made me think of a pair of hawks circling in the sky—soaring, tumbling over one another, dipping, separating and coming together. It was the same pure expression of grace, love and longing I’d been writing about. It was art that transcended its medium. The performance stirred me so much, tears stung my eyes.

The cello takes over the melody at the end of the lento, like a benevolent parent, come to soothe the exhausted violins (and listeners) and lend perspective to the drama. The movement’s final notes feel like a big cosmic blanket laid over the listener as they drift off to rest. When the four musicians had finished the lento, nobody in the hall moved; no one breathed. The mood created was that absolute.

I stayed tensed on the edge of my seat through the spirited third and fourth movements. Afterwards, I almost leapt out of my chair in my appreciation for the group’s performance. I wasn’t alone—we all cheered and applauded the quartet until they performed a rousing encore by Charles Alexander.

I could continue to wax lyrically, about the “meet the musicians” reception that Music at Kohl Mansion hosts after every performance (BIG points to the venue for this fabulous feature); how generous and giving the musicians were in spending time with the attendees. Mari Sato, in particular, allowed me to monopolize her time for over thirty minutes as I pelted her with logistics questions about the second violinist part, group dynamics, interpretation and tempo decisions. Another day, another blog, perhaps. In the meantime, I’ll end with the mantra that has been playing in my head since Sunday night (right there alongside “The American”): Dvorák’s music is divine. And the women of the Cavani Quartet, who played their hearts out with such gusto and finesse, are goddesses.

From Jim W. Miller
Posted on February 3, 2006 at 12:28 PM

Any chick who plays music is a goddess! What more could us mortals ask for?

From Jim W. Miller
Posted on February 3, 2006 at 12:32 PM

Proper grammar or something?

From Terez Mertes
Posted on February 3, 2006 at 2:43 PM

Jim - then march yourself over to the ticket office the next time these women are in your town - you're in for a treat.

From Neil Cameron
Posted on February 3, 2006 at 3:37 PM

Why wasn't I told about this? ;) Mind you Burlingame is just a leeetttle too far to go for a night out.

Good story though Terez.

Neil

From Terez Mertes
Posted on February 3, 2006 at 4:57 PM

Neil - yup, driving through the Santa Cruz Mountains at 11:30 on a Sunday night was a bit... taxing. Anything to see The American, tho.

From Susan Jeter
Posted on February 3, 2006 at 5:32 PM

Terez, what a beautiful and moving description of the performance! I really liked the imagery of the "big cosmic blanket"...

Yes, chamber music can be visceral - especially Brahms!

From Terez Mertes
Posted on February 3, 2006 at 5:36 PM

Susan, can you believe I've never heard any Brahms quartets? ((Sinks lower into seat and hangs head.)) Any suggestions?

Thanks, as well, for your nice comments.

From Karin Lin
Posted on February 3, 2006 at 6:23 PM

Yay for Saint Patricia!

From Jim W. Miller
Posted on February 3, 2006 at 9:31 PM

Burlingame was nice. I think of it as a wide place in the road with a golf course on the bay and an international airport. Esoteric billboards advertising Cisco routers. Friendly people. Hot chix.

From Emily Grossman
Posted on February 4, 2006 at 9:17 AM

Hey Terez, I've never heard any Brahms quartets, either. You make it sound appealing, though.

From Emily Grossman
Posted on February 4, 2006 at 9:18 AM

Wait, they played Dvorak. Nevermind... I bet you'd make Brahms sound appealing if you wrote about it, though. Silly me...

From Terez Mertes
Posted on February 4, 2006 at 3:16 PM

Emily, LOL! : )

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