After a few hundred years of experimenting with and perfecting various ways of writing tonal music for strings, and another 50 or so of more experimentation with these instruments’ atonal possibilities (not to mention their ability to play all kinds of exotic scales, quarter-tones, harmonics, and make decidedly a-musical sounds and percussive effects), some composers these days seem to be more interested in exploiting a combination of traditional and modern styles, the effect being a pleasant, very listenable, easily accessible yet still ear-provoking melange. As you may have guessed, Nicola Lefanu is one such composer, and if you’ve been repulsed by the music produced from the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s screech and scratch/grind and grate school of string composition, you should give her works, which happen to come from that same period, your considered attention.
The String Quartet No. 2 is an example of Lefanu’s understanding of idiomatic string writing technique that never resorts to irritating extremes of range or cheap, hackneyed effects. As in the excellent Cantena, there are occasional churning rhythmic figures á la Bartók or Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring, but overall this is unaffected, unselfconscious, free-flowing, multi-thematic music that revels in the pure, gritty sound of four stringed instruments interacting. And in regard to the latter, the varied articulative effects and frequently shifting meters create a sense of real dialogue, using some of those more “modern” performance devices–biting dissonances, swirling runs, and what might be called “Bogen-stimme”, where the bowing seems to imitate inflections and mannerisms of speech–combine with irregular rhythms and swiftly changing dynamics to make for continually engrossing listening.
In Lefanu’s Concertino for Clarinet and String Orchestra she masterfully integrates the wind instrument with the various string timbres, so what we hear isn’t so much a showcase for the clarinet as a truly captivating ensemble piece that celebrates both differences and similarities between reed and string.
The only work I couldn’t really relate to (or, in the spirit of full disclosure, finish listening to) was the Canción, a setting for countertenor and string quartet of a Garcia Lorca poem. The strident, straining character of much of the singing just became annoying, and the almost defiantly anti-melodic nature of the solo vocal lines made me wonder why this part was written for countertenor (and I normally enjoy good countertenor singing). What’s more, the sheer length of the piece–nearly 13 minutes–demands more variety than offered by yet one more aching utterance or ever more angular melodic excursion. I’m sure Nicholas Clapton is a fine artist, but this is not the ideal vehicle by which to appreciate his gifts.
The Catena is a harmonically and texturally rich work, infused with lovely lyricism and starkly expressive statements that invoke memories of some of the 20th century’s best string writing, from Britten and Bartók to Barber, Copland, Shostakovich, and Carter. The sound is very complementary to the string timbres and textures–and if you’re interested in hearing some of the finer examples of modern writing for string ensemble, here’s a sure bet.
