George Enescu graduated from the Vienna Conservatory at age 11, and in some respects his music fulfills our expectations of a child prodigy for whom the art of composition held no secrets at all. He wrote lavish, harmonically and contrapuntally dense, ferociously virtuosic pieces in every medium that he touched. His ear was phenomenal, his mastery of instrumentation total, and he made no concessions to the limitations of listeners or players less gifted than he. It is music for connoisseurs willing to put their self-proclaimed love of the art to the test and dig for the treasures embedded in Enescu’s elusive yet richly endowed idiom. However, there are moments, such as the Lentement of the Octet (performed here in its version for string orchestra), where an almost childlike simplicity of utterance pokes through, and his appreciation of this quality grew as he matured artistically.
And so by the time we arrive at the Piano Quintet Op. 29, we find an expressive language less plush, less confrontational, and more relaxed–even playful at times. Its whispery scherzo, for example, comes across as snatches of café music, distorted by distance and scarcely intelligible; and when this ghostly discourse yields to the boldly melodic finale, the effect is totally magical. Gidon Kremer and his ensemble dig into both works with irrepressible energy and virtuoso flair. He boldly maintains the linear continuity of the Octet’s outer movements–without which the thread of the musical argument risks getting lost in the general busyness–and the players capture the colorful Quintet’s delicate, Ravelian textures with unaffected ease. Vivid recorded sound caps an issue that makes a powerful case for a difficult, neglected, misunderstood composer whose love of music and sheer joy in composition is evident in every bar. [9/18/2002]
