Members of the Boston Symphony Orchestra:
Arianna Brusubandis Grace and Bracha Malkin, violins
Mary Ferrell and Cathy Barak, violas
Will Chow and Owen Young, cellos
Saturday, October 19, 2025
Program
Gabriela Ortiz, “Aroma foliado” (2006, for string quartet)
Antonin Dvořák, String Sextet in A major, op. 78
When Milton Babbitt composed his 1986 violin and piano work “More Joy of Sextets,” his title slyly alluded to Alex Comfort’s 1972 manual advocating a free-wheeling, uninhibited approach to physical pleasure. But it also esoterically indicated Babbitt’s extremely cerebral, quasi-mathematical approach to composition based on six-note pitch-class sets (“sextets”), subsets of the 12-tone aggregate that was part of the musical language the composer had developed from Arnold Schoenberg’s compositional method. The title itself was a riddle since a sextet is normally for six instruments (Babbitt’s was for only two).
Dvořák’s approach to writing his own free-wheeling, uninhibited sextet was more straightforward: six string instruments, two each of violins, violas, and cellos. This group can be thought of (mathematically) as two times three (a double string trio) or four plus two (an expanded string quartet). Regarding chamber music for strings, four is the magic number since it offers an almost perfect balance between individual and group expression. Each instrument (and player) can make individual, clearly discernible statements while the massed force of all four can assert a virtually orchestral power. For this reason, many composers focused on quartets for some of their greatest works (think Haydn, Beethoven, Bartok, or Elliott Carter). On the other hand, the lure of a larger string ensemble with richer sonority, more romantic harmonies, and even greater power proved irresistible to no less a composer than Mozart. While he wrote his share of quartet masterpieces (the six dedicated to Haydn having cost him special pains), four of his five string quintets exhibit an even greater sustained level of ease, inspiration, and lyricism, probably due to the presence of a second viola, which was Mozart’s favored string instrument. While his string quartets were composed on commission or for the purpose of a special dedication, his quintets seem to be at least partially devised for his own pleasure as a violist.
The idea of expanding the quartet even further to include both double violas and double cellos occurred to a few of Mozart’s contemporaries, notably Boccherini, who was himself a cello virtuoso, hence his works that include two cellos. But in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, the genre of string sextet was still relatively rare compared to that of wind sextet, of which there are many fine examples. These were considered lighter works akin to serenades or party music. It is not surprising that with the growth of Romanticism, more string sextets appeared; in terms of works that have entered the repertory, it is really the two Brahms sextets from 1860 and 1865, respectively, that are most familiar today. They are in no way light entertainment pieces; they have richly thought-out designs, varied textures, emotional breadth, and as much strength of utterance as any of his other chamber music, perhaps more so than his three string quartets. Brahms treats the sextet as a quartet on steroids, in other words, as the standard four fortified by an extra viola and cello—that is, four plus two.
It is worth noticing, parenthetically, that two other late-Romantic composers used the string sextet medium to offer picturesque works with evocative titles: Tchaikovsky’s “Souvenir de Florence” and Schoenberg’s “Verklaerte Nacht” (“Transfigured Night”). Here the basic sonority is that of a chamber orchestra with opportunities for the contrast of individual solos, in other words six or one plus five.
In his 1878 sextet, Dvořák takes a different approach. He had recently won a prize at the Austrian State Competition upon the recommendation of Brahms, who then connected him to his influential publisher Simrock. The first work to subsequently appear was his set of Moravian Duets, Op. 46, a turning point for Dvořák, who until then had been leaning in a Wagnerian direction. Brahms’ patronage proved decisive, and chamber music built along classical lines became an important and regular component of his production. Like Mozart, Dvořák was a violist, and the rich sonority of larger chamber combinations brought out some of his best works, such as the two later string quintets and piano quintet (a fine recent performance which was reviewed here). That is not to say that he neglected quartets: There are 14 of them, many pillars of the repertory. And perhaps owing to the relative scarcity of opportunities to hear sextets, this is the first time I have gotten to hear this wonderful work in concert. In 1878, Brahms was in the early phase his patronage, which acted as a great accelerant to Dvořák’s development.
While Brahms may have provided some inspiration, Dvořák’s concept of how to work with the six strings differs from the four-plus-two concept. He conceives of this more as a double trio (three plus three), with opportunities for antiphony (back and forth between two equal groups) as well as for some marvelous textural complexities, in which the two players of each instrument are being quite distinct from, rather than reinforcing, each other. And while Brahms leaned into the seriousness of classical chamber forms (especially in his first sextet), Dvořák finds a balance between that serious tradition and the lighter heritage of the genre, especially in the middle movements, which are titled as Czech folk genres: “Dumka” and “Furiant.” This marks the work as highly individual and unmistakably “Dvořákian.” (Dvořák introduced the term “Dumka” two years earlier in a solo piano work. It would provide the origin for the great Piano Trio in E Minor, Op. 90, consisting of nothing but six “Dumkas,” one after another.)
While the sextet begins impulsively with a flowing theme and accompaniment that could have been composed by Brahms, the pace soon slackens, only to be urged forward again (especially in the rising plucked basslines of the second cello) by an energy associated with the dance and a quality of spontaneity that I hear as Dvořák’s connection to folklore. The contrasting theme, in the remote key of C-sharp major, sounds the note of longing or nostalgia that later became a hallmark in, for example, the slow movement of the “New World” Symphony. But rather than bringing things to a halt, an underpinning of rhythmic impulse in the plucked cello maintains the forward momentum, which carries through the entire movement. This is music that never really stands still, and the entire half-hour duration of the work seemed to go by in a flash of fresh inspiration and good spirits.
The two middle movements are formally quite simple, juxtaposing contrasting ideas and contrasting between themselves. The “Dumka” (subtitled “Elegie”) is slow and melancholy, but driven by moving figures in the second viola. The middle section slows the tempo down but offers a clear walking rhythm (marked “quasi tempo di marcia”) so that the elegiac tone is never self-indulgent but rather communal and ceremonial, with the melody played by the violins in sixths, as if in a vocal duet. There follows a flowing and expressive section, a slow dance in the remote key of F-sharp major that acts as a bridge to the return of the opening “Dumka” at the starting tempo. Then, on an impulse, it rushes forward to its final cadence. This rush anticipates the arrival of the “Furiant,” which triples the tempo in a wild and intoxicating dance marked by sudden shifts of dynamic level; rapidly plucked and emphatic bass notes; and manic, chattering figures traded rapidly among the remaining instruments. The trio (in D) offers no change of pace, but a more lyrical melody of broken triads accompanied by those chattering figures popping in and out of the background. Its propulsive lyricism looks forward to the scherzos of the later symphonies, especially No. 8 in G.
The final movement is the crown of the work: a theme and variations of kaleidoscopic variety that exploit every textural possibility of the six instruments. The theme arrives as if it were the missing slow movement (since the “Dumka” did not fully assume that role). It is performed by the violas and cellos only, giving it a dark, mellow sonority; and it begins in a minor key, seemingly remote from the principle key of the work, as if wandering in the twilight. Though not marked as such, it is another march, texturally sparse and formally very simple. It is only with the surprise final cadence of the theme that we discover the real home key—Dvořák trusts his listeners to recognize it after its absence. Although listeners may not be able to tell themselves that this is the case, I think they will recognize this harmony as a ray of light penetrating the theme’s gloom and its ultimate harmonic destination.
In the first variation, the violins join in, the rhythm picks up, and the texture becomes more active. The first violin plays a leaping elaboration of the theme; the second violin and first cello play a countermelody in octaves; the two violas play a second countermelody, also in octaves; and the second cello fulfills its bassline role. So here is one of the textural possibilities: four layers disposed as one (violin) plus two (violin and cello) plus two (violas) plus one (cello). Second variation is even faster (“scherzando”) with a sped-up version of the theme as a quasi-fugal point of imitation, moving from first violin to first viola to first cello to second cello. The other violin and viola together offer rhythmic punctuation. In the second half of this variation, the number of imitating parts reduces to three while second viola and second cello offer additional propulsive rhythmic push. At the final phrase, the violas and first cello revert to the lyricism of the theme which prepares for that final quick turn to home key, like a gymnast jumping off the bars and landing on her feet. In variation three, the top three and bottom voices together sing in a quietly sustained way, underpinned by a very static bass. Meanwhile, the first cello chatters on quietly with the “push” rhythm all the way to the end (five plus one). Variation four continues the pace, but the violins and one viola flow smoothly forward over triplets in the bass while the other viola and cello converse by trading shorter singing phrases or singing together (three plus two plus one). It could be a sweet, intimate operatic scene.
In variation five, the second violin and first cello move into faster, smoothly flowing phrases nudged forward by a game of plucked string accents tossed around by the violas and second cello, while the first violin dreams long notes overhead (two plus three plus one). The finale is entitled “Stretta” and immediately ramps up the energy to a galloping pace with dotted figures in the violins and cellos, while the violas roll along together smoothly in triplets (two plus two plus two). As the energy picks up, emphatic stamping with double-stops are heard in the lower three strings under the galloping figures in the violins and viola (three plus three), and soon thereafter the whole texture turns upside down, the stamping doubles in speed, and suddenly the bottom drops out: A turning scale starts to run in octaves high in the violins, then the first viola adds a lower octave, the first violin dropping out, and the lower three voices open up the bottom, all in octaves. From here on, the energy and pace keep building, with texture shifts every few bars and greater variety of textural activity and shifting combinations, including delicious mixtures of staccato, legato, and pizzicato articulations flying about. All these elements are retained, but the tempo increases one more time to presto, the second violin pulling the energy ahead (later joined by first cello) and the stamping chords returning in first violin and second cello, first one in a bar, then two, then in all the instruments (six!) leading to a double ending and a state of pure euphoria, achieved by six individuals finding their way to each other gradually and finally arriving at a well-earned unanimity.
The shorter opening work on the program, Gabriela Ortiz’s “Aroma foliada,” offered a fresh, bracing preparation for the Dvořák. Composed in 2006 and counting as Ortiz’s third string quartet, the title of the work points toward several sources of inspiration and layers of imagery. The title means “The aroma of foliage,” a reference to a painting by artist Suzanne Bocanegra with the unwieldy title “All the Petals from Jan Brueghel the Elder’s Sense of Smell,” 1618, which not only provided the image of a series of synesthesic translations from the olfactory to auditory senses, but indicated a dynamic of one work of art being used as the scaffolding for another. In Ortiz’s case, the scaffolding was provided by Mozart’s String Quartet in D, K. 575. If this is a head-spinning explanation of the work’s genesis, it could all be blissfully ignored in the actual listening. The music required no special pleading: The Mozart references used to tie together the short “petals” were virtually undetectable, but the vividly characterized sections offered enough energy and individuality to hold the interest of first-time listeners and reward it with a dazzling array of colors and characters. Each short “petal” was built from an obstinate (repeating) figure whose register, tone color, and tempo provided a distinct identity. There were no “tunes” as such, but the texture and energy level provided that section’s “aroma.” The general energy level was high, and the color shifts dazzling. Although a good 15 minutes long, it went by in a flash. Ortiz’s music usually reflects her Mexican roots. She was the composer-in-residence for last summer’s Festival of Contemporary Music (see my review of the final concert here).
Between Ortiz and Dvořák, the one-hour concert seemed to go by in just a few minutes, thanks to the razor-sharp playing and impeccable ensemble of the Boston Symphony players, who had only been got together in the preparation for this program but sounded like they had been playing as an ensemble for years. Best of all, they sounded like they were having fun.
