BRENTANO STRING QUARTET By Lucas Mazzotti ‘17
d written after the Brentano String Quartet and Joyce DiDonato performed Charpentier, Debussy, and Jake Heggie, on February 18, 2015
What struck me first wasn’t the music, but the silence. My life moves at a whirlwind pace. At times, I’ll admit, it’s hard to bear. We are asked here to juggle many balls at once, and I imagine most can relate to the anxiety accompanying the thought of missing one of the balls on its way down. I’ve stayed up nights with this anxiety. Consequently, I’ve gotten into the habit of taking walks late at night every now and then. When it comes to calming power, the uniform late-night silence has no rival. At least, for a long time I thought not. But this was a silence unlike anything I had ever experienced. It wasn’t the lonely silence of a world asleep. Even as I sit now in the library, the silence feels nervous – punctuated by careful footsteps and jittery fingers on keyboards. No, the silence in Richardson Auditorium was of a different kind. A collective focus of hundreds of eyes and ears ran as a thickness down the aisles, up the spiral stairs, along the edge of the balcony and down to the stage where the four string players sat. The auditorium that only minutes before had felt so empty suddenly became full, humid with a deliberate nothingness. It was beautiful. I felt as much a participant in this effort as the elderly gentleman sitting next to me, as the well-dressed couple seated a few rows down, even as the musicians on the stage. In that passing moment, we all existed in togetherness so distinct from the isolated quietude of the library or from melancholic hours of the still night. Our moments were frozen together in anticipation. Then there was the music. Even then, it still wasn’t the music that I noticed first. What I noticed next was one of the violinists. The way she moved was strange, almost robotic. I thought about being younger and watching animatronic puppets dance and play music. It was a sort of motion that seemed inhuman – as though she were connected to gears and wires and was relegated to specific, jerking movements as her gears grinded. If I were a child, I would have laughed. But her passion was captivating. With her elbow raised and her fingers fretting the strings, she swung in her chair and reeled back with her violin. As I sat in my own chair, I watched classical music become a visual art. My eyes wandered from the violins to the viola to the cello, and to each person holding these instruments. It became apparent how connected they were. This was near-mechanic synchronicity. It was refined, but in an equally amazing way, it was untamed and expressive.
Finally, I took notice of the music. As I watched more closely, I was able to pick out which motions and musicians corresponded with which sounds. It was at this time that the music seemed to take on a greater significance. I started not just to hear, but to see the piece unfolding on stage. From this point forward I was immersed in the performance. I scribbled notes vigorously, hoping they would help me describe the music when I sat down to write this reflection. I realize now that such an undertaking would be fruitless. The first piece was Charpentier’s Suite for Strings in D Minor. It was rigid, yet beautiful. It had a full, vivid sound. It finished with a resolution that made the intense silence that followed sweet with every breath. Debussy followed. Following Charpentier, Debussy’s romantic style was an emotionally unique experience. The third movement in particular has stayed with me. It began slowly, with each instrument playing its own iteration of the central melody. It built different layers into the piece. I suddenly pictured myself walking through my childhood home, a reflective peace about me. The culmination of the performance was the addition of Joyce DiDonato’s mezzo-soprano voice. Each time she sang a note, I wondered how long and hard she must have worked to perfect her voice. After each movement, that perfect silence followed. When the performance was finally over, the silence was not one of resignation, but one of victory. The Brentano String Quartet and Joyce DiDonato had achieved something spectacular. They united the auditorium in silence, and then in applause. They provided a musical backdrop to the mental journeys each person in the audience took during the performance. My applause joined that of the older crowd around me. We all stood up and dispersed just as easily as we had come together. I exited the auditorium feeling happy and rewarded with what was not a substitute for the late night walk, but an improvement.
d Lucas Mazzotti is a sophomore. He has not declared a major but is thinking about the Woodrow Wilson School. He has always loved music, and did quite a bit of singing in high school. He has never studied an instrument but a few years ago he taught himself some basic guitar. His father is a huge fan of classical music and has always hoped that Lucas would grow to appreciate it. He went to a few concerts when he was younger but this concert was his first at Princeton. He thought the contest would be a great opportunity to attend his first concert. He says he has really come to love classical music and his dad is thrilled. We think his father will be really proud when he reads Lucas’ profound reaction to this concert.