From the Sublime to the Ridiculous

NEW YORK – For more than two decades cellist Joan Jeanrenaud was a member of the Kronos Quartet, adding dramatic flair to performances and helping the group to amass an impressive body of commissioned and recorded work. But in 1998, Jeanrenaud was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. She left the Kronos in order to focus on her health and work on solo projects and composing. Availing herself of alternative therapies for MS instead of conventional medical treatments, Jeanrenaud has remained an active performer, teaching at Mills College and recording cross-genre CDs in collaboration with composer PC Munoz. But she hasn’t appeared onstage with her Kronos colleagues since leaving them. On Feb. 28, for a “one night in New York only” performance in Zankel Hall, she was reunited with the ensemble. Needing assistance to the stage from her colleagues and walking with the aid of a cane (the illness hasn’t impaired her ability to play but effects her lower extremities), Jeanrenaud joined Kronos for “Schubert-Quintet,” a work written for them by Russian composer Vladimir Martynov (it appears on the group’s latest Nonesuch CD, an all Martynov portrait disc). Martynov recasts short snippets of Schubert’s sketches for an unfinished string quintet, repeating leaping octaves and minor-key chord progressions over and over until they depart from their origins as motives in an early Romantic piece and take on a meditative, mystical quality. Martynov’s reimagining of the material gives it a piquant, melancholy mood that proved quite arresting. On this occasion, one could view the work as a wistful homage both to Schubert and to a group of musicians parted by life’s vicissitudes. Once Jeanrenaud started to play, all impressions of frailty disappeared; she retains a focus, musicality and presence that is a life lesson in triumph over adversity. The piece ended, drifting away on an unresolved chord. After greeting the audience’s stirring acclamation, Jeanrenaud was once again helped offstage. Alongside Martynov’s piece, the concert’s first half included another moving work, “One Hundred Goodbyes” (Céad Slán) by Irish composer Donnacha Dennehy. It featured sampled snippets from sound recordings made in the late 1920s in Ireland by folk archivist and linguist Karl Tempel. Both spoken word and sung fragments were played alongside dramatic ostinatos from the quartet. The jumping-off place for this piece is clearly “Different Trains” by Steve Reich. But the dialogue between tape and instruments is more subtle and supple. At times, the quartet picks up fragments of speech and song and turns them into motives in a similar fashion to “Different Trains.” But at others, it responds independently. Effused by the energetic intoning of taped bardic refrains, the quartet’s music soars in response. If the “Schubert-Quintet” was the sentimental favorite of the evening, “…Goodbyes” was the musical standout. After a sublime first half, the second half devolved precipitously. The third movement from Philip Glass’s Fifth String Quartet was played, accompanying YouTube clips of Occupy and Arab Spring demonstrations, compiled, in uncharacteristically slapdash fashion, by Bill Morrison. Both he and Glass were on hand to take a bow for a piece that had the best of intentions but appeared to be a work in progress. More puzzling still was Nicole Lizée’s “Death to Komische,” which commented on East Germany’s early dalliances with electronica. Over ersatz beats and noisy bleeps, each member of the quartet got a chance to play with vintage analog instruments. But the piece provided little in the way of coherency, substituting instead props, reverb and occasional – and rather unpleasant -- feedback. “Secret Word,” a composition by Michael Hearst dedicated to Pee Wee Herman – yes, that Pee Wee Herman – closed the evening on a zany note. Hearst specializes in toy instruments and clearly has a strong connection to his inner child. There were ample toys onstage, played with zeal by Hearst (who also doubled on melodica and Theremin), the quartet, a tuba player and a number of audience plants that joined them for a cacophonous toy-instrument finale. The music mimicked the cartoon music and sound effects of “Pee Wee’s Playhouse” but in a put on way that had little of the wit and whimsy of Mark Mothersbaugh’s original soundtrack for the TV series. Everyone onstage seemed to be having fun, but “Secret Word” was a dubious programming choice. Several audience members voted with their feet, growing tired of the joke well before the piece ended. Closing the program this way seemed to trivialize what had come before it; the forced “hilarity” quashed the preceding weighty themes. Kronos has long celebrated eclectic programs, but I’d prefer to remember the first half fondly and chuck the second from my brain space. Next time out, perhaps the “Secret Word” should be “edit.”