Last night was the first time I had heard the 12 Ensemble, a string group currently Artist-in-Residence at the Wigmore Hall, and I was very impressed, both by the standard of the playing and the enterprising programming. This gave regular audience-members a little of what they’re used to (a chunk of Brahms) and a decent portion of what they’re not.
The first half featured a sequence of pieces which in some way dealt with music of the past, starting with an arrangement of Bach by cellist Max Ruisi (one of the co-founders of 12 Ensemble). Komm, süsser Tod was played with poise and warmth by the conductorless mini-orchestra in an arrangement which, with its octave doubling and low tessitura, sounded in some ways old-fashioned, like the Bach arrangements of Vaughan Williams or Respighi. But I don’t mean that pejoratively. Rather, it is a recognition that “authentic” realisation of Bach is not the only way, as he is a composer whose music works in an infinite number of ways.
Tom Coult’s Prelude (after Monsieur de Sainte-Colombe) explores a 17th century viol suite movement, for a small group of violas, cellos and bass. It begins sparely, in subterranean territory, and gradually builds a web of harmony, which is like genuine Baroque harmony but 5 degrees off. It’s quite enchanting – and the bass playing of Toby Hughes, whether in the depths of his C-extension or high up the fingerboard at the end – was terrific.
This led into Oliver Coates’s One Without, taken from his score for the film Aftersun (2022). It’s a one-idea piece, a looping three chord sequence which surges from the first to the second, then falls away. Rinse and repeat for 4 minutes. In one sense nothing happens, but actually the sparsity of the surface activity focuses the ear in on the details of the scoring for strings. It’s hypnotic, in the mould of Max Richter or Björk, Coates finding quasi-electronic effects in the use of bowing and textured scoring. As a compositional challenge to make a piece out of almost nothing I really admired it, and 12 Ensemble played it with absolute stillness and sensitivity, in a darkened hall.
All this was great, but the freshest thing on the menu actually dated from 1950 – but sounded like it could have been written yesterday. Britten’s Lachrymae, for viola and strings is cut from similar cloth as the Young Person’s Guide – variations on an old piece which is heard unadorned at the end – but musically it is a million miles away. The Lachrymae is private, internal music, pained and agonised, eventually reaching a peaceful resolution. The solo part was taken by the extraordinary Timothy Ridout (pictured above by Jiyang Cheng), who coaxed an incredible range of sounds from his instrument: now muted like a lute, now a refined cantabile, now a gutsy plaint. He was at one with the ensemble, the interplay between them spot on, and his cadenza was wild and turbulent. The rich and strange final few bars, the supporting strings vibrato-less, like viols, were haunting. The whole thing was spectacularly good.
After the interval was Brahms’s String Quartet Op. 51 No. 1, arranged for strings by Max Ruisi. Brahms quartets can withstand this kind of beefing up in a way that Haydn, say, couldn’t, but in some respects the bigger scoring emphasises the thickness of Brahms’s writing. In the middle two movements, where things are lighter and more playful, the 12 Ensemble’s contrapuntal lines emerged with clarity and charm. But the outer movements, although stormy and intense, were also just a bit exhausting.
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