Danish String Quartet review – captivating performance from a world-class group

The quartet communicated intimately and naturally in a programme of music by Shostakovich, Ravel and Stravinsky

A hushed chord sustained by the second violin, viola and cello. Fragments of a melody played as a distant memory by the first violin, which reached slowly upwards to a final crystalline harmonic. Pizzicato, diminuendo, silence. In this captivating performance by the Danish String Quartet, stillness settled over the closing portion of Shostakovich’s String Quartet No 3 in F Op 73 like heavy snow. Bow changes became impossibly seamless. The quartet’s silken tone appeared to exude eerily, disconnected from the basic friction of hair on string.

Such quiet control was all the more striking in the wake of jagged, impassioned solo interjections, deeply incised octave unisons and phrases pursued as if the musicians’ survival depended on it. There was articulation so spiky it was percussive – all contact, no resonance – and passages that sounded symphonic in their velveteen richness. Yet there were also moments of polite levity and luminous classicism. The atmospheric gearshifts were sometimes imperceptibly gradual, sometimes violent, but rarely visible: beyond describing itself as “relatively bearded”, the Danish String Quartet is not an ensemble given to choreographed spectacle.

They were, announced violist Asbjørn Nørgaard, thrilled to be back at Wigmore Hall, “this church of chamber music with the best sound in the world”. And you could tell. They played Stravinsky’s Suite italienne (arranged themselves) as a showcase of what a truly world-class quartet can do with the Hall’s acoustic. The work’s rococo twiddles were neat and outrageously classy. Tremolo was served on ice, its melancholic impact immediate. Descant lines were picked out sweet and bright. The quartet relished the squelchiest moments of Stravinsky’s neoclassical harmonic palette, the spare duet that opened the last movement and the sun-saturated warmth into which it blossomed.

After the interval, Ravel’s String Quartet in F saw another switch of palette. There was spacious, unforced nattiness, diaphanous shimmers and scrubbing with the harsh intensity of swarming insects. A handful of instants when ensemble or intonation briefly wavered stood out, inevitably, in such exquisitely polished surroundings. But elsewhere the four musicians seemed to communicate so intimately – so naturally – that their playing sounded like a single, 16-string instrument.