Two quintets took to the stage this evening at the Violin Museum for STRADIVARIfestival, set against one another to portray the mother of all dichotomies: the irreconcilable conflict between the “natural” and the “artificial.”

An ensemble of outstanding musicians chose to juxtapose Franz Schubert’s Trout Quintet with Johannes Brahms’s Piano Quintet in G minor, Op. 25, transcribed by Arnold Schoenberg for symphony orchestra and, for this occasion, “re-transcribed” into an original version for piano quintet. In other words, on the one hand, we have one of Schubert’s most beloved chamber music masterpieces, imbued with spontaneous, exuberant freshness; on the other, a complex, multilayered composition, the equivalent of a paradoxical prompt given to an artificial intelligence: “Transcribe a piano quintet for string quartet and piano, but only after reimagining it for a large symphony orchestra.”

Schubert and Brahms are closely connected composers, united by their struggle with the imposing shadow of Beethoven. Schubert intuited that the measurement of time was intertwined with the very structure of the tonal universe, and found an escape route in the ferment of Viennese folk music—a melting pot of ethnic traditions from which he drew liberally, both in his phrasing and in his blending of classical forms with popular idioms.

Brahms followed the same path, which was evidently not without its obstacles and seems to have found little favour with the audiences and critics of his time. One severe contemporary reviewer wrote of Brahms’s music:

“Passages upon passages devoid of any clear tonality, wandering through the gates of modulations, around the corners of accidentals and through chromatic labyrinths leading nowhere in particular, save to the realm of vertigo... One sees the man at work rather than the result of his labour. The digressions are like the paths of a labyrinth: they bewilder the visitor seeking a place to rest, only for his gaze to fall everywhere upon screens of counterpoint.”

And yet it was precisely in transcending this apparent labyrinth that the evening reached its heights of excellence.

The quintet of exceptional musicians—Rosanne Philippens (violin), Sara Ferrández (viola), Alban Gerhardt (cello), Edicson Ruiz (double bass) and Thomas Hoppe (piano)—performed the programme with transparent rapport and impeccable technical mastery.

In their interpretation of The Trout, the ensemble succeeded in capturing all the melodic warmth and spontaneity of Schubert’s inspiration. Hoppe’s piano playing, crystal-clear and brilliant (it hardly sounded like the Fazioli we are accustomed to hearing), engaged in perfect symmetry with Philippens’s expressive phrasing and the beautiful, finely sculpted tone of her violin. Their musical conversation unfolded in constant exchange with the velvety timbre of Ferrández’s viola, supported by the embracing lines of Gerhardt’s singing cello and Ruiz’s deep, never intrusive yet remarkably supple double bass.

The ensemble shone in its extraordinary responsiveness to the sudden shifts in musical texture that abound in Schubert’s score. Beyond the daring modulations that are the Viennese composer’s inimitable trademark, the motivic development moved from islands of rich, mellow lyricism to sharply dotted rhythms that quite literally had the audience bouncing in their seats, before captivating them with the interweaving lines and “sublime lengths” that never cease to enchant in the countless gems scattered throughout Schubert’s repertoire.

The fourth movement showcased the pianist’s artistry. Hoppe drew the audience’s attention through his musical intelligence and absolute control of tone, articulation and dynamics—a command shared fully by the entire ensemble—as he led the variations on the celebrated Lied that gives the quintet its name. It was almost a jam session avant la lettre, with each instrumentalist enjoying their own moment in the spotlight as they took up the melody, accompanied by their fellow musicians.

The trout pond was rendered so convincingly that a real, buzzing fly circled above the musicians throughout the performance...

In the intricate hall of mirrors that is Brahms’s quintet, the ensemble once again demonstrated extraordinary mastery of balance and dynamics. The evocation of colour and volume never came at the expense of the music’s intimate chamber character. The five performers guided listeners through the labyrinthine intricacies of Brahmsian counterpoint with geometric clarity and overwhelming emotional intensity.

The intense lyricism of the parallel melodies in the Andante con moto was particularly captivating. The famous closing Rondo alla Zingarese then burst forth in a relentless display of virtuosity—a wild, feverish whirlwind worthy of the most memorable evenings at the Red Hedgehog (Zum roten Igel), Brahms’s favourite Viennese tavern, to which we owe so much of his immortal music. It was the crowning moment of a concert to treasure, in which the naturalness of song merged with the refined artifice of grand formal architecture.

The large, enthusiastic audience greeted the artists with prolonged, heartfelt applause.

Photographs by Francesco Sessa Ventura.