The Arditti open this stimulating and well-balanced programme of twentieth-century string quartets with one of the undisputed (and probably most influential) masterpieces of its genre—Bartok's Fourth. Whenever I hear this work I never cease to be amazed at the ease with which the composer manages to combine the vigorous, formidable and intellectual concepts that lie behind its construction with the beautifully assured sense of flow and continuity that surely (along with its melodic content) contribute to its overall ease of comprehension. And what an astonishingly varied work it is, too! Just about every technique one can think of can be found within its pages. Personally I would rate this performance among one of the finest in the catalogue, despite some extremely stiff competition from the Alban Berg (EMI—part of a three-CD set), Emerson (DG—a Gramophone Award-winning two-disc set) and Lindsay Quartets (ASV—again, three discs). The Arditti deliver the knotty opening Allegro with a fine sense of propulsive energy, and the mysterious scurryings of the muted second movement are also well caught (of all the movements this has always struck me as the most prophetic). Indeed, there are many impressive moments in this performance, though I was particularly impressed by Rohan de Saram's intensely searching and beautifully executed cello solos in the Non troppo lento movement.
Gubaidulina's Third String Quartet dates from 1987 and like the Bartok challenges the listener, both intellectually and emotionally. There are similarities in formal approach as well, though in this case the work is cast in a single movement divided into two contrasting sections—the first is uncompromisingly 'abstract' in its semantics without being inaccessible; its opening mysterious left-hand finger percussions gradually evolve into a dialogue of ping-pong-ball-like pizzicatos that bounce back and forth between the instruments as though accompanying a comic cartoon scenario. The second section, in contrast to the first, makes use of exclusively bowed techniques and opens with a striking crepuscular chord which paves the way for a more emotionally intense atmosphere of melodic solos and hymn-like sequences, before finally disappearing into the rarefied upper registers of each instrument.
Schnittke's Second Quartet is dedicated to the memory of the Soviet film director Larissa Shepitko and as such is a deeply moving, and at times grief-stricken, lament of extraordinary intensity. The finest movement, and certainly the emotional core of the quartet, is the turbulent and storm-tossed second which shares a certain resemblance to the sound-worlds of Part and Shostakovich. Superb, authoritative performances and excellent sound-quality make this disc a must for anyone interested in the development of twentieth-century string-quartet writing.'