It was a good idea to group together these works written between 1820 and 1826 and thus belonging to the last seven years of Schubert's horrifyingly short life, and to get them on to two generously filled discs. But they don't make for comfortable listening, for though they are characteristically rich in melody, there is often also a sombre passion and a brooding tension that occasionally brings an alarming outburst, such as the explosions in the Andante un poco moto of the final G major Quartet, which have no close parallel in quartet music until we reach Bartok a century later. (I think that he, in a corresponding movement of his Fifth Quartet, probably consciously borrowed the violent minor-third motif here.) On the other hand, the tender Viennese warmth that was always Schubert's is also to be found, and the opposing pulls of Gemutlichkeit and panic terror create an atmosphere unique in chamber music.
The Melos Quartet, in their second foray into this repertoire on record, launch the first disc with the violent fortissimo attack that begins the D minor Quartet, and very exciting it is too; on the other hand, I'm not so convinced by the pp bars which immediately follow, because they drop to an unmarked slower tempo. Still, theirs is a compelling account of this big first movement that successfully blends the fearful vigour of the first subject and its associated music with the major-mode, lilting gentleness of the second (starting at 1'53''). It almost goes without saying, nowadays, that they observe the exposition repeat, and with the repetition of these 140 bars the exposition lasts nearly nine minutes and the movement as a whole takes 15'30'', though there are emphatically no longueurs in such urgent music and the coda (13'54''), though on the slow side, smoulders finely before bursting into fire.
There is rather too short a pause before the slow movement, which is in variation form and based on the song which gave the quartet its nickname. But the playing has the right sad, hushed beauty, and the Melos allow us to appreciate the constantly varying dynamics as well as the fine textures, e.g. in the somewhat agitated Variation 2, where each instrument has its own rhythmic shape and melodic contour. Perhaps this is the place, too, to say that the recording, made in a French location at Arles, is well balanced, with the right degree of resonance and the natural, unforced string sound (whether raw or tender) that is so important in this music. In this movement, I would only wish for the still greater dynamic range that would allow us to note Schubert's intended difference between the pianissimo of the opening and the mysterious ppp of the last 20 bars. But the rest of this powerful work goes well, and the final Presto has enough pace and urgency to sound like the deathly, Erl King-like pursuit which the composer surely meant it to be. The players even keep a touch of extra speed in reserve for the Prestissimo coda. This is virtuoso quartet playing, properly used.
I have spent much of my space on this masterwork, and so must be briefer with the others. In any case, they do not disappoint. The radiantly melodious yet sorrowful A minor Quartet is eloquent but never overstated. The G major Quartet is perhaps the most remarkable of all, judged as a dramatic, not to say enigmatic, Schubertian personal document or even a kind of testiment; the composer himself only heard the first movement performed (in March 1828) and the whole work was not played in public until 1850. Here again, I have only praise for this performance, which seems to me to reveal the wounded heart of the work although the Allegro assai finale is taken a trace more unhurriedly than one might expect. Indeed, these are performances of distinction, based, I suspect, on the Melos's long experience of playing these three great quartets and the earlier but no less fine Quartettsatz in public. They may be warmly recommended to collectors seeking a version of this music and even to those who already possess good ones.'