SCHUBERT String Quintet in C major, D. 956
Brandis Quartet; Jörg Baumann (cello)
Teldec APEX 09274 08332 [54:56]
Mozart’s string quintets—those with the extra viola—stand as monuments at the summit of his chamber music. Schubert, dying at thirty-one, chose the darker sonority of a second cello for his own valedictory essay in the form.
The choice was everything. Written in the last weeks of his life (probably September 1828, though we can’t be certain), the C major Quintet asks questions that go beyond mere instrumentation. Those two cellos rarely double each other for weight or emphasis—that would be too simple, too obvious….
Instead Schubert sends one soaring into the tenor register while the other plumbs depths the viola can’t reach, creating a spatial dimension, a kind of vertical landscape that opens up harmonic vistas Mozart never imagined. The pizzicato-versus-arco contrasts add another layer: sometimes it’s a gentle rhythmic punctuation, sometimes a ghostly commentary from another world. The Brandis Quartet and Jörg Baumann understand this architecture.
Their tempi are generally broad—some will find them too broad—but they never lose the thread, never let the music sag into mere contemplation. This is active music-making, even in repose. The first movement’s great paragraphs unfold with a sense of inevitability — yet there’s always a feeling that something unexpected might happen around the next corner.
Dynamic shadings are carefully calibrated, not as cosmetic touches but as structural markers. You hear the music breathing. That slow movement.
God — what music. The Brandis players sustain those long lines without a hint of strain, and—crucially—they observe Schubert’s actual markings in the middle section. He doesn’t ask for a tempo change here, though many performers can’t resist the temptation.
The shift is one of character, of color, not of pulse. Getting this right makes all the difference, and they get it right. The "finale"’s rhythmic bite provides necessary contrast, though even here the ensemble never sacrifices sonority for mere propulsion.
These are players who’ve thought deeply about the work’s proportions, about how its four movements create a single dramatic arc. The technical command is formidable—intonation secure even in the most treacherous passages, ensemble precision that sounds effortless but obviously isn’t. The 1987 Teldec album serves them well, capturing the full range of timbral possibilities without spotlighting individual players unnecessarily.
When those pizzicati need to register, they register. When the two cellos separate into their different registers, you hear the space between them. This is a crowded catalog—the Quintet has attracted distinguished interpreters from the Busch Quartet onwards—but the Brandis account deserves to be heard alongside the best of them.
At budget price, it’s almost ridiculous not to investigate. The booklet is poorly designed, yes, and — well — unnecessarily difficult to read. But you’re not buying the booklet.
You can almost hear the rosin dust settling on the strings.
You’re buying one of the great chamber works, played with eloquence, intelligence, and that rarest of qualities: the ability to make familiar music sound freshly conceived.
