The eight CDs cover a lot of territory. The majority derives from live venues, the Menton Festival, Budapest’s Franz Liszt Academy of Music, and the University of Southern California, in Los Angeles. A few items were recorded on 78s that date as far back as 1937, while a few others were taped and first released on the Concert Hall Society label in the early 1950s. Two items are heard in multiple versions: the Haydn op. 64/5 and the Schubert No. 14, “Death and the Maiden.” (Each is performed both live and in a studio recording.) The three Bartók quartets have an extra, personal dimension, as the Hungarian String Quartet gave the Budapest premiere of the Fifth Quartet. Zoltán Székely, the first violinist of the ensemble for so many years, also gave the first performance of Bartók’s Violin Concerto No. 2.

Stylistically, the Hungarians were very much of the 20th century, at least, its no-nonsense part. Unlike the Léner Quartet, they had little use for portamento, a richly romantic sound, or a heavy use of rubato in music of all periods. The slow movements of the Haydn quartets heard on this album have a gravitas that points ahead to Beethoven, but they don’t luxuriate in warmth. There was a refreshingly unfussy directness to their Mozart, and even their Brahms, as evinced on this release. This paid dividends elsewhere, as well: their Schubert 15th has an intensity that never belies the intrinsically beautiful tone of the four instrumentalists, or their ability to play hair-raisingly difficult passages in tandem. Sentiment doesn’t become unfocused sentimentality, nor does that intensity already mentioned decline into monochromatic grimness, as it was occasionally wont to do with the Busch Quartet.

The Hungarian String Quartet was not usually forced in its pacing or superficial in its interpretations. Unlike numerous modern quartet ensembles, they didn’t try for visceral excitement at every moment, nor did they strive to find a moderate path at all times, pulling back on extremes of tempo, dynamics, and accent. The ensemble heard in these recordings clearly remained alive to the considerable nuances of whatever music they were playing. They stayed flexible, and took each work as they found it; so that while the Scherzo of Beethoven’s Quartet in F, op. 59/1, has a gossamer delicacy that at times brings Mendelssohn to mind, there are also moments in it that recall the slashing vigor of Bartók. Of course, Beethoven wasn’t forecasting either composer. The Hungarians simply found the universe of music inside this particular quartet, and revealed their discoveries for all to hear. We are the greater for that knowledge, achieved without cost to spontaneity.

No string quartet can be all things to all people. The Hungarians were not, to my ears, as effective in the Russian repertoire. Their Tchaikovsky and Glazunov lack the kind of plush euphony and rubato that this music thrives upon, and which the Shostakovich and Borodin Quartets supplied in spades. Even the celebrated andante cantabile of Tchaikovsky’s First quartet comes across as expertly done (the unison softness and cantabile playing is exquisite) but merely pleasant in effect. The Dvořák, too, is unidiomatic, as Harris Goldsmith in his liner notes admits. He writes that the Hungarian’s “finesse is its own vindication,” and I would agree that finesse can get you very far; but it can’t by itself turn an expert translation of poetry into the real thing.

Székely misses the mark in the Glazunov Violin Concerto, too, though in this case, I’m simply delighted to hear him: there are few instances of Székely as soloist currently available on CD, the Bartók Second violin concerto notwithstanding. He’s suave and intelligent, and offers numerous subtle touches throughout (especially in the third movement, so often treated as a simple display of tone and fireworks), but projects a subdued personality. I’m certain to listen to it again, but I can’t say I find it the equal of Heifetz or Oistrakh. Live performances, of course, can’t be compared for technical polish to studio ones. There is no ability to create alternate takes, or stop a recording and move a microphone. As a result, there are some brief gaffes on many of these selections. The surprising thing is how few are heard, however, and how extraordinarily accomplished the Hungarian String Quartet was. The wonderfully hushed fleetness of the finale from Haydn’s Quartet in D Major, op. 64/5, is a tour de force actually heard to better advantage in the live recording than in the studio one, for the palpable excitement of the occasion. It also sounds better. With a very slight loss of high frequencies, the live material is uniformly excellent. The studio material is variable, the Glazunov concerto showing the greatest wear, at least at the start of the recording. Even so, it is in fine shape.

Music & Arts has also supplied fine notes by Harris Goldsmith. They betray some problems of transition in detailing the ensemble’s history, but otherwise furnish a well-considered review of the Hungarian’s various efforts, here, with sidelights on their other releases. (The comment about the Juilliard’s Bartók recordings making the music sound like Elliot Carter raised a good laugh both for its simile and truth.) Factor in some good interview excerpts featuring Fred Maroth speaking with selected members of the ensemble, and you have not merely a must-have for all chamber music enthusiasts, but a 2005 Want List entry of mine.

Barry Brenesal, FANFARE