Landsberg – Ligeti's String Quartet No. 2 begins with silence: a general pause of eight seconds.
When the first note emerges from the plucked strings in the library hall on Sunday, that is the prelude to 20 challenging minutes.
Which the Cologne Minguet Quartet masters with at least as much passion as the works by Haydn and Schubert that frame Ligeti.
His quartet is "interconnected underground, there are secret correspondences, almost rhymes, all five movements are present at the same time, so to speak," said Ligeti about his work.
What runs through the quartet is Ligeti's play with the timbres of the string instruments.
Plucking, hitting, rubbing, bowing, plus all areas between fortissimo and pianissimo to silence: how loud can a pizzicato be, how softly can a string be struck so that only overtones, just a noise, can be heard?
But Ligeti also weaves patterns of movement into his composition: a floating, long tone that is extremely dissonant due to micro-intervals, into which confused footsteps creep.
Or in "come un meccanismo di precisione" a tone that bounces off several times like a ball and 'runs out'.
The avant-garde artist, born in 1923 and who died in 2006, plays with all the means at his disposal.
And composes clusters of sounds that can also be heard in the film “2001 – A Space Odyssey”.
In contrast to Ligeti's technical playfulness is Haydn's string quartet in F major, in particular the Andante with rich, almost humming 'feel-good chords' and a melody that Haydn obviously didn't want to let go of either and which is why she sounds like a magician again at the end of the movement the bag pulls and varies.
Schubert's "Death and the Maiden", on the other hand, takes up Ligeti's 'play instinct' – but not by playing with the technique, but by testing out melodies and variations.
The Minguet Quartet begins quickly and calmly.
But the voices quickly become free, bathe in contrast to the minor and major melody and test the maximum possible dynamics.
During the Andante, Ulrich Isfort lets his violin sing.
And when the melody transitions into the cello, Matthias Diener almost seems to be dancing.
An emotional turmoil from hitherto (1824) unheard.
And with the Minguet Quartet an unparalleled pleasure.
