The Idumea Quartet – More Than One
Penny Fiddle Records – 9 April 2020
Plain facts first: The Idumea Quartet is in terms of formation and instrumental complement a classical string quartet, that most hallowed of chamber music ensembles. It comprises two violinists (fiddle players Jane Rothfield and Ewan Macdonald), a viola player (Becka Wolfe), and a cellist (Nathan Bontrager). But wait – these players are also steeped – and I mean steeped! – in Appalachian folk music, a background which they proudly share. Indeed, all of the quartet members except Ewan also sing – in which connection, we note, the very name of their group is taken from Song 47b in the Sacred Harp text (the most fundamental of the sources of the early American choral music tradition). So this unique blend of influences pretty much marks them apart from other groups, and yet their special fusion also feels so amazingly, totally natural.
You could say that The Idumea Quartet’s avowed mission is to bring the traditional Appalachian folk repertoire into willing and engaging conversation with the chamber music aesthetic. Meaning that they don’t just cover folk tunes and songs by uploading or overlaying a different (or ostensibly alien) musical idiom just for the sake of being agit or radical. In other words (without making it all sound negative or wilfully disruptive), they deconstruct and reassemble Appalachian folk music using their practical skills and experience in the milieu of the classical string quartet, both informed and influenced by their deep love for, understanding of, and intuitive response to, both the folk tradition and the tradition of the wider classical string quartet repertoire. Their method and performance also differ from the conventional classical string quartet in image as well as in practice, in that there’s a pronounced sense of fun and dynamism about their playing, which stems also from the extension of their playing through the integration of voices and words (lyrics) – not in the rarefied, overly cultured (and sometimes quite staid) Lieder idiom, but as a living, breathing expression of the song tradition, and almost always brilliantly harmonised to boot.
The individual track durations will give something of an indication of the potentially “halfway-house” nature of the Idumea Quartet’s musical ethos – most of the nine tracks weigh in at between six and seven minutes, which turns out an ideal length for the development and exposition of the chosen material without being structurally over-formal and without shortchanging in expressive depth. This principle applies whether the basic source material is a song or tune (or indeed an intelligent and carefully coordinated aggregation of both).
The opening track, a “little medley of sorts”, combines two staples of the old-time repertoire (Falls Of Richmond and Grub Springs) in an ingenious arrangement that begins in animated pizzicato then swaggers and swings along and ahead before indulging in what with tongue firmly in cheek is referred to as “intentional” polytonality for the repeat of the second tune. Then comes the first of the disc’s songs, a truly delicious rendition of the quintessential transatlantic folk ballad Silver Dagger, in which a meltingly beautiful lyrical prelude inexorably ushers in Becka’s plaintive rendition of the lyric, subsequently joined by Nathan’s telling high harmonies and wonderfully expressive cello solo. Absolutely magic.
There’s complete contrast again thereafter, with Fall On My Knees, a particularly spirited example of a “vocal tune” (another of the staple forms of the modern old-time repertoire), the quartet audibly paying homage to the Round Peak style of fiddle/banjo duo Tommy Jarrell and Fred Cockerham who popularised the tune on their 1968 LP. Here it’s sung by Nathan, who also leads the lyrical ritardando section midway before the pace picks up again; a nicely harmonised vocal coda then provides a cool conclusion to the track.
We then come to the album’s shortest item (at 4½ minutes), Sports Are Sports, which is the first of two première recordings of original tunes by Jane, herself a celebrated tunesmith in the Old-Time world. In essence, it’s a kind of musical interlude, in character a distinctly light-hearted pandemonium, rough-and-tumble fun that at times bears something of a kinship with the Raymond Scott (Looney Tunes) school of cartoon soundtrack music. Music for the confirmed ludophobe, methinks!…
The two most interesting tracks, in my opinion, form the epicentre of the disc. First up, there’s Cluck Old Hen – and yes, it’s that one, which sure happens to be one of the most-often-played tunes within the whole old-time corpus. But I almost guarantee you’ll not have heard it played like this – here the Idumea Quartet slow it right down and set the tune and text in a minor key, thus turning it from the time-honoured good old “foot-stomping celebration of poultry” into “an introspective, brooding elegy for a soon-to-be-departed hen”, during which the sung portion gives way to a tune (The King’s Barrows) by English bagpipe specialist Andy Letcher (of Telling The Bees), which is then developed and sounded in parallel before the track draws to a close with a more animated reprise of the song.
The album’s most intense (and intensely rewarding) track, however, is And Am I Born To Die?, which takes on the role of majestic quartet slow movement (and thus the album’s emotional core), with a mood that falls somewhere between a dirge and a march. Devotees of the movie Cold Mountain will remember the pairing of its Wesleyan text with the Idumea tune, one of the most haunting in the entire Sacred Harp tradition with its characteristic elements (pentatonic melody and open harmonies) and itself bearing more than a passing resemblance to the contours of Amazing Grace. It’s first sung with an almost unearthly, chilling purity by Becka, then even more chillingly harmonised. A spectral violin solo with calm drone accompaniment takes us into a realm of stillness (harking back to the adagio of Schubert’s C major Quintet maybe), then the melody is reinforced in wandering counterpoint, replaced by grinding cello power chords and a final fiery, full-throated vocal reprise of the hymn. Magnificent. And there are still three tracks to go!…
Carthy Hoose is the second of Jane’s original offerings – so named because the tune took shape in the kitchen of the Waterson-Carthy family, long-time friends and musical inspirations to Jane. The fulsome, luxurious ensemble sound builds from a quite leisurely beginning to a homespun hoedown-cum-breakdown tune that enjoys companionable part-sharing before scaling itself down with sul-ponticello harmonics to a repeated pizzicato figure that eventually runs out of steam. Steam, however, is a feature of penultimate track Sally Ann, with its choppy, chugging motoric motion and layered opposing rhythms that seem to derive from the minimalist school. This is the ideal, and natural, propulsion for this archetypal fiddle tune, here partly transformed into a suitably gutsy and energetic variant of the shanty Hog-Eye Man, which gathers momentum as it rides on down the track (so to speak). Mississippi fiddle tune Sullivan’s Hollow provides the source of the disc’s final selection, first outed on twin fiddles; again it makes a virtue of being slowed down and transposed (away from its joyous home key of D into A); apparently, Ewan was inspired to create this arrangement by his experience with Highland pipe tunes, and the liner notes point to the similarity with the Renaissance cantus firmus base technique. The wonderfully rich texture and the resultant harmonically fluctuating tapestry is truly exhilarating and leaves an indelible impression.
As does the whole of this CD, a compelling listen from beginning to end. I’ve rarely if ever come across an ensemble that possesses such a pronounced empathy with – and tremendous expertise in – ostensibly disparate musical sensibilities (I hesitate to use the word “disciplines”), on something of an equal footing as it were: the directly feet-first and “high lonesome” twin poles of the Appalachian old-time experience and the aesthetically formalised, even austere ambit of classical and minimalist chamber music. Here, the inordinate beauty of both musical “camps” melds together inextricably to deliver one of the most enchanting and satisfying albums I’m bound to hear this year.
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