To close the weekend, the Emersons drew from the shadows the dark chills of Shostakovich‘s final quartet, the work the group had played last spring at UCLA at the core of the remarkable Noise of Time theatrical event. Even alone onstage, the work is pure theater: deep, pained melodic utterances that well up from a profound impulse beyond reckoning; a sculpture formed at the edge of silence. At the end these four marvelous musicians held the audience in a long time of responsorial silence, and the birds of Ojai framed the moment with their own golden thread. Then we all piled into our cars and made it back to reality.
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