Oberlin

There was a point in Ravel's Introduction et Allegro at Oberlin's "Ravel: Intimate Masterpieces" concert Tuesday night when harpist Yolanda Kondonassis, left alone in the limelight, plucked a melody in harmonics and echoed it in pitch, an octave down: a heaven reflecting earth. Ravel's unique tonal world never fails to allure.

To kick off this year's Artist Recital Series at Oberlin College & Conservatory, Kondonassis, professor of harp, was joined by a host of faculty and alumni, including soprano Elie Dehn '02, pianist Spencer Meyer '00, flute professor Alexa Still, clarinet professor Richard Hawkins, and in-residence Jupiter String Quartet, who returned to adoring home fans at Finney Chapel.

The Jupiter's performance of Ravel's String Quartet in F Major (1903) was received by the crowd's sigh of amazement when they flung their bows in the air after the screaming tonic chord that wraps the piece.

They were much like painters flinging their brushes, though, and they really moved when they played. I was reminded of Matisse's famous painting The Dance, of five nude figures dancing in a circle, each at different points in their turn, summing to a breathtaking synergy. The Jupiters launched the music out of "classical" and into a more all-embracing "art." Their rendering was an enthralling feast, appropriate for their diverse audience: young and old, musicians and otherwise.

Especially moving was the slow movement, Très lent, in which violist Liz Frievogel '00 discovered the sun-scorched blues of Ravel's music with her heaving, sighing solos. In its development, the upper voices took on the form of a jellyfish around the understated cellist Dan McDonough, who again proved himself a consummate chamber player - he wowed us last year in the Jupiter's performances of quartets by Berg, Schubert, Britten, and Brahms.

Nelson Lee's selfless, levelheaded playing is rare for a first violinist, and is especially true to Ravel's compositional equity, allowing second violinist Meg Frievogel's detailed intensity to shine.

After the intermission came more lectures from theory professors James O'Leary and Sigrun Heinzelmann, at which point we were to accept that they would give us an unabashed academic take on each piece. Although Obies are known for loving to share their passions with each other, their "light" analytical, historical, and cultural guides extended the concert a full hour. They even played mp3 samples to connect the dots of Ravel's thematic material for us before it was performed. Illuminating as it may have been, it's disrespectful to the musicians who would probably not like to be compared to a recording, even if it's theirs, just before they take the stage.

Cinq mélodies populaires grecques (1906), a song set of five simple images, all less than three minutes, showcased Kondonassis' musicianship, amazingly acute on every level - collaboratively, stylistically, but above all, rhythmically, selling the harp as the world's most musical percussion instrument.

The fearless Dehn glowed here, but her fall of innocence into the more impressive and sophisticated Chansons madécasses (1926) saw her swooping from low murmurs to alarmingly high cries in a terrific telling of the exotic text. Beside her, Meyer rumbled, McDonough lamented, and Still croaked and jabbed like a territorial animal.

Introduction et Allegro (1905), the most celebratory piece on the program, felt like an encore and tied a beautiful bow around the evening. Kondonassis' brilliant glissandi spun us into her web, and the radiant warmth of the ensemble - Jupiters plus Still and Hawkins - created an aural fireplace. Finney Chapel might never feel the same again. Thank Ravel for the masterpieces, Kondonassis and friends for the intimacy.