In Full Bloom

Let it be said immediately that the Miró Quartet played a stunningly good concert. A stunningly good concert. They appeared on Wednesday night at Alice Tully Hall, under the auspices of the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center.

They were born at Oberlin College, this string quartet, in 1995. And, as you might have guessed, they are named after the artist. But why? That I can't tell you — maybe they simply thought that Miró was a cool name.

At Alice Tully Hall, they played three works, all nicely balanced. The first was the String Quartet No.3 in E flat by Juan Crisóstomo de Arriaga. Who's he? He is an amazing story, and a sad one. He was born in 1806 near Bilbao, and died in Paris in 1826. Yes, he died before his 20th birthday. And he was a real whiz, appointed a teacher at the Paris Conservatory when he was 18.

His String Quartet No. 3 is poised, imaginative, and generally delicious. One can imagine what he would have done with a few more years. By comparison, Mozart's 35 years seem extravagantly generous.

Why were the Miró people stunningly good? First of all, their unity. Very, very seldom do you hear such unity in stringquartet playing. It's hard to avoid the cliché, "They played as one." Even in their hesitations, they were utterly together, and that was true all evening long. So, an A for ensembleship.

And for most everything else. They played the first movement of the Arriaga tastefully — respectfully — but heartily. They know that Classicism is not daintiness. Every voice was clear, and intonation was consistently right.

The second movement is marked Pastorale, and it sounded exactly like its name. It was even sentimental, in the positive sense of that word. And later in the movement, there was a darkling intensity, which made you shiver a little. The ensuing minuet was spirited and playful, and the final movement, Presto agitato, was both nervous and composed at the same time. Strange, and appropriate.

Next on the bill was a Shostakovich quartet — his 14th, in F sharp, written in 1973, two years before the composer's death. This work shows his perfect craftsmanship, and much else.

Before the Miró played the piece, something happened — and not something to celebrate. The violist, John Largess, started to talk. They can't help themselves, can they? They all talk, these musicians. They just can't help lecturing from the stage.

Mr. Largess said that Shostakovich's String Quartet No. 14 had never before been played under Chamber Music Society auspices. Who cares? But the audience, weirdly enough, applauded. Then he launched a discussion of the piece. In the future, we might as well dispense with program notes altogether, since the they are essentially spoken from the stage. And nothing, in my opinion, spoils a musical evening so much as talking.

That said, Mr. Largess was at least loud and clear, which many musicians aren't. You would think their training, and general theatrical awareness, would dictate otherwise.

When the playing at last began, the Miró again showed their unity. And they exhibited an intensity that did not spill over into a hammy madness. This group played naturally, with each member soloistic, when called on to be.

The cellist, Joshua Gindele, was richtoned and nimble, and the first violinist, Daniel Ching, tossed off his lines with real flair. But at the beginning of the second movement — Adagio — Mr. Ching set flair aside: He played Shostakovich's melody with a wondrous simplicity and lack of ego. All through this work, from everyone, Shostakovich was speaking, and not so much the four onstage.

The Miró effected the transition to the final movement, Allegretto, with a becoming matter-of-factness. And, as the music continued, each player talked plainly and beautifully. If you wanted to fault this performance, I don't know how you would do it.

To end the program? Dvorak's last string quartet, that in A flat, Op. 105. By this time, we knew we were in sure hands, so we could simply sit back and enjoy Dvorak. The Miró would do nothing stupid; they would do virtually everything that was right.

Throughout this work, the players were both Romantic and tidy. They brought out Dvorak's folk elements without going nuts with them. They also brought out one of the composer's signature qualities: a merry melancholy. The slow movement, Lento e molto cantabile, had a smoothness and warmth that made this music as pleasurable as it has ever been. The players sighed with their portamento, and you had to sigh, too.

Let's hope that this group — a young group — never splits up, and never grows pretentious. And bear in mind that they are but one of many excellent string quartets, many of which are young. A month ago, the Chamber Music Society presented the Daedalus Quartet, and they were as good as the Miró. Really, the world is awash in string quartets. And chamber music at large is booming.

But don't tell the Death of Classical Music crowd. It would upset them greatly — I know from experience — and they have so much invested in their beliefs.