Talent this strong doesn't need amplication
by John Petric for The Other Paper
Published: Wednesday, October 21, 2009 5:34 PM EDT

As Monty Python’s Flying Circus used to say, “And now for something completely different.” 
 
Class, today’s column will not be about narcissistic punk rock. It shan’t be about life-affirming soul music. Nor about violent, misogynistic rap. It’s not remotely about bowels-scrubbing death metal, either. 
 
It is about, ahem, chamber music, you classical music illiterates.
 
For I have taken it upon myself to enlighten myself, to raise my brow as it were, and therefore to enlighten you and raise your preternaturally low brow (I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that­hideous!).
 
Here’s the scoop: I went to the beautiful Southern Theatre Saturday night to hear the Ying String Quartet, originally from Chicago and in their third decade of a world-domination tour, so to speak.
 
These four cats can play. You hand ’em a piece by any dead white freak, and they’ll turn that shit out, man. Saturday night, in all honesty, was a fantastical musical experience. More culturing than Cedar Point.
 
I’ve always had a thing about chamber music, especially since the sixth grade when Mary Magnee had a crush on me and she played the cello in the school orchestra. However you get there is the right path, the Tao says. 
 
Now I’ve got a thing about the Ying. So let’s get it on.
 
Because they sure did: two violins, a viola and a cello. And no ordinary cello. A beautiful cello. Well, all cellos are beautiful to me, but this one, played by David Ying, resonated mostly unamplified in the smallish, intimate theater, and I, even sitting in the last row on the floor, felt and loved the instrument.
 
As the musicians began by delicately strolling through Beethoven’s Quartet in C major, Op.59, No. 3(composed in 1806), I was awestruck by their focused intensity. They may have been sitting, but crikey, when ol’ Ludwig’s score got intense, you should’ve seen them physically express it while sitting there. I was riveted, I was. 
 
This phenomenon happened time and again throughout their two 40-minute sets. I found it exciting as hell, that musicians could get so intense without, you know, stage diving or throwing up.
 
Next up was the Quartet in A Major, Op. 41, No. 3 by Robert Schuman, and I don’t care what anyone says, that guy is a bitch. To play, I mean. As TYQ took this complicated yet emotional composer on, one knew one was in the presence of genius times four.
 
As the strings of the Yings revealed a multifaceted, ever-shifting compositional focus, they went from semi-somber to aggressive, then melodically strait-laced and then alternately moody and then declarative. On and on it went, like one helluva high-brow party train, and I was thrilled to be along for the ride.
 
Did I understand it? Hmmm, fair question. I grasped that it was a whole lotta notes played with a whole lotta finesse and maybe even a whole lotta love. Did it take me somewhere I’ve never been? Yes, over the rainbow and back, on a Saturday night, with no hangover the following morning. Totally excellent, dude.
 
The Yings sort of remind me of the Ramones, how they cleverly each sport the last name of Ying. Except that Tim Ying no longer plays with them, having been replaced on violin by Frank Huang. So technically, they ought to be called Three Yings and a Huang, which would be much more entertainment-oriented than the stuffy current moniker.
 
If they really want to make the switch from cult heroes and attract listeners under the age of 95, I suggest they get some amps, an emo/freak folk guitarist and a manager named Marv Diamond. Then can this classical shit and do a Phish string tribute. Box office gold.
 
But until then, they offer a very, very nice way to spend a Saturday night, if for no other reason than the opportunity to be part of an audience that’s so attentive you could’ve heard a church mouse fart.