Chamber Music Tulsa: The Maxwell Quartet
LowDown
November 21, 2025
It never fails to amaze me what musicians can do when disaster strikes.
Last Friday night’s chamber music concert by The Maxwell Quartet was supposed to consist of the Haydn Quartet in D Major and some folk tunes, all in the cozy atmosphere of LowDown. The Maxwell Quartet hails from Scotland, so I was looking forward to a meaty first half with the Haydn and a lighter second half with the folk music.
Before the show, I chatted with Bruce Sorrell, Chamber Music Tulsa’s executive director, and asked for his thoughts on the concert to come. He said he felt that groups who play folk music as well as the traditional classical repertoire have a marvelous understanding of the literature, that their folk music performance lends richness and depth to their classical pieces. I tend to agree—and these guys are Scottish, where the folk music is legendary.
The Maxwell Quartet last played here in 2022, and Tulsans evidently remembered them, because LowDown was packed. A few minutes before the concert was supposed to begin, the musicians surprised us by bustling through the venue’s front door, carrying instruments and gear, rushing through the seating area, and disappearing backstage. They looked flustered. Also, there were only three of them.
Then Sorrell came onstage and broke the news to us: the musicians had caught a cab here directly from the airport; their flights had been delayed by weather; and the first violinist (the quarterback of any classical music ensemble, for you sports fans) was stuck at the Phoenix airport. The Maxwell Quartet would be the Maxwell Trio for the evening. Not only that, but they were ditching the Haydn. It would be a full evening of folk music, not the elegant soirée I had anticipated.
The musicians came out to friendly applause, wearing (gasp) the clothes they'd had on when they walked in off the street. Being hip young musicians—specifically, bearded guys in jeans—they did look amazing. I’m not complaining.
They sheepishly and adorably apologized for being late and for their missing violinist, but said they’d do their best with the folk music. Minus their quarterback, I was concerned that the sound would be thin, or that the three remaining musicians would forget to cover all the first violinist’s solos, or that they would be jetlagged and tired and hungry.
But no. The moment the trio began the first reel, the audience was transported to a pub in Scotland. The dim lighting, the drinks and little candles on our tables, the crowded room: it all reminded me so much of my trips to that country. Suddenly I was but a wee lassie, huddled with friends against the dreary weather.
They played lullabies, reels, jigs, laments. They took turns telling us about each piece, describing the sorrow of a Scottish Romeo and Juliet story where Juliet sings of her lover’s death, or the Waulking Song where women sing as they beat wool into tweed.
The trio did not tire or falter, and we tapped toes or wiped tears away as they led us through wordless tales, tapping into emotions we all feel but might not have experienced lately. The audience, full of friends and strangers side by side, repaid them with breathless attention and enthusiastic applause. None of it was fancy, but it was better: it was human.
