If I learned one thing during my years of music school, it is this puzzling phenomenon: with the exception of bassists, "Classical" string players are not prone to improvisation. They can take a score of virtuosic Tartini or Black Angels — the Holy Grail of string quartets — return in a few weeks, and they've made it their own; but provide instructions such as "play fast for ten minutes" or "the blue blobs on the score mean you randomly pluck these five notes" and prepare for reactions ranging from blank stares to sneers. I have asked numerous cellists, violists and violinists, "Don't you ever just mess around...don't you want to be the Jimi Hendrix of the viola?" but always get the feeling that I'm insulting their craft. (Note: if I spent $2500 alone on a bow I might also be reticent to jam pencils, springs and tape onto and into my axe.)

Light years from your orthodox "I play the Vivaldi, give me my check" performers, violinist Philipp Wachsmann, violist Charlotte Hug, cellist Marcio Mattos and (replacing the usual second violin) double bassist John Edwards (these labels are understatements, as the quartet have all explored a throng of musical techniques during their careers) vehemently disagree with my theory and offer these seven lengthy improvisations as rebuttal.

However, Gocce Stellari (translated as "star drops" with each piece named after a different star) isn't a free-for-all bombast of gimmick or a divorce from the alluring idiosyncrasy of each respective instrument (the players work sans electronics, and all sounds are produced without extraneous objects). Stellari String Quartet's approach is wholly curious and unique, one only possible after mastering — and deconstructing — a substantial, disparate repertoire: the members combine lyrical, melodic writing, compositional systems of the 20th Century masters of the genre (i.e. Webern, Bartók) and astute technical cunning earned from extensive formal training, all wrapped in an extemporized-yet-directional package.

In other words, Gocce Stellari is a wonderful, overwhelming (in the positive sense, inspiring numerous listens to nab evasive details), head-scratching and unparalleled anomaly that manages to sustain both interest and tension throughout. Varying from rich and full to spidery and arpeggiated to lilting to somber, the group, acting as a single unit — though one wielding twenty flailing appendages — follows a timbre-dictated trail of pinches, plucks, trills, harmonics, scordatura, fragmented quotations, vibrato expressivo, double and triple stops and glissandi, continually constricting the works with these dizzying gestures; even the quieter moments (the exposition of "Alnitak") and climax points (the brief Bavarian street peddler style passage near the end of "Merope") smack of juxtaposed yin and yang just at the point of imbalance.

Witnesses of Niccolň Paganini's "astounding technical prowess" on violin often attributed his success to demonic liaisons. After poring over this disc for the past month, trying to comprehend then relay the potent grandeur of this music in an essay, I suspect Stellari String Quartet recently renewed that license.