Jukka-Pekka Saraste finds beauty in tragedy with the Dallas Symphony

Jukka-Pekka Saraste’s program with the Dallas Symphony Orchestra paired two works of dark and tragic character: a Sibelius tone poem drawing inspiration from Finnish folk tradition, and a Shostakovich symphony composed in response to contemporary events. Sibelius’ Pohjola’s Daughter opened with mysterious beginnings and a poetic statement from the cello. Matters took fantastical flight to depict the titular folk tale from the Kalevala, a bountiful source of inspiration for the composer. The tale’s ebb and flow was colorfully brought to life from powerful brass climaxes to near-complete stasis, ultimately ending on a somber note.

The meat of the program came in Shostakovich’s unrelenting Eighth Symphony. Composed in 1943 at the height of World War 2, it’s something of an antithesis to the grandiose and triumphant Seventh; perhaps encouraged by the previous work’s success, Shostakovich seemingly felt emboldened to be bit more authentic when composing the Eighth. Bracing beginnings from the wound-up tension that punctuated the dotted rhythms gave way to mournfully tragic, doleful material, often hanging on by just a thin thread. Saraste had a keen sense of pacing to stay afloat amid the first movement’s expansive proportions and, at its inflection points, the orchestra offered mighty, Texas-sized crescendos for maniacal climaxes. An English horn solo from David Matthews was hauntingly forlorn.

A haughty swagger marked the march-like Allegretto but, hardly lightweight fare, it was given with singular intensity. If there was any question this was a wartime piece, the third movement Allegro non troppo certainly dispelled that. A ferocious, machine-like gesture, first presented in the violas, was hypnotically repeated, only to be interrupted by thunderous blasts in the percussion. The Largo took the shape of a passacaglia – here, Shostakovich used an ancient form to convey a contemporary tragedy. A variety of textures were explored over the deftly-shaped bass-line; particularly striking were the distinctive sounds of the flutter-tongued flutes. 

The finale arrived at C major, though it felt more from exhaustion and world-weariness than from triumph. Despite its progressive tonality from minor to major, this work isn’t quite the archetypal journey from darkness to light, an ambiguity convincingly portrayed in the present performance. The orchestration here was far more intimate than the preceding, zeroing in on solo passages from individual instruments, beginning with the bassoon. A searing line from concertmaster Nathan Olsen pointed towards the closing material, inconclusive pizzicato figures fading away into the cavernous depths of the hall.