There are times – rare, treasurable times – when any of the pieces in a classical concert could qualify as its main event. To have three in one, as here with the Toronto Symphony and Osmo Vänskä, is an extraordinary luxury.
At the heart was the North American premiere of Detlev Glanert’s Cello Concerto. Composed for the German-Canadian soloist Johannes Moser as a co-commission from the TSO, the piece had its world premiere in January this year with the Luxembourg Philharmonic under the Toronto Symphony’s own Gustavo Gimeno. The 63-year-old German composer, present in Toronto and vociferously acclaimed, has also been in the headlines recently for the premiere of his opera, Die Jüdin von Toledo, this year in Dresden.
Unlike the opera’s whispery opening, the concerto starts with a bang, whose echoes are then prolonged in the cello and moulded into lyrical themes. Ideas of high energy and drive ensue, the cello’s voice punctuated with boisterous orchestral interludes. This is music that never settles – and certainly never settles for easy cliches – but which instead continuously surprises and fascinates. Lamenting solos and intimate exchanges bring darker hues, while celestial sonorities interject with moments of light and hope, not dissimilar, perhaps, to the Ukrainian Valentin Silvestrov’s Metamusic.
Moser’s defiant and breathtakingly virtuosic account of the big cadenza was followed by an explosive Shostakovich-like danse macabre, which seemed to have no limits to its self-destructive drive. The extreme virtuosic demands and Moser’s fearless tackling of them, backed by Vänskä’s highly personal conducting style, made this a compelling quasi-theatrical experience.
The shock was then absorbed in an episode of post-traumatic paralysis. It felt almost as if the music was walking backwards: the original echo gesture returns but this time without the big bang. Then the woodwinds announced an elegiac, hopeful theme, like rays of early spring sunshine melting the heart of darkness. Gentle exchanges between the soloist and the first violin against a transparent background moved us towards a final oasis of quiet reflection. Shaded by despair or hope? Perhaps the balancing act is the entire point.
The juxtaposition of hope and despair was never too far away in the TSO’s account of Sibelius’ Second Symphony. Nordic landscapes provided the backdrop, of course. But under Vänskä’s baton, the experience became something equally philosophical and personal: as if Finland’s struggles for nationhood were set on a par with internal conflicts and universal human concerns. Imbued with blazing dramatic intensity, Vänskä’s flexible beat allowed for the music to grow organically and continuously, with a Rothko-esque sonic layering. The first movement was a temple to becoming rather than being, the Tempo andante by turns moving and poetic, noble and elemental, the Scherzo deft and fleeting, the finale dramatically poised between majesty and enlightenment.
Neither here nor in the opening Peer Gynt Suite no. 1 was Vänskä ever shy of approaching the threshold of inaudibility. Granted, it is hard to imagine Grieg’s masterpiece ever failing to charm, but this was something else: a magical evocation, on a level of subtlety and inspiration with the rest of the programme. The TSO was on exceptional form – responsive, focused, with first-rate solo turns. Here’s hoping for a return visit from the Finnish maestro as soon as the opportunity arises.
