The main attraction of this Philadelphia Orchestra double-bill was Bartók's searing one-act opera Bluebeard’s Castle, so it was a pleasant surprise to hear the familiar ballet music from Swan Lake, served as an appetizer, performed with fresh and unexpected insight by the brilliant musicians, led by young, energetic Yannick Nézet-Séguin. Both pieces were couched in an overall theme of sweeping and romantic melodies, which suited the bright and clear acoustics of the Verizon Hall.
Mr Nézet-Séguin favored brisk tempi throughout and did not dwell on subtler shadings or shifts in instrumental color. His was a straightforward, sincere and yet thrilling account that brought out the brilliance of Tchaikovsky’s orchestration. If his aim was to present the audience with the music untethered from a need to accommodate physical demands of ballet dancers, he succeeded most brilliantly. We did not hear the exaggerated melodies of the Spanish, Neapolitan or Russian Dances, nor the Dance of the Little Swans, punctuated with audience applause when presented in a ballet. Instead it was a coherent set of vignettes focused on an overall arch of recurring themes and motifs.
The orchestra was not secondary to this symphonic presentation, however. Close attention was paid to delineating individual sections and instruments. A trumpet solo in the Neapolitan Dance and a delicate and vibrant violin solo in the Russian Dance were particularly impressive. The brass and percussion sections made magnificent contribution to the tutti of the ballet's finale. Mr Nézet-Séguin acted more as a skilled team leader to the orchestra than as a brilliant but autocratic leader.
He continued his collegial approach in Bluebeard’s Castle, and succeeded in bringing out the best from his soloists and orchestra Bartok’s dark tale of a woman’s doomed love for a dangerous man, in a concert performance stripped of staging, emerged as a not-so-distant cousin to Tchaikovsky’s romantic tragedy. Beautiful melodies and harmonies were emphasized, prominent in the stirring strings. Ominous undertones and dissonances were there, but its foremost representative was John Relyea’s resonant bass. Amid the shifting color of strings, winds and brass describing first the threat of the Bluebeard’s castle and then Judith’s hopeful lightness, back to the final tragedy, Mr Relyea’s penetrating voice provided a steady and unwavering mood of sheer darkness and despair.