Boston last heard the Orchestre de Paris 30 years ago. After Sunday’s performance, let’s hope they come back again soon. Arrayed in their customary seating of concentric semi-circles with the violins divided, they played with a power, finesse and unanimity of purpose rare amongst orchestras, responding to Klaus Mäkelä’s swooping, scything direction with gusto. Strings, brass and percussion were outstanding and the enviable woodwinds provided a painter’s palette of colors throughout.
Hallmarks of the French orchestral tradition – clarity and transparent textures – created breathing room for inner voices and smaller details to prick up the ears. Much is often made of the Boston Symphony’s easy access to the French style of playing, but this is the real thing in all aspects from conservatory training to instruments. Not only a national treasure, as presently constituted the Orchestre de Paris is a rare gem dazzling to behold.
The Paris woodwinds were immediately on display in Debussy's Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune as Mäkelä painted an oneiric soundscape of dappled light and langour and sensuality. The solo flute was arresting. Accents, phrasing and tonal quality all contributed to suggest the far-off sigh of someone on the threshold between sleep and wakefulness. Mäkelä took his time, his broad phrasing almost caressing the score. The effect was mesmerizing and the spell was not so much broken as allowed to fade back into the dreamworld of sleep.
A month after his BSO debut playing Rachmaninov's Third Piano Concerto and three days before his 20th birthday, Yunchan Lim joined Mäkelä and the orchestra for Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto no. 2 in C minor. The stamina, precision and dynamic range he demonstrated then were on display again as were the humility and dedication to mining the riches of Rachmaninov’s score. Lim is definitely not a pianist who settles for just firing off the notes. He has compared the Russian’s layering of voices to Bach and accordingly charts this score’s polyphony with Baroque clarity.
Where other performances can sound thick, Lim's was spacious. The tolling chords of the opening were the first example of a flair for dynamic contrast which animated his performance, beginning softly and with a light touch then growing louder and more emphatic until the final granitic chord. Sometimes the dynamic contrast was between phrases, sometimes between his two hands. His expressive arsenal also included the use of rubato to characterize lyrical passages in particular. At times, he would even slightly delay the striking of a single note. All of this was woven into an overall concept and trajectory making the concerto sound like it was being created on the spot.
The orchestra had performed at Carnegie Hall just the night before, so rehearsal time for the Rachmaninov might have been limited. Whatever the reason, lapses in the balance between orchestra and soloist resulted in the piano being barely audible at times. Otherwise, their contribution was lively, responsive and colorful.
The same three adjectives could describe the vibrant, rhythmically sharp scene painting from Mäkelä and the orchestra in The Firebird. The eerie ambiguity of time and place was strong in a performance lacking both sets and dancers to anchor it. A portentous undercurrent, flowing first from the opening basses, darkened the scene. Only the fiery bird itself glowed with any spark of life. Everything else seemed pallid in comparison until Ivan tripped the magic carillon setting in motion the events leading to Kashchei’s death and dispelling the darkness in a gathering blaze of light and jubilation. The tolling of celebration was literally uplifting in its intensity, bringing the audience to its feet with a roar.
