The final concert of 2024 marked a first for the Boston Symphony: the appearance of the two conducting fellows from this summer’s Tanglewood Music Center, where the duo notably substituted on short notice for Hannu Lintu to conduct the TMC Orchestra in Prokofiev’s Fifth Symphony, alternating movements. This Saturday, each led a short piece followed by Andris Nelsons leading Grieg’s Piano Concerto in the first half and Sibelius’ Seventh Symphony in the second.
Ross Jamie Collins (whose resemblance to the program booklet’s first photo of Edward Grieg was uncanny) burst out of the stage door like a cannon shot, reaching the podium in record time. That high energy was channeled through supple body language and large, fluid gestures molding and coaxing from arms set wide at eye level sending Sibelius’ Finlandia off like a bullet train slowly gaining speed. A dark, rich string tone painted a bold picture in the sedate yet majestic opening; the hymn sang with calm solemnity. Some of the transitions could have been smoother but overall this was a well thought-out performance of a piece that the BSO has only performed twice since 1953.
Na’zir McFadden’s baton and gestures remained close to his body, only fleetingly visible to the audience, befitting the more intimate quality of Grieg’s Holberg Suite. Nuanced color and sound along with clear rhythmic profiles gave each dance its own face. If my ears didn’t deceive me, McFadden even introduced a touch of jazz swing into the Musette section of the Gavotte. The Air, however, stood apart, a prayerful aria before the closing, rollicking Rigaudon.
Nelsons collaborated with Benjamin Grosvenor, playing with flair and precision, on a refulgent, warmhearted reading of Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A minor. The opening chords cut through the air with the icy precision and weight of sharpened shards of crystal. That cool, crystalline light recurred throughout from both soloist and orchestra, more muted in the Adagio but even brighter in the playful, rambunctious Allegro. Grosvenor’s dynamic finesse and voicing in the hypnotic Adagio was seconded by Nelsons and the orchestra culminating in an evanescent whisper. Grieg’s concerto is not performed as frequently as it was in the past. A performance like this makes one wonder why. Grosvenor’s encore, Ravel’s Jeux d’eau, with its cascades of droplets catching the light, shown with a warmer glow and with the comforting, lazy summer day patter of raindrops on window panes.
After some heartfelt words about music’s power to create a community out of a diverse audience and provide consolation and hope, plus wishes for a happy holiday season and New Year, Nelsons turned to Sibelius’ Seventh. Beginning darkly and with a sense of apprehension, Nelsons managed both the shifts in light and mood and the transitions from episode to episode so that they seemed organic not episodic, inevitable not abrupt. Even the most turbulent passages failed to diminish the overall serenity of Nelsons’ reading or the clarity of the individual sonorities which coalesce then regroup in each episode. Though the symphony ended on a note of strained resignation, it also had a glimmer of the hope Nelsons had spoken of earlier. The Seventh became a centenarian last March. Nelsons demonstrated that time has not diminished its eloquence nor its capacity to move an audience.
