Sol Gabetta shines in Dvořák with the Estonian Festival Orchestra

For lovers of cello music, Dvořák’s magical concerto needs little introduction. After failing to complete his first concerto and initially refusing to try again on the grounds that the cello could not (Dvořák claimed) function as a solo instrument with the orchestra, he finally relented. The work produced in 1894-95 is a magnificent showpiece in B minor for the cello, and no famous cellist considers not performing or recording it.

Sol Gabetta is no exception to the rule, and brought the work to life most graciously and energetically on Wednesday evening at Vienna’s Konzerthaus, flanked by the equally engaged and impassioned Estonian Festival Orchestra, led by their helmsman, Paavo Järvi. What I particularly enjoy about Gabetta is how generous she is on stage. Not only was every cadenza, double-stop or octave passage and technically demanding run attacked with intense purpose and clarity, but every phrase – every long bowing – was given its ideal breadth and space. Moreover, she treated the orchestra as chamber music partners. During the introduction, she listened actively to the melody as it was introduced by the clarinets, then carried and built upon through the horns, before her own voice picked it up. During duet passages with the concertmaster, Gabetta turned to her and the two performed as a duo.

Unlike violin, which can seem like sleight-of-hand from a distance, the cellist is always seemingly showing their work to their audience. There was something deeply satisfying about watching Gabetta make the tuneful second movement plastic in her hands or romping through the dramatic third movement. Every trill, every left-hand position change was visible, making the virtuosity that much more heightened for the audience, and the lack of tension or strain in her sound that much more masterful. The applause was deafening, with Gabetta brought to the stage several times before acquiescing with an encore. In the spirit of generosity, she performed Pablo Casals’ Song of the Birds together with five of the cello section.

The concerto was paired with a lesser known work, for orchestra alone, Tchaikovsky’s First Symphony. Subtitled “Winter Daydreams”, the G minor symphony had a difficult birth, with the composer nearly suffering a nervous breakdown, despite later counting it as one of his preferred works. The first movement gave the woodwind section a chance to shine warmly within their winter’s journey, and Järvi led the clan skillfully through the tangled counterpoint of the development through to the recapitulation, heralded by horns. The entire ensemble was dramatic, engaged and played as if with one bow, producing a gripping, deeply-grounded sound. The slow second movement was sleekly introduced, almost like a hymn, by the strings before giving various winds the chance to shine — bravo, solo oboe with flute and bassoon countermelodies; bravo cellos and bravo horns! The Scherzo, after an airy opening, settled into a much more grounded, dance-like theme, again giving the winds plenty of chances to shine. The finale, opening with a halting bassoon tune, is interrupted twice before the melody is picked up and passed along, the bassoon and string combination giving it a wistful melancholy.

Järvi gave the finale in particular full opportunity to breathe and with it his audience the chance to take in the orchestra’s lovely sound. Energetic yet grounded, dramatic yet generous, there is little more that can be asked for from a night in the Konzerthaus, or from an orchestra in it.