The best in music is revelation. The greatest performances and the most enchanting new works are those which open our minds to new musical possibilities and set loose our passions. Osmo Vänskä certainly provided revelation, bringing to the Melbourne Symphony a subtlety, power and musical originality that it has long lacked.
The concert began with the Australian première of Minea – Concertante Music for Orchestra by Kalevi Aho. Vänskä has been a diehard proponent of Aho’s music for many years, and had his Minnesota Orchestra commission and première this work in 2009. It is a demanding, emotionally exhausting journey, exploring the interconnections between Indian, Arabic, Japanese and Scandinavian musical traditions. Echoes of Bartók, Gubaidulina and even Hisaishi swelled and faded as Vänskä pushed the orchestra to the limits of its endurance and skill. Shimmering trumpets and bells gave way to intricate passagework in the winds, bringing to mind a soft desert breeze. The finale was a rousing prestissimo, a frantic plunge toward oblivion, with brass and darbuka drums in full force. Tim Buzbee, the MSO’s principal tuba player, is worthy of particular commendation: his ferocity and focused tone provided a relentless drive in the sections lacking percussion. The explosive ending left the audience in a state of shock, and had those sceptical of contemporary art music questioning their convictions.
Anything that followed needed to be spectacular; thankfully this was Frank Peter Zimmermann. Mr Zimmermann is arguably one of the greatest living violinists. He has won everything, recorded everything, and performed with everyone. Here he was playing the Sibelius Violin Concerto under, to my mind, the finest of Sibelius interpreters (Vänskä’s recordings of Sibelius with the Lahti Symphony Orchestra are unrivalled).
Needless to say we had high expectations as the baton fell. The strings began a little raggedly; the opening – a muted pianissimo pattern from F to A – always takes a bar to settle. But when it does, and the solo violin enters at mezzo forte, magic can happen. Mr Zimmermann began to play, a solitary figure hunched over his Lady Inchiquin Stradivarius, and we couldn’t help but be ensorcelled. The timbres he can ring from that wonder of wood are mind-boggling! The intensity of his tone and the ringing tragedy of his interpretation took us through snow-blanketed Scandinavian forests in desperate search of loves lost.
The second movement is a calmer melancholy, as of a mourner resigned to his grief. Sorrow flows through it with a reflective reverence, gaining strength as memories of joy return, only to fade as the mind quietens, ending with a hauntingly pure pianissimo in the strings and solo violin.