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Tchaikovsky: Variations on a Rococo Theme, Op. 33 

Beethoven: Rondino, WoO 25, Selections from The Creatures of Prometheus, Op. 43

The advertised draw for this concert was the former prodigy and still relatively young cellist Weilerstein – she was prominently displayed on promotional posters and featured in mentions of the upcoming concert in local print media – and she did not disappoint, but the true stars of the occasion were the Orpheus members themselves.

Orpheus is obviously notable as a conductor-less orchestra, but the real challenge of that, and their success, is subtler than being able to count time, which is a basic quality of competent musicianship. Conductors are technically and aesthetically important, guiding ensembles through complex rhythmic coordination and determining the expressive direction of a performance. Orpheus plays with a degree of precision and transparency that are impressive, but what is more notable is how they come together on a consensus of just how to play the music, what to say about it, that makes the difference between pure technical accomplishment and real musicality.

The combination of technical necessity and musical expression made Apollon musagète strikingly memorable. This is arguably Stravinsky’s most lush and melodic score, and the chamber orchestra strings produced an excellent balance between a full sound and transparent textures. Orpheus phrased every line and articulated every attack and rhythm with more precision and clarity than I’ve heard from any full size, conducted orchestra, and added to that impeccable musical logic. The tread of the beat was solid and light, the internal pulse fluid, and the exchange of phrases between the inner voices, especially when the harmonic rhythm is passed back and forth between the lower strings, was revelatory. There is an almost Romantic tenderness in this music, and there is also a legacy in Stravinsky interpretation that entrenches a false dichotomy between the composer’s Apollonian and Dionysian impulse; Orpheus’ musical logic was that the clarity and precision of articulation was a natural component of the warmth and sympathy of Eric Wyrick’s excellent violin solo, and of the huge ensemble sound at the Apotheosis movement.

It was jarring, after the marvelous beginning, to hear woodwinds forcefully punch through the texture in the Rococo variations, but it also was emblematic of the focused energy of the performance. Weilerstein sat on a podium in the usual conductor’s spot, facing the audience, and the coordination between soloist and orchestra, especially in modulations of tempo and balance of sound, was astonishing. One simultaneously admired the technical challenge and how easy they made it sound. Weilerstein’s big sound has a pleasant edge and bite to it, and she changes color with great skill. This piece is meant to please, and it can do so in performance without getting beyond the level of glib show and rhetoric, but this conert was not just satisfying in the bravura sense, but had strong things to say musically. The ensemble emphasized subtle touches of ballet score sound in the piece, connecting it with both the larger context of the concert and Tchaikovsky’s own masterpieces. Weilerstein herself, in her wonderful transition between the exciting effects of the cadenza into the sonorousness of the Andante variation, expressed something fleeting, questioning, powerful and deeply emotionally satisfying. Here encore of the two Bourrées from Bach cello Suite No. 3 combined a stately grace with a surprising sense of melancholy and a touch of musical abandon in the second. It was a moving performance.

Ultimately, though, it was Orpheus at the ballet for the night. Beethoven’s Rondino is a pleasant miniature, and was finely played. The Creatures of Prometheus is both a substantial and important work; it would stand alone as a piece of vintage early Beethoven even if it did not mark, by providing an opportunity to work out material that would later be integral to the Eroica symphony, the cusp where the Classical era was about to end and Romanticism begin. Orpheus’ choice of movements, the Adagio-Allegro molto, Pastorale: Allegro and Andantino-Adagio sandwiched inside the Overture and Finale, was so judicious as to leave the listener thinking that everything that mattered in the piece had been heard. As with the Stravinsky, the music had great shape and detail, a much better blend of strings and winds than in the Tchaikovsky, and was played with tremendous verve. Early Music ensembles like to explore the past, but they frequently use conductors and there is something truly old-fashioned about witnessing Beethoven being led from the concertmaster’s chair. Attacks and articulation were vital, and the inherent propulsive force in Beethoven was expressed through ensemble phrasing that drew a clear line of expression from opening to closing note. The sense of strength in the performance came from that phrasing and attention to musical detail; an understanding of the musical meaning of Beethoven’s rhythms, of his construction of form through smaller building blocks, his plangent and exalted sound. It was strength through musical conviction, not mere numbers or physical force, and a conviction truly reached as an ensemble. And it was an exciting close to an accomplished night at the ballet.

George Grella