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Alix Goolden Performance Hall
November 1, 2009
"In his work a means of escape has been found from outmoded romanticism on the one hand and from a barren objectivity on the other."
If we accept Neville Cardus's verdict on Sibelius, then the Symphony No.2 must be considered a transitional work, indeed perhaps the most important.
True, there are still Romantic gestures, but we can also detect the beginning of the mature Sibelian style, with sparser textures and what many have described as an "organic" form, as opposed to the conventional sonata form. (Although it should be pointed out that there are those who discern, in the symphony's opening movement, the regulation exposition, development and recapitulation.)
Sunday afternoon's concert closed with a stunning performance of a symphony I thought I knew well. And, as far as the actual notes went, there were no surprises; but I don't believe I've ever heard such an intense performance or one with such flexible tempos.
Playing as if their lives depended on it (indeed, somebody among the string players was so eager to get to grips with the music that they almost started the first movement two beats before everybody else), the Sooke Philharmonic delivered the musical goods in no uncertain manner.
This is not easy music to play - those sparser textures - but the few infelicities of intonation and ensemble were as nothing when set beside the overwhelming conviction of the playing.
The opening movement was exquisitely shaped, with a tremendous sweep and some noble brass playing at the climaxes. The slow movement, which can often seem like a mere interlude, gripped from the ominous tread of the doublebass (and later cello) pizzicatos of the opening.
The scherzo, taken at a pace so brisk it might have given a professional orchestra pause, was like a hurricane, with the trio providing the "eye" of tranquility (lovely oboe work from Jackie Gawlik and, indeed, the winds generally) leading directly into the finale, which unfolded with an epic sense of inevitability through to its blazing final pages.
I'm not sure how Nelson and his players felt afterwards (elated at a guess), but I know that I was exhausted. This really was an exceptional performance.
I have dutifully sat through several performances of Saint-Saëns's Cello Concerto No.1 on previous occasions, manfully resisting the temptation to doze off.
On a Sunday afternoon immediately after the clocks have changed, it might seem that the temptation would be stronger than usual. It was, but any initial tendency to nod off was quickly dispelled by the playing of Rylan Gajek, winner of this year's Don Chrysler Concerto Competition, and the wonderfully sympathetic accompaniment by Nelson and the Sooke Philharmonic.
After the opening chords - crisply played - Gajek seized hold of the music, with a superbly fluid solo entry, and did not let go.
The accompaniment was sympathetic and extremely well-played - the delicacy and precision of the strings at the opening of the second, slower section of the music, for example. But few would argue that the triumph was Gajek's; he combined seemingly effortless virtuosity with a singing tone and a genuine feel for the music.
The afternoon opened with two of Dvorák's Slavonic Dances, in which the orchestra was joined (or perhaps "reinforced") by a dozen or so members of the School District 61 Festival Orchestra.
These were a delight, even if the opening No.2, with its lilting tempo and carefully-managed tempo changes did feature one moment when part of the brass section threatened to veer off at a tangent, only to be gestured swiftly back into line by Nelson's left hand.
But the enthusiasm and skill of the younger players were a joy to behold.
This was another remarkable concert by the Sooke Philharmonic and their conductor. I remarked to him afterwards that I had often wondered what a Furtwängler Sibelius Second would sound like (there are no extant recordings), but that now I felt I had a pretty good idea.
Given that the Welsh conductor Wyn Morris was once dubbed the "Celtic Furtwängler", it is very tempting - and, like Oscar Wilde, I can resist anything but temptation - to refer to the Irish-born Canadian Nelson, as the "Canuck Furtwängler".
I promise not to yield to that temptation again, but the fact remains that Nelson regularly directs the kind of performances which one does not hear every day - or even every year. And his orchestra are with him every step of the way.
A truly wonderful afternoon.
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