Symphony Review: Celebrating music in motion with the SLSO and St. Louis Dance Theatre

The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra concert last Saturday night (January 10) was the third collaboration between Music Director Stéphane Denève and local dancer/choreographer Kervin Douthit-Boyd, the Artistic Director of St. Louis Dance Theatre (STLDT). Formerly the Big Muddy Dance Company, STLDT has been widely praised here and has forged strong relationships with not only the SLSO but many other performing arts organizations, enabling them to pursue their mission to “constantly strive to invigorate life through dance.”

St. Louis Dance Theatre. Photo courtesy of the SLSO

Given the unquestionable success of the first two partnerships in 2021 and 2024, I came to this one with high expectations. To say the least, I was not disappointed. From both a musical and terpsichorean standpoint, this was a dazzling evening that more than lived up to the promise of “a program that celebrates powerful partnerships between dance and music.”

Titled “Music and Motion,” the concert consisted of three of actual ballet scores and a fourth that eventually became the basis for a ballet by Jerome Robbins, albeit over three decades later. It was the second of the three works that served as the basis for the collaboration with STLDT, so let’s begin there.

In 1920, Igor Stravinsky (1882–1971) was approached by the eccentric entrepreneur Sergei Diaghilev with the idea of Pulcinella, a one-act ballet based on 17th-century Neapolitan commedia dell’arte characters. There would be costumes by Pablo Picasso, choreography by Léonide Massine, and music by the short-lived (1710–1736) Italian Baroque composer Giovanni Battista Draghi (a.k.a. Giovanni Battista Pergolesi after his birthplace in Pergola) as arranged by Stravinsky. Most of the music turned out to be misattributed, but that doesn’t detract from its appeal.

Initially unimpressed with the idea, Stravinsky eventually came to embrace it. In 1922 the composer created a suite of eight of the ballet’s original 21 numbers. It’s that version of the score that is most often performed these days, and it was that version that was impeccably played and danced Saturday night.

Allow me to set the scene. The stage was covered with a gray, dancer-friendly mat. The chamber orchestra (around 30 players) was placed far upstage left, leaving a good two-thirds of the stage clear for the 17-member corps de ballet. Led by Demetrius Lee as a kind of MC, dancers flowed on and off the stage combining in pas de deux, pas de trois, pas de quatre, ensembles, and the occasional solo. Lee’s tongue-in-cheek star turn in the Vivo movement, with its cartoonish trombone solos, was but one of many memorable moments.

Costuming suggested a mix of 17th and 21st century styles, with the men in sleeveless red tunics and the women in long glittering gowns. Douthit-Boyd’s choreography was a similar mélange, mostly classical ballet with a dash of modern dance. As executed with lithe, athletic grace by the dancers, it was the perfect match for Stravinsky’s witty, piquant transformations of the original Baroque dances.

The decision to choreograph a concert suite rather than a scenario-driven ballet proved to be a wise one. Freed from the necessity to prepare and rehearse the kind of precise, measure-by-measure synchronization that would be demanded by a conventional narrative ballet, Douthit-Boyd was able to give his dancers steps that creatively reflected the spirit of the music.

Stravinsky’s score is filled with solo opportunities, every one of which got the virtuosity it deserved. That includes, but is not limited to, Concertmaster David Halen in multiple movements, Principal Oboe Jelena Dirks in the Serenata, Principal Trumpet Steven Franklin in the Toccata, Associate Principal Horn Thomas Jöstlein and flautist Olivia Staton in the Gavotta, and Principal Trombone Jonathan Randazzo in the Vivo. And even with my attention divided between the dancers and the orchestra, I was still able to appreciate Denève’s tempo and dynamics choices.

Individual orchestra members were even more in the spotlight in the opening work, Stravinsky’s Concerto in E flat (“Dumbarton Oaks”). Composed in 1937–38 on commission for Robert Woods Bliss and Mildred Barnes Bliss in celebration of their 30^th wedding anniversary, the concerto was premiered in May, 1938, at a private concert at the Bliss’s Dumbarton Oaks estate in the Georgetown neighborhood of Washington, D.C. It’s a bright and cheerful work, heavily influenced by the Bach Brandenburg Concertos, especially the Concerto No. 3.

The last SLSO performance of the concerto was to have taken place November 13 and 14, 2020 with Denève at the podium. Those concerts were cancelled due to the pandemic but were recorded and released on video (no longer available, alas)  the following spring. Because the piece is scored for only 16 musicians, it demands prodigious playing from all concerned, and the that’s exactly what it got in both that video and in Saturday’s live performance. Even the most rhythmically tricky passages were clear under Denève’s direction.

The concerto asks a lot of the solo wind players—flute, clarinet, and bassoon—if only because they are solo parts and therefore more visible. Those roles were filled expertly by (respectively) Olivia Staton, Associate Principal Clarinet Robert Walker, and Principal Bassoon Andrew Cuneo.

 The second half of the concert belonged entirely to the French, beginning with the rarely heard score (the last SLSO performance was 20 years ago, and then only at Carnegie Hall) by Claude Debussy (1862–1918) for his rarely seen 1913 ballet Jeux. It would prove to be one of his last orchestral works as the cancer that would kill him in 1918 began to tax his strength.

Audiences at the premiere were apparently baffled by the banality of the scenario, involving a game of tennis by a man and two women that eventually turns into an impassioned flirtation. Said flirtation is quickly (and inexplicably) abandoned when a tennis ball bounces onto the court from offstage.  At that point, says the score, “surprised and frightened, they [the dancers] leap away and disappear into the depths of the nocturnal park” (“surpris et effrayés, ils se sauvent en bondissant, et disparaissent dans les profondeurs du parc nocturne”). After that an airplane was supposed to crash land on the stage, but Debussy made removing that event one of the requirements for accepting the commission.

There’s more to the piece, as discussed in my preview article. Rather than repeat it here I’ll refer you there.

What many audience members and critics found truly odd, though, was Debussy’s score. As Stephen Walsh wrote in his 2018 book Debussy: a Painter in Sound,

Debussy’s prevailing technique, which would so impress avant garde composers half a century later, is to distribute tiny gestures round the orchestra like fragments of overheard conversation or like simulacra of the unspoken, barely expressed, only half-recognised passions that fleetingly develop between the three dancers. Every detail is touched in with a fine brush. Snatches of decorative arabesque melody flit from instrument to instrument.

Just to add to the bafflement, Jeux features frequent changes in tempo, time signature, and key. The result is music that often feels weightless and unsettled. “Analysing it,” wrote the BBC’s Christopher Dingle, “is like trying to capture wisps of mist.”

Narrative ballet scores, in my experience, can be a challenge for the audience without some guidance as to what would be happening on stage. This is especially true with a piece as elliptical as Jeux. Debussy’s score is filled with brief descriptions of the action, and I think projecting at least some of them during the performance would have gone a long way towards leaving the audience more engaged and less bemused.

That said, this was a well-paced performance with first rate work by the musicians. The opening whole-tone chords by the woodwinds, for example, has just the right sense of dissonance without sounding out of tune, which nicely set expectations for the evanescent music that followed. Although the orchestra is large (just under 100 musicians), dynamic markings in the score generally hang around the neighborhood of piano, with forte markings appearing rarely until the flirtation becomes heavier in the last several minutes. That’s tricky to manage, especially in a live environment where real silence is hard to come by, and there were times Saturday night when the levels felt a bit compressed.

Still, very nicely done overall, and with just the right sense of wit, especially in those final pages when, after a brief silence, an ascending three-note figure brings everything to an abrupt end.

Bringing the evening to a rousing conclusion was the Suite No. 2 from Bacchus et Ariane, op. 43 by Albert Roussel (1869–1937).  Although not one of France’s better known musical sons, Roussel is a favorite of Denève. His performance of Roussel’s Symphony No. 3 with the SLSO in 2020 was enough to convince me that his admiration for the composer is fully justified. Composed in the same year as that symphony, the music for Bacchus et Ariane has a strong rhythmic drive and an appropriately Bacchanalian climax.

In this version of the story, Ariadne (Ariane in French), abandoned on the isle of Naxos by the ingrate Theseus, is about to throw herself into the sea when the god Bacchus intervenes. They dance, the bacchantes join in, and Ariane is crowned as the consort of Bacchus.

I missed seeing this when Denève and the orchestra last presented it in 2007, so it was a pleasure to see it now. A despairing violin solo (beautifully done by Halen) in the prelude sets the bleak scene as Ariane is abandoned. She awakens and, molto agitato, tries to fling herself in the Adriatic—only to fall into the arms of Bacchus. From there on the mood is by turns playful, seductive, and finally, wildly abandoned. It’s exotically colorful music and got an appropriately sensuous, Technicolor performance from Denève and the orchestra. The concluding Bacchanale and Coronation of Ariane sizzled with energy and brought the audience to its collective feet.  Laurel wreaths are due to all concerned.

Upcoming: Guest conductor Dima Slobodeniouk and sheng virtuoso Wu Wei make their local debuts with Jukka Tiensuu’s Teoton (Concerto for Sheng and Orchestra). The program includes Flounce by Lotta Wennäkoski and the Symphony No. 4 by Tchaikovsky. Performances are  Saturday and Sunday, January 24 and 25 at Powell Hall.

Symphony Preview: The Light Fantastic

This Saturday and Sunday, January 10 and 11, Stéphane Denève leads the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra in what the web site describes as “a program that celebrates powerful partnerships between dance and music.” A good summary, that, given that three of the four works on the program are actual ballets and the fourth eventually became the basis for a ballet by Jerome Robbins, albeit over three decades later.

Dancer Sergio Camacho in
St. Louis Dance Theatre’s 
Way Out West. Photo courtesy of the SLSO.

The work in question was the Concerto in E-flat major, "Dumbarton Oaks," written by Igor Stravinsky (1882–1971) in 1937–38 on commission for Robert Woods Bliss and Mildred Barnes Bliss in celebration of their 30^th wedding anniversary. The first performance was in May, 1938, at a private concert at their Dumbarton Oaks estate in the Georgetown neighborhood of Washington, D.C. It’s a bright and cheerful work, heavily influenced by the Bach Brandenburg Concertos, especially the Concerto No. 3.

As the composer recalled later:

I played Bach very regularly during the composition of the concerto, and I was greatly attracted to the Brandenburg Concertos. Whether or not the first theme of my first movement is a conscious borrowing from the third of the Brandenburg set, however, I do not know. What I can say is that Bach would most certainly have been delighted to loan it to me; to borrow in this way was exactly the sort of thing he liked to do.

No doubt, although I expect Bach would have found the astringent harmonies and constantly changing time signatures a bit weird.

The concerto follows the general format of its 18th-century inspiration, with two fast movements framing a slower Allegretto second movement. Themes are lobbed back and forth among the members of the small ensemble like the ball in a fast-paced game of tennis and there's even a very traditional fugue at the end of the first movement. The score directs all three movements to be played attacca (without pause), separated by only a series of more solemn chords to signal a break in the emotional tone.

The entire piece runs around 12 to 16 minutes. It's fun to hear but difficult to play and gives all the musicians a chance to test their mettle. The members of the SLSO passed that test with flying colors when the work was presented as part of its digital concert series in March and April 2021.

Up next is the suite Stravinsky prepared in 1922 from the score for his 1920 ballet Pulcinella. Commissioned by the eccentric entrepreneur Sergei Diaghilev, for whose Ballets Russes de Monte Carlo Stravinsky had composed his previous hits The Firebird and Le Sacre du Printemps, the ballet drew its visual inspiration from 17th-century Neapolitan commedia dell’arte characters in general and the titular character in particular.

Stravinsky’s score takes the form of a collection of sprightly pastiches on tunes by the short-lived (1710–1736) Italian Baroque composer Giovanni Battista Draghi (a.k.a. Giovanni Battista Pergolesi after his birthplace in Pergola). Later research would reveal that many of them were the result of historical misattributions, but since Stravinsky put his own personal stamp on all of them, it probably matters only to scholars these days. Stravinsky’s full score consists of 21 numbers, including several songs. The composer’s suite includes only eight of those numbers (and none of the songs), but they’re all winners.

The SLSO last performed the Pulcinella Suite in May 2021, but this weekend the experience will be very different. That’s because the orchestra has teamed up with St. Louis Dance Theatre and its Artistic Director Kirven Douthit-Boyd to create a new ballet based on the eight movements of the suite. In an article on the SLSO web site by Iain Shaw, Douthit-Boyd talks about his process in designing the ballet, which is inspired in part by Powell Hall’s origins as a vaudeville theatre.

“It’s kind of paying homage to that,” he said. The idea of a performance troupe coming through St. Louis gave him the impetus to start creating. “I’ve used each of the sections to highlight the dancers in different ways.”

In program notes for the 2021 performance, Denève said that Stravinsky “captures the spirit of several 18th-century composers and others in Pulcinella. He treats them with such respect, creating such tender and charming music.”

The second half of the concert is dedicated entirely to 20th-century French music for the ballet, beginning with the rarely heard score by Claude Debussy (1862–1918) for his 1913 ballet Jeux. It would prove to be one of his last orchestral works as the cancer that would kill him in 1918 began to tax his strength.

In his 2018 book Debussy: a Painter in Sound, Stephen Walsh describes Debussy as a composer for whom visual elements were central to his music and who in his spare time was more likely to be found at the Louvre than the Opera. He was a close friend of painter Henry Lerolle and was very taken with the work of Edgar Degas and Pierre-Auguste Renoir.

This is important not just because Jeux is a ballet but also because the scenario is primarily a set of somewhat static images of two girls and a boy in tennis outfits flirting with each other while supposedly playing tennis. Sergei Daighliev first approached Debussy with the idea in June 1912. The choreographer would be the legendary Vasily Nijinsky who had just scored a major hit in Debussy’s Prélude d’après-midi d’un faune the month before.

The composer’s first response, in a telegram, was “Subject ballet Jeux idiotic, not interested,” but Diaghilev doubled the fee and the deal was done.

One the surface the scenario, such as it is, is as straightforward as it is banal. As described in Walsh’s book, the titular games take place in or near a tennis court. Léon Baskt’s set for the premiere was a densely tree-lined London square. The curtain rises on an empty stage. A ball bounces on to the stage followed by a young man leaping across the stage in a tennis outfit. Two young girls appear and a series of flirtations follows, first between the young man and each of the girls in turn, then among all three of them. It culminates in “a kiss of disturbingly ecstatic intensity” at which point another tennis ball bounces on to the stage “like a passing policeman” and the players flee. After that an airplane was supposed to crash land on the stage, but Debussy apparently made removing that one of the requirements of accepting the commission.

But, as Nijinsky later wrote in his diary, tennis was just a cover for a much older game. Jeux, he wrote, “is the life of which Diaghilev dreamed…he wanted to make love to two boys at the same time and wanted those boys to make love to him. In the ballet the two girls represent the two boys and the young man is Diaghilev. I changed the characters, as love between three men could not be represented on the stage.”

When Diaghilev talked to Debussy, though, it was about the way he wanted the music to reflect a particular style of dancing. He wanted all three dancers to spend a lot of time en point—that is, on their toes—to create a feeling of lightness and elegance. Debussy jokingly said that “I’ll have to find an orchestra ‘without feet’ for this music. I’m thinking of that orchestral color that seems lit from behind.”

That footless orchestra announces itself so softly in the opening bars of Jeux that the opening bars might have been hard to hear for the First Nighters. The dynamic doesn’t rise above piano until a sforzando and a few fortissimo bars mark the entrance of the  tennis ball at around rehearsal number 8 (bar 70 or so). For the rest of the ballet forte markings are rare until the flirtation becomes heavier in the last several minutes.

Jeux is familiar territory for Denève, who recorded it with the Royal Scottish National Orchestra as part of an all-Debussy two-disc set for Chandos in 2012. At the time he was Music Director of the orchestra—his first such appointment and a big step up for a young conductor. During his tenure, which ended in 2011, he led the RSNO at the 2006 Proms concerts in London, and for the orchestra's first ever appearance in France in 2007. He would go on to conduct the Stuttgart Radio Symphony Orchestra (among others) before taking charge of the SLSO in 2019.

Finally, we have the Suite No. 2 from Bacchus et Ariane, op. 43 by Albert Roussel (1869–1937).  A relatively solitary and independent figure, probably due to the loss of his parents and grandparents before he turned ten, Roussel was influenced by both Impressionism and Neo-classicism. He absorbed those trends into his own personal style, which Nicolle Labelle (in Grove Online) describes as “harmonically spiced and rhythmically vigorous.”

Although not one of France’s better known musical sons, Roussel is a favorite of Denève, who recorded all of his symphonies with the RSNO for Naxos back in 2010. His performance of Roussel’s Symphony No. 3 with the SLSO in 2020 was enough to convince me that his admiration for the composer is fully justified. Composed in the same year as that symphony, the music for Bacchus et Ariane has a strong rhythmic drive and an appropriately Bacchanalian climax.

In this version of the story of Ariadne (Ariane in French), the spurned lover of the ungrateful Theseus, abandoned on the isle of Naxos, is about to throw herself into the sea when the god Bacchus intervenes. “Shall we dance,” he asks (anticipating Rodgers and Hammerstein by millennia). She accepts, the bacchantes join in, and (in the words of the noted musicologist Nicolas Slonimsky), “the ballet ends in a triumph of Ariadne as the consort of the god of wine.”

I’ll drink to that.

The Essentials: the regular concert series resumes as Stéphane Denève conducts the SLSO in music by Stravinsky, Debussy, and Albert Roussel. The orchestra will accompany St. Louis Dance Theatre and choreographer Kirven Douthit-Boyd in an “adventurous collaboration to imagine Stravinsky’s Pulcinella Suite in an entirely new way. Also on the program are Stravinsky’s Dumbarton Oaks Concerto, Debussy’s ballet Jeux, and the Suite No. 2 from Roussel’s ballet Bacchus et Ariane. Performances are Saturday at 7:30 pm and Sunday at 3 pm, January 10 and 11, in Powell Symphony Hall.

The Saturday concert will be broadcast live on St. Louis Public Radio and on Classic 107.3. Classic 107.3 is also where you can hear Tom Sudholt and yours truly host the Symphony Preview episode about the concert on Wednesday, January 7, from 8 to 10 pm as well as via on-demand streaming beginning on Thursday, January 8.

Symphony Review: Old Friends on New Year's Eve

Few things are more pleasurable than welcoming in the new year with old friends, both material and musical. That’s what we did on Wednesday,  December 31, at the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra’s annual New Year’s Eve Celebration, with Music Director Stéphane Denève at the podium. The experience more than lived up to expectations.

Stéphane Denève and the SLSO

The 2025 NYE concert was the first one to be presented in the newly renovated Powell Hall. The mood in the sold-out house was as bubbly as the Cava at the bar. And the music was comfortably familiar.

Certainly the opening work—the overture to Leonard Bernstein’s 1956 operetta Candide—needed no introduction. It was a favorite of former Music Director David Robertson, Denève made it part of the SLSO’s European tour program in 2023, and former Assistant Conductor Stephanie Childress used it to kick off her NYE program that same year. The piece is a certified rouser with (to quote a George M. Cohan lyric) “plenty of biff and bang,” including some showy stuff for the horns. A tip of the topper to Associate Principal Thomas Jöstlein and the rest of the section for their fine work and to the rest of the band for their flawless playing.

Being a work by an American composer based on a novel by a Frenchman (Voltaire), the Candide overture neatly set the tone for a lively night of Franco-American music making. Up next were five movements from the two suites George Bizet assembled from his incidental music for the 1869 melodrama L’Arlésienne (The Girl from Arles) by Alphonse Daudet. Léon Carvalho commissioned Bizet to compose the music for an 1872 production of the work in hopes that it would be “a powerful attraction” that would “soften somewhat the cruelty of the play.” Audience response to it was unenthusiastic but Bizet’s suites (which premiered later that same year) were a hit and have remained so ever since.

Denève chose some of the more tuneful and lively selections for the suites, starting with the dramatic Carillion (Suite No. 1, 4^th movement), in which the horns evoke the tolling of church bells. The quiet opening and unusually slow tempo of the following Adagietto (1, 3)  provided a marked contrast with both the Carillion and the cheerfully rustic Minuetto (1, 2) that came next. The trio section of the Minuetto featured some nice work by Nathan Nabb on alto saxophone and the flutes under Principal Andrea Kaplan as did the Minuet (2, 3), in which they were joined by harpist Megan Stout. The Farandole (4,3) with its insistent percussion and quotes from the Provençal Christmas carol “La Marcha dei reis,” brought it all to a blazing conclusion, for which kudos are owed to the brass and percussion section.

Rounding out the first half was, in Denève’s words, “musical Champagne,” in the consumption of which “no moderation is necessary.” He was speaking of the set of ten of the 24 numbers from the ballet Gaîté Parisienne (literally Parisian Gaiety, although I think Parisian Playfulness might capture the spirit better). The popular 1938 ballet uses music by Jacques Offenbach (1819–1880) arranged by composer/conductor by Manuel Rosenthal (1904–2003).  Denève rearranged the order of the numbers a bit to make the entire 20 minutes flow better, which as you can hear in the attached playlist (for which I used Rosenthal’s own 1999 recording, despite his slow tempos), worked quite well. The concluding Vivo, based on the Galop (a.k.a. “The Can-Can”) from Act II of Offenbach’s satirical Orphée aux enfers (Orpheus in the Underworld), sent everyone off to refill their drinks in a properly upbeat frame of mind.

Katie Mahan. Photo courtesy of the SLSO

The second half of the concert was devoted entirely to music of George Gershwin: the Rhapsody in Blue and An American in Paris in the same arrangements Denève used for the 2021 NYE concerts. I had some thoughts about those particular orchestrations back then, so I won’t repeat it all here. It’s enough to say that while I personally prefer the Ferde Grofé and Gershwin originals, Denève, the orchestra, and soloist Katie Mahan did such a spectacular job with them that I was happy to toast their success with a glass of genuine bubbly.

Mahan’s name was new to me, and I must say I was mightily impressed by her ability to put her own stamp on Gershwin’s music without, as far as I could tell, changing a single note of it. She has earned praise for her Gershwin performances and recordings (her orchestral debut was the challenging Concerto in F) and I can see why. Hers was very personal and emotionally powerful Rhapsody, backed up by stellar performances from Denève and the orchestra. 

Those opening solos by Associate Principal Clarinet Robert Walker and Principal Trumpet Steven Franklin were particularly slinky. Gershwin was delighted with the famous original solo by Ross Gorman of the Paul Whiteman band and Walker did an excellent job of reproducing it.

Mahan’s encore was a positively luxurious reading of Debussy’s Clair de lune from the 1905 Suite bergamasque. You can hear her 2019 recording of Clair de lune as part of her all-Debussy album for KM Classic.

As for An American in Paris, Denève and the orchestra sounded just as splendid this time around as they did back in 2021. Denève’s interpretation was as elegant as it was then, nicely emphasizing Gershwin’s mid-1920’s harmonies. It’s a reminder that the composer was, in his own words, writing “in typical French style, in the manner of Debussy and The Six.” It was a memorable musical send-off for a difficult year.

And, yes, everybody stood to applaud and stayed standing to sing “Auld Lang Syne” at the end.

Upcoming: the regular concert series resumes as Stéphane Denève conducts the SLSO in music by Stravinsky, Debussy, and Albert Roussel. The orchestra will accompany St. Louis Dance Theatre and choreographer Kirven Douthit-Boyd in an “adventurous collaboration to imagine Stravinsky’s Pulcinella Suite in an entirely new way. Also on the program are Stravinsky’s Dumbarton Oaks Concerto, Debussy’s ballet Jeux, and the Suite No. 2 from Roussel’s ballet Bacchus et Ariane. Performances are Saturday at 7:30 pm and Sunday at 3 pm, January 10 and 11, in Powell Symphony Hall.

The Saturday concert will be broadcast live on St. Louis Public Radio and on Classic 107.3. Classic 107.3 is also where you can hear Tom Sudholt and yours truly host the Symphony Preview episode about the concert on Wednesday, January 7, from 8 to 10 pm.

Review: The Bach Society Illuminates the Sounds of the Season

In real estate, we are told, location is everything. During the Bach Society’s annual Christmas Candlelight Concert at Powell Hall on December 23rd, it occurred to me that the same can often be true of a performing arts event. Some seats are better than others, especially when there’s a strong visual component to the performance.

The Bach Society at Powell Hall

That’s not usually a major issue for classical concerts, but the Bach Society’s annual event isn’t like most. That’s primarily because of the candlelight procession that opens the second half. The lights dim and the members of the Bach Society walk down the aisles singing, each with an electric candle. If you're lucky enough to be sitting downstairs in the orchestra section, you're soon surrounded by singers—some carrying the melody, some the harmony, enveloping you in a constantly changing kaleidoscope of sound. It’s unforgettable.

This year, though, I was late in requesting tickets, so we were in what is now called the Mid Balcony. From up there, the chorus and orchestra still sounded fine, but the surround-sound experience of the candlelight procession was mixed down to stereo, and the procession itself wasn’t visible. That meant that over half of the audience at this sold-out concert missed what has become the event’s trademark.

That said, this first Candlelight Concert in the new Powell Hall did not lack for fine musicianship and holiday cheer. Bach Society Music Director and Conductor A. Dennis Sparger led the society’s orchestra and chorus with his usual authority, making the evening of holiday sounds old and new a fitting tribute to mark the Bach Society’s 85^th birthday.

Usually dedicated to more serious/traditional classical works, the first half of this year’s event was taken up almost entirely with a brightly celebratory performance of the 1990 Magnificat by Sir John Rutter (b. 1945). A prolific composer of choral music—including popular Christmas tunes such as “The Shepherd’s Pipe Carol,” “Angels’ Carol,”  and “Donkey Carol”—Rutter is one of what was, until fairly recently, a small number of contemporary composers writing in an accessible, audience friendly style. As Sparger writes in his program notes, the composer’s “infectious melodies, along with colorful harmonies and brilliant orchestrations…have made Rutter a favorite in churches, schools and concert halls around the world.”

The text of the Magnificat, per the composer’s web site, is “based on the prayer ascribed by St Luke [Luke I:46-55] to the Virgin Mary on learning that she was to give birth to Christ, [and] is extended by the interpolation of Marian prayers and poems chosen by the composer to create a celebratory work reminiscent of outdoor processions in honour of the Virgin.” In notes for a Naxos recording of the work, Rutter added that “it is mainly in the sunny southern countries—Spain, Mexico, Puerto Rico—that Mary is most celebrated and enjoyed. This led me to conceive the music as a bright Latin-flavoured fiesta.”

Scored for orchestra, chorus, and soprano solo, the Magnificat covers a wide range of moods, from the exuberant first movement (“Magnificat anima mea Dominum”) with its lively Latin-American percussion to the majestic and celebratory final movement (“Gloria Patri”), complete with a fervent Marian Antiphon in a translation by Ron Jeffers. The second movement, “Of a Rose, a Lovely Rose,” is a tranquil setting of an anonymous 15^th-century English poem comparing Mary to a rose. The fugal fifth movement, “Fecit potentiam in brachio suo” (“He has shown strength with His arm”), is a dramatic depiction of divine might reminiscent of Vaughan Williams—a sharp contrast with the rocking, near-lullaby “Esurientes implevit bonis” (“The hungry He has filled with good things”) that follows.

Under Sparger’s sympathetic direction, the Bach Society Orchestra and Chorus ensured that all those moods and colors came through with superb clarity.  The occasional cracked note in the horns and brasses notwithstanding, this was quite a solid reading and created the proper festive spirit.

Emily Birsan

Soprano Emily Birsan, who was the soloist the last time the Bach Society presented the Magnificat in 2016, brought a pure and precise tone and good stage presence to her performance. The part calls for a wide vocal range, dipping into the low end of the soprano tessitura in “Esurientes,” but Birsan sounded entirely comfortable with it.

Birsan returned in the second half of the concert for an impressively virtuosic “Laudamus Te” from Mozart’s Great Mass in C minor, K. 427. The composer wrote this and other soprano solos in the Mass with the coloratura voice of his future wife, Constanze Weber, in mind, so a large range and vocal flexibility are called for. Birsan is a lyric soprano rather than a coloratura per se, but she sounded very much on top of her game in the piece.

Other highlights of the evening included a pair of inventive arrangements by Texas-based composer/arranger Tyler Scott Davis of the classic carols “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel”  and “Joy to the World.” The former wrapped the 15^th-century tune in a shimmering, modernist haze while the latter had an appropriately triumphal feel that placed the shining brass section in the foreground. The Latin-American sound of “Angels We Have Heard on High” (by Dr. Barlow Bradford of the University of Utah) was a pleasant surprise and kept percussionists Erin Elstner and Paul Brumleve busy with multiple instruments, including marimba, gourd, wood block, and bongos.

The program included a recurring favorite, A Musicological Journey through the 12 Days of Christmas by contemporary American composer Craig Courtney. In this witty arrangement of the popular Christmas memory challenge, each verse is orchestrated in the style of a different composer and/or musical era. As a bonus, most of the arrangements also include a nod to the lyrics.

So, for example, the “seven swans a-swimming” uses the “Swan” theme from Saint-Saëns’s Carnival of the Animals, the “eleven pipers piping” is set to the “Dance of the Mirlitons” (toy flutes) from Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker, the “eight maids a-milking” become the eight Valkyries from Wagner’s Die Walküre, and the “twelve drummers drumming” are setting the beat for Sousa’s Stars and Stripes Forever. The program lists only the century and country of inspiration for each verse (e.g., “19th-century France” for Saint-Saëns), leaving it to listeners to fill in the blanks. Judging from the laughter, the audience had no difficulty doing so. I’m not sure the visual jokes (mostly chorus members dancing in period costumes) added anything, but neither did they detract.

Now that they are back in Powell Hall, my hope is that the Bach Society can make better use of the space in the future. Use of the hall’s projected text capabilities, for example, would have been helpful during the Magnificat, as would an awareness of the fact that placing soloists too far down stage center makes them invisible to some of the balcony seats.

The Bach Society’s 2026 season continues with Parts II and III of Handel’s Messiah in March, Bach’s Magnificat in May, and the 2026 Bach Festival at multiple locations this spring. More information is available at the Bach Society web site.

Symphony Review: A Scintillating "Messiah" by Nicholas McGegan and the SLSO

Last Friday (December 12) Nicholas McGegan—a familiar visitor to our fair city over the past four decades—conducted the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and Chorus in the 1742 oratorio Messiah by George Frideric Handel (1685–1759). It was an opportunity to, as both the libretto and Zacariah 9:9 say, “rejoice greatly.”

“Handel was a dramatist of genius,” says McGegan in the program notes, “and I like to bring this out.” That he did Friday night, and in a most compelling fashion. I’ve seen a number of Messiah performances at Powell Hall over the years, and for me the best ones have combined HIP (historically informed performance) practices with a strong sense of theatre. Give me a small orchestra, matching chorus, and soloists who understand Baroque style and I’m good.

Needless to say, I was good Friday night.

Everything about McGegan’s Messiah felt just right, including the decisions as to which numbers to include and which ones to leave out. Handel himself made frequent changes in Messiah during his lifetime, and conductors ever since have followed in that tradition. This Messiah was weighted towards the celebratory, with Part I (which concentrates on Advent and the Nativity) taking up the entire first half of the evening—most appropriate for Yuletide.

The orchestra was a bit larger than what audiences would have been used to in the mid-17^th century, but not by much: around two dozen string players plus two oboes, one bassoon, two trumpets, tympani, and harpsichord alternating with chamber organ for the continuo. The resulting sound was crisp, light, and a perfect balance for the (roughly) 60-voice chorus.

It was also well suited to McGegan’s generally brisk tempos. There is something undeniably thrilling about hearing a solid professional chorus nimbly tripping through rapid-fire contrapuntal numbers like “And he shall purify” (Part I, No. 7) or “For unto us a child is born” (Part I, No. 12). That’s especially true when the conductor honors the dance element of Handel’s tunes, as McGegan unerringly did.

Speaking of the chorus, Director Erin Freeman must be feeling particularly proud of her singers after their splendid performance. Their elocution was impressively precise, often rendering the projected text irrelevant, and their massed vocal power was a joy to hear.

Before discussing the soloists, I’d like to return briefly to the subject of Handel as dramatist. It's worth remembering that until he reinvented himself as a composer of English-language oratorios, Handel was best known as a composer of Italian opera. Indeed, the sacred oratorio was essentially his invention—a libretto on a religious subject combined with the theatricality of an opera. That mix didn’t always please the more religiously stuffy back in Handel’s day, but it’s precisely that blend of theatre and theology that has made Messiah such a hit over the centuries.

That means that the soloists should ideally have operatic backgrounds and should know how to invest their singing with an awareness of the emotional content of the text. All four of the soloists this past weekend met those requirements and then some, with my personal favorite being contralto Sara Couden. Her “He was despised” (II, 23) was filled with compassion, while her “O thou that tellest good tidings” (I, 9) radiated joy. She seemed to be the least dependent on her score and the most successful in engaging with the audience.

Soprano Sherezade Panthaki’s bright, flexible voice served her well in the virtuoso aria “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion” (I, 18). The aria is a showpiece for a soprano with coloratura skills like Panthaki’s.  Her “I know that my Redeemer liveth” (III, 45), on the other hand, was brimming with simple sincerity.

Tenor John Matthew Myers, who was so impressive in the SLSO’s 2022 Messiah, has a powerful voice throughout its range, including some solid low notes, and a commanding stage presence to go with it. The tenor soloist is the first voice you hear in Messiah, with “Comfort ye my people” and “Ev’ry valley shall be exalted” (I, 2 and 3), so it’s important to make a strong first impression—which he unquestionably did.

Bass-baritone Brandon Cedel was a last minute substitute for an ailing Philippe Sly. Not surprisingly, he watched his score a bit more closely than his fellow singers, but that did nothing to detract from his powerful and authoritative singing in “Why do the nations so furiously rage together” (III, 40), “The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light” (I, 11), and, accompanied by the clarion-clear playing of Principal Trumpet Steven Franklin, “The trumpet shall sound (III, 48).

The score doesn’t use the trumpet that often (the only solo is in III, 48) but they are critical in the four numbers that call for them. Franklin and Michael Walk did themselves proud in “Glory to God” (I, 17)—where, in accordance with Handel’s original concept, they were seated offstage—as well as in the famous “Hallelujah” (II, 44) and the glorious “Amen” (III, 53).

McGegan has described that final number as “the sort of music that I imagine could be played in heaven.” It certainly felt that way Friday night, as did the performance as a whole. This was a sparkling, fleet-footed, and very High Baroque Messiah, conducted by an expert with copious knowledge of the style and performed by singers and players all at the top of their form.

Finally, allow me to distribute some laurel wreaths to the individual players who supplemented the SLSO’s excellent string section. Mark Shuldiner was the solid cornerstone of the continuo on harpsichord and chamber organ. The latter provided surprising punch despite its small size. Principal Bassoon Andrew Cuneo added to that firm foundation.  There was also excellent work by Oboes Jelena Dirks (Principal) and Xiomara Mass as well as Associate Principal Tympani Kevin Ritenauer. Congratulations to all.

The SLSO’s Messiah will be available as an on-demand stream for the next month at the SLSO web site. If you missed the live concert, I can highly recommend that recording of the Saturday, December 13, performance as the next best thing.

The regular concert season is on hiatus until the new year to make way for the orchestra’s traditional holiday offerings

IN UNISON Christmas, December 18 and 19: Kevin McBeth conducts the IN UNISON chorus along with members of the SLSO, vocal soloists (including The Clark Sisters), and instrumentalists, in a blend of gospel, jazz, and traditional holiday favorites.

Mercy Holiday Celebration, December 20 through 23: Stuart Malina conducts the SLSO and Chorus along with vocalist Kennedy Holmes in a program of seasonal favorites and exciting twists on timeless classics.

Home Alone in Concert, December 27 and 28: Joshua Gersen conducts the SLSO and the St. Louis Children’s Choirs (Dr. Alyson Moore, artistic director) in the John Williams score for the 2018 comedy classic as the film plays on the big screen at Powell.

New Year’s Eve Celebration, December 31: Music Director Stéphane Denève conducts the SLSO and pianist Stewart Goodyear in a festive evening that features music by Gershwin, Bizet, Bernstein, and Offenbach. The concert will also be broadcast live on Classic 107.3 and St. Louis Public Radio.

Information on these and other concerts is available at the SLSO web site.

Symphony Preview, December 12-14: Messiah Mysteries

This weekend (December 12–14) British conductor and Handel expert Nicholas McGegan leads the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and Chorus in Handel's popular 1742 oratorio "Messiah." In doing so at Christmastime, he's following a tradition over two centuries old. The origin of that tradition is the first of our three "Messiah Mysteries." 

1. The Adventure of the Mobile Messiah

George Frideric Handel's Messiah is a Christmas tradition. Which is odd, because the composer never intended it to be Christmas music.

The oratorio was first performed on April 13, 1742, in Dublin; repeated that same June; and then moved to London, where it was first presented on March 23, 1743. I can't find any evidence that the work was in any way associated with Christmas during Handel's life. In fact, as Christopher H. Gibbs points out, "Handel performed it some three dozen times—every time, it should be noted, around Easter, not Christmas."

Still, as Jonathan Kandell notes in an article for Smithsonian, "By the early 19th century, performances of Messiah had become an even stronger Yuletide tradition in the United States than in Britain."

An important piece of the puzzle is supplied is supplied by Luke Howard in his program notes for a 2009 Messiah performance by UMS Choral Union:

Although the work was occasionally performed during Advent in Dublin, the oratorio was usually regarded in England as an entertainment for the penitential season of Lent, when performances of opera were banned.... But in 1791, the Cæcilian Society of London began its annual Christmas performances [of Messiah], and in 1818 the Handel and Haydn Society of Boston gave the work's first complete performance in the US on Christmas Day—establishing a tradition that continues to the present.

It apparently took a while for the Christmas tradition to become well established, though. As Marie Gangemil of the Oratorio Society of New York wrote in her program notes for their 2012 Messiah, the first December performance by that organization didn't take place until 1874.

But are these events sufficient to explain why the tradition became so widespread? Might there also be a supply and demand issue here? Laurence Cummings, who conducted Messiah here in 2022, observed that: "There is so much fine Easter music—Bach's St. Matthew Passion, most especially—and so little great sacral music written for Christmas. But the whole first part of Messiah is about the birth of Christ.”

So there you have it. Boston and New York picked up the idea from London, and the rest of the USA, seeing a chance to fill a product gap, picked it up from them. It's a reminder that memes were spreading long before the Internet, just a lot more slowly.

2. The Case of the Upright Audience

Another puzzle connected with Messiah is the business of standing during the "Hallelujah" chorus that ends Part II.

If you've been a classical music lover long enough, you have no doubt heard the story of how King George the II stood when he first heard it at the 1743 London premiere and how everybody else followed suit because, hey, he was the king. It's a great story with only one little flaw: there's no evidence that George II ever attended a performance of Messiah at all.

The story appears to come, not from a contemporary account, but from a secondhand description in a letter written by one James Beattie 37 years later. The story is almost certainly apocryphal and a classic example of how urban legends originate.

The idea of standing at some point in the oratorio appears to go back a long way, though. When George Harris attended a performance in 1750, he observed that "[a]t some of the chorus's [sic] the company stood up," suggesting that the custom extended beyond just the "Hallelujah." Six years later, another account mentions the audience standing for "grand choruses." In his video series on "Messiah," Andrew Megill, Music Director of Masterwork Chorus, describes a letter written by a woman who attended a Messiah in Handel's time complaining of audience members who weren't standing during the appropriate choruses—suggesting that the practice was already fairly well established.

The bottom line, though, is that nobody really seems to know where the custom originated or for that matter why so many of us are still doing it. Maybe early audiences were just so swept away by the power of some of the choruses they stood up spontaneously and the custom simply caught on. Like the Christmas performance tradition, it seems to be a meme that just won't die.

For anyone attending Messiah for the first time, it must seem just another example of the sometimes baffling and contradictory rules of etiquette that go with classical music concerts. But that's a whole different subject.

3. The Enigma of the Expanding Orchestra

Finally, a note on the size of the orchestra you'll see this weekend. That Dublin premiere back in 1743 at the Great Music Hall on Fishamble Street (capacity 700) probably used around 20 singers in toto, including soloists, along with an orchestra of strings, two trumpets, and tympani. Handel himself varied the orchestration of Messiah depending on the resources available for a particular performance as well as the size of the hall and other factors. 

Still, the Great Expansion didn't really kick in until after Handel's death, when it became customary to re-orchestrate and expand the size of the instrumental and choral forces to bring the work more in line with contemporary tastes. The German-language version Mozart prepared for his long-time patron Gottfried van Swieten in 1789 (officially Der Messias, K. 572) is one of the earliest and best-known examples, but there have been numerous others. A 1787 London Messiah, for example, promised 800 performers.

Not coincidentally, Messiah started getting bigger at the same time the Industrial Revolution began to make itself heard, in the most literal sense of the word. In 1743 the Industrial Revolution was still over a decade away and the sources of most noise were biological. By the end of the 18^th century the increase in environmental noise was well underway, and increased substantially during the 19th as detailed in the 1994 book The Soundscape by Canadian composer R. Murray Shafer (1933–2021).

Today, a large symphony orchestra playing fortississimo (fff) can deliver 100dbA or more—a level officially classified as “harmful” with sustained exposure. Which explains the earplugs you will sometimes see on the concert stage.

It’s not surprising, then, that during the 19th century, expanding Handel’s oratorio began to take on the aspect of an arms race, with each subsequent performance determined to become more grandiose (and in an ever-larger space) than the last. The 1857 Great Handel Festival at London's Crystal Palace employed 2000 singers and an orchestra of nearly 400. Later performances at the same venue became even more bloated.

By 1877 George Bernard Shaw, for one, had had enough. "Why," he asked, "instead of wasting huge sums on the multitudinous dullness of a Handel Festival does not somebody set up a thoroughly rehearsed and exhaustively studied performance of the Messiah in St James's Hall with a chorus of twenty capable artists? Most of us would be glad to hear the work seriously performed once before we die."

I don't know whether or not Shaw, who died in 1950, eventually got his wish. The tide did begin to turn back to Handel's original intentions in the 20th century, though, and by the 1960s performing editions began to show up based on the composer's original manuscripts and using instruments appropriate to the period. The 1965 edition by Watkins Shaw was probably the earliest, but it was a Basil Lam edition that was used in a groundbreaking 1967 Angel/EMI recording by The Ambrosian Singers and the English Chamber Orchestra. That recording would be the first of many that would return to something like Handel's original intentions.

The roster for this weekend calls for around 40 musicians plus chorus and soloists. In this respect, McGegan is in line with other recent Messiah performances by Laurence Cummings (2022), Matthew Halls (2018), Bernard Labadie (2015), and Christopher Warren Green (2012).

The actual length of Messiah varies from performance to performance. A complete Messiah contains either 47 or 53 numbers (depending on which edition you use) and can run just under two and one-half hours, not including an intermission. Given that the SLSO web site lists the duration of this weekend’s performance as two hours and 45 minutes, including intermission, it sounds like McGegan is going for the Full Handel.

By the way, Handel prepared alternate versions for a dozen of the numbers in Messiah. "Rejoice greatly" in Part 1, for example, exists in versions using both 4/4 and 12/8 time signatures. The former sounds like a march, the latter like a dance. Which one a particular conductor uses is pretty much up to them. The 1976 recording by The Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields under Neville Marriner uses the 12/8 score (my personal preference).

Want to know more? Check out Eric Dundon’s article at the SLSO Stories site, Conductor Nicholas McGegan on 5 magical Messiah moments that aren’t the Hallelujah Chorus. McGegan picks five numbers that he thinks deserve at least as much love as the “Hallelujah” chorus, including "Rejoice greatly.”

And don’t forget Symphony Preview Wednesday night, December 10, from 8 to 10 pm on Classic 107.3. Tom Sudholt and I will dish up some deep background and play some of the greatest hits from Messiah. The show will also be available for streaming at the Classic 107.3 web site. Here’s our playlist for the show.

The Essentials: Nicholas McGegan conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and Chorus in Handel’s Messiah Friday and Saturday at 7:30 pm and Sunday at 3 pm, December 12 through 14 . Soloists are Sherezade Panthaki, soprano; Sara Couden, contralto (SLSO debut); John Matthew Myers, tenor; and Brandon Cedel, bass-baritone. The Saturday concert will be broadcast live on St. Louis Public Radio and on Classic 107.3.

Symphony Review: Cellist Kian Soltani Lights Up the Night in SLSO Debut

I rarely take time during intermission at a St. Louis Symphony Orchestra (SLSO) concert to fire off a post on Facebook, but  last night’s (December 6) was a notable exception. With guest conductor John Storgårds at the podium, the local debut of Austrian cellist Kian Soltani in the Cello Concerto in C major, Hob. VIIb:1 by Joseph Haydn (1732–1809) was a dazzler.

Cellist Kian Soltani

Soltani, judging from this performance, has stunning technique and heart to go with it. The jovial march-like tune of the Moderato first movement radiated exuberance and the cadenza was a jaw-dropping display of virtuosity. The Adagio was all gentle contemplation, and the final Allegretto Molto was replete with the kind of good-humored energy one expects from the composer’s fast movements.

The finale was clearly intended as a showpiece for the original soloist Joeph Franz Weigl, who was the principal cellist of Prince Nicolaus's Esterházy Orchestra at the time. Weigl was an innovative virtuoso, noted for his high-speed runs up and down the fingerboard using the “thumb position technique”—an “advanced and comparatively new technique” at the time. That makes this movement (and the concerto in general, for that matter) a chance for the soloist to shine—which is exactly what Soltani did.

All of this was delivered with a passionate commitment on the part of both Soltani and Storgårds. It was the kind of performance that demanded the standing ovation it got.

Returning for an encore Soltani, mischievous grin in place, asked the audience “slow or fast?” And then offered to do both.

The slow piece was “The Girl from Shiraz,” the third of the seven Persian Folk Songs by contemporary Iranian composer Reza Valli (b. 1952), with a steady drone by the SLSO cello section replacing the original piano part. The melismatic tune floated and danced above that drone hypnotically. The fast number was an abbreviated version of Soltani’s own Persian Fire Dance, which with a blazing display more than lived up to its title. You can hear him perform both on this 2018 Deutsche Gramophon disc Home.

The concerts opened with the Three Romances, Op. 22, by Clara Schumann (1819–1896) in an orchestral transcription by contemporary Danish composer Benjamin de Murashkin (b. 1981). First performed in 2021 by Storgårds and the Copenhagen Philharmonic, the de Murashkin significantly transforms the original with the intent of creating “something that sounds like it was always ‘meant to be’ rather than orchestrated piano music.”

In this, he has succeeded quite brilliantly. If I had not heard Schumann’s original, I doubt I would have guessed that this music had ever been anything other than a work for small orchestra. The piano and violin parts have been so thoroughly extracted and reassigned that at no point did it sound as if it had been intended for a different instrument. The themes flitted among the various sections in a manner slightly reminiscent of the Klangfarbenmelodie orchestrations of Anton Webern (1883–1945). It was a bit disorienting but entrancing all the same.

Speaking of disorienting music, the concerts concluded with the featured work of the evening, the Symphony No. 15 in A major, Op. 141, by Dimitri Shostakovich (1906–1975). The composer began work on the last and most enigmatic of his symphonies while he was hospitalized in 1971 (he would die of lung cancer four years later) and later completed at his home. “It’s one of those works that just completely carried me away,” he said in a 1973 interview, “and maybe even one of my few compositions that seemed completely clear to me from the first note to the last.” Critical and audience response to it, though, has been all over the map.

It's profoundly odd music that stubbornly resists verbal description, but I’ll do my best. The Allegretto first movement, according to the composer, “is as if played in a toy store.” It opens with two notes on the glockenspiel followed by a long flute solo based on the notes D, E-flat, C, and B. It’s the composer’s signature in German musical notation (D, S, C, H)—and proves to be the basis for around eight minutes of music that’s both whimsical and demented. When the galop from the William Tell overture pops up (one of many musical quotations in the symphony, including a few from Shostakovich himself) it feels completely natural—largely because Shostakovich has been hinting at it for some time.

The solemn second movement, Adagio, alternates brass and string chorales with agonized cello passages. There’s a dirge for trombone and tuba, some chillingly dissonant chords in the woodwinds, and a massive orchestral outburst about two-thirds of the way through. It feels like towering icebergs floating on a dark ocean.

 A brief, sardonic Allegretto includes a violin solo that seems to have wandered in from Mahler’s Symphony No. 4, mechanically ticking percussion passages (prominently featuring wood block, snare drum, and xylophone), and snarling outbursts from the woodwinds and brasses.

The descent into the finale (Adagio – Allegretto) follows without pause. Quotes from Wagner—the “fate” motive and rhythm of “Seigfried’s Funeral March” from the Ring cycle—lead to a whimsical dance-like theme. That theme is supplanted by an ominous pizzicato motif in the low strings which proves to be the basis of a long passacaglia. It all builds to a final, massive howl of anguish and outrage that gives way to the little dance theme. Finally, we’re left with fleeting bits and pieces of melody, clicking percussion, and a sad little chord on glockenspiel and celesta over a string pedal point.

“The rest,” as Shakespeare wrote, “is silence.”

What does it all mean? In The Joy of Music, Leonard Bernstein suggested that the meaning of a great work of music can’t always be expressed properly in words. I can’t disagree. The Symphony No. 15 makes sense to me. But, as I just demonstrated, I can’t verbalize exactly why.

I can, however, say why I was left so deeply moved and impressed by this performance. Shostakovich’s score calls for a huge ensemble, but most of what we hear comes from soloists and small ensembles. The SLSO musicians proved their mettle in those many highly exposed sections. That includes (but is not limited to) Jennifer Nitchman and Associate Principal Andrea Kaplan on flutes, Gloria Yun on piccolo, bassoonists Ellen Connors and Principal Andrew Cuneo, Principal Trombonist Jonathan Randazzo, Chance Trottman-Huiet on tuba, Associate Principal Cellist Melissa Brooks, Associate Concertmaster Erin Schreiber, Principal Double Bass Erik Harris, and the horns under Principal Roger Kaza.

And then there’s the percussion of the section. In addition to the tympani (played by Principal Shannon Wood with his customary expertise) Shostakovich calls for a massive percussion battery, including triangle, castanets, woodblock, whip, tom-tom, tam-tam, glockenspiel, xylophone, vibraphone, and the usual bass and snare drums. As Principal Percussionist Will James said on the SLSO’s Noted podcast, the placement of all those instruments on the Powell Hall stage is a logistical challenge.

He and the other five members of the section (Alan Stewart, Kevin Ritenauer, Charles Renneker, Kim Shelley, and Zachary Crystal) met that challenge brilliantly. All of the composer’s wide range of percussive effects came through clearly and precisely. Kudos are due all around.

Holding this monumental musical structure together was the sure hand and keen ear of John Storgårds. This can’t be an easy work to conduct, with its sprawling structure levels of enigmatic meaning. But he made a strong case for it, delivering a reading that was overwhelming in its power. If you missed last weekend’s performances, the Saturday concert will be available for streaming later this week at the SLSO web site, where it will remain for the next month.

Upcoming: Nicholas McGegan returns to town to conduct the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and Chorus along with vocal soloists in Handel’s evergreen Messiah. Performances are Friday and Saturday at 7:30 pm and Sunday at 3 pm, December 12, 13, and 14.

The Saturday concert will be broadcast live on St. Louis Public Radio and on Classic 107.3. Classic 107.3 is also where you can hear Tom Sudholt and I host the Symphony Preview episode about the concert on Wednesday, December 10, from 8 to 10 pm.