Symphony Preview: Beethoven's movie music and more October 23 and 24

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One of the things all three composers in last weekend's all-American St. Louis Symphony concerts had in common was that they had all written music for movies. In that respect, they were following a time-honored tradition that goes back centuries.

That's because film music is really just another form of what musicology types call "incidental music"—music written to accompany and provide extra punch for comedy and drama. And composers have been doing that since the days of ancient Greece.

"Beethoven Letronne" by Blasius Höfel
Licensed under Public Domain
via Wikimedia Common

This weekend's SLSO concerts open with a famous example: the overture that Beethoven wrote for Goethe's 1787 political drama "Egmont." Set in 16th century Spain when that nation was occupied by the Dutch, the play is the story of the Count of Egmont, a real-life Dutch nobleman who pleaded with his fellow occupiers to treat the Spanish with some respect and got executed for his efforts. A staunch Republican and champion of human freedom, Beethoven was irresistibly drawn to the story—an attraction that was only increased by the political situation surrounding him when he wrote his "Egmont" score in 1809 in Vienna.

Back then Vienna was not so much the fabled "City of Dreams" as a metropolis of nightmares. The French laid siege to it with shelling so fierce that at one point the composer took refuge in his brother's house and covered his head with pillows to escape the din. "[L]ife around me", he wrote, "is wild and disturbing, nothing but drums, cannons, soldiers, misery of every sort." The royal family—including Beethoven's friend and patron Archduke Rudolf—fled, along with many of the notable families with whom the composer had become close.

Left alone and, once the French occupation began, in difficult financial circumstances due to rapid inflation, Beethoven had little else to do but compose. The "Piano Concerto No. 5" ("Emperor") is probably the most famous work to emerge from this difficult period, although the Op. 81a piano sonata ("Les Adieux") is probably a close second.

Beethoven wrote a total of nine pieces to accompany the play, including "Die Trommel gerühret" (roughly "the drum is playing"), a particularly effective dramatic song for soprano and orchestra. These days the powerful Overture is the only one of the nine performed on a regular basis, possibly because it sums up the action of the play so neatly. Opening with stark, imposing chords by the full orchestra, it gradually moves, over the course of around nine minutes, to a triumphant finale. "The overture's conclusion", writes René Spencer Saller in her program notes, "foretells a freedom that only Beethoven—the stubborn dreamer, the Enlightenment's eternal child—could imagine. Mired in misery, he still believed in joy."

Schumann in 1850
en.wikipedia.org

Up next is Robert Schumann's "Piano Concerto in A minor, Op. 54," which was first performed in 1845 with Schumann's wife Clara (a gifted composer and pianist in her own right) as the soloist. Schumann had made several attempts at a large-scale work for piano and orchestra at various points in his life. As the early 20th-century poet and music critic Pitts Sanborn noted (in "Great Orchestral Music", Collier, 1962), Schumann "began to write a piano concerto at the age of seventeen before he was conversant with musical form... As early as 1839 there is apparently a reference to the A minor concerto in a letter sent by Schumann from Vienna to his betrothed, Clara Wieck: 'My concerto is a compromise among a symphony, a concerto and a huge sonata. I see I cannot write a concerto for the virtuosos: I must plan something else.'"

When Schumann's "something else" finally materialized it was, in fact, far removed from the sort of virtuoso showpiece that he and his fellow contributors to the "Neue Zeitschrift für Musik" disdained. The piano is not set apart from the orchestra the way it is in the concerti of many of Schumann's contemporaries. From the very beginning, in which the soloist trades phrases with the winds, the piano is an integral part of the orchestra—a role it occupies until the very end. As Clara Schumann observed in her diary, "the piano is interwoven with the orchestra in the most delicate way—one can't imagine the one without the other."

"The opening allegro", write Brockway and Weinstock in "Men of Music," "is unstintedly opulent in melody, and rises to moments of sheer rhapsody. Its cadenza, far from interrupting the mood of the whole movement, sustains it—which makes it a rarity among piano cadenzas. The intermezzo is more restrained and contemplative, and the marvelously varied rhythms of the finale mount and mingle in a paean of unrestrained joy. These elements combine to produce, in the A minor Concerto, the sovereign gesture of musical romanticism."

From the beginning, audiences and critics mostly agreed. "When the Concerto was performed in Leipzig," report Brockway and Weinstock, "the Gewandhaus patrons (then the most enlightened on the continent) were already thoroughly acquainted with Schumann's ideas, but it took this definitive expression of them to evoke the Leipzigers' unqualified enthusiasm." The reception was also very positive when Clara performed the Concerto in London shortly before Schumann's death in 1856. Even the critic J. W. Davidson, who regarded the Concerto itself as "a labored and ambitious work," had to admit that "the praiseworthy efforts of the gifted lady make her husband's curious rhapsody pass for music."

These days the A minor Concerto is part of the standard repertory. The SLSO first performed it in 1913, with Marion Bauer at the keyboard, and most recently in November of 2011. Eric Le Sage was the soloist for that one (Stèphane Denève was at the podium), turning in (as I wrote in my review) a performance of chamber music-style intimacy along with the kind of close, cooperative give and take that goes with it. This time around the soloist is the young German pianist Lars Vogt, whose wide-ranging repertoire includes not only Mozart, Beethoven, and Schumann, but also Rachmaninoff and even Witold Lutoslawski.

Remarkably for a concert pianist, he is also making his mark as a conductor and, in fact, will take over as Music Director of the Royal Northern Sinfonia in Newcastle, U.K., for their 2015-2016 season. It will be interesting to see how all that plays out on stage with guest conductor John Storgårds.

Carl Nielsen in 1910
en.wikipedia.org

The concerts conclude with the "Symphony No. 3, Op. 27," (the "Sinfonia espansiva") written in 1910-1911 by the Danish composer Carl Nielsen. I've been a sucker for Nielsen's music ever since I first encountered his fiercely anti-war "Symphony No. 5" in Leonard Bernstein's remarkable 1963 recording. His symphonies have always been favorites of mine, along with his concerti, programmatic pieces like the remarkable "Helios Overture," and the quirky incidental music he wrote for Adam Oehlenschläger's "dramatic fairy tale" "Aladdin" in 1919.

Like G. B. Shaw, Nielsen believed in a kind of pantheistic "life force" that pervaded all of nature. It shows up in his fourth and fifth symphonies (both written in the shadow of World War I, when the "life force" no doubt appeared to be in danger of extinction) and pervades the third. Quoted in Hugh Ottaway's chapter on Nielsen in "The Symphony" (Penguin Books, 1967), Robert Simpson observes that "espansiva means the outward growth of the mind's scope and the expansion of life that comes with it."

"Here, in fact," continues Mr. Ottaway, "is the key to Nielsen's personality, and for those who like to strike directly at the root of the matter, the Espansiva makes an excellent introduction to his art. It is precisely in the generous, outward-looking aspect, and in the optimism springing from it, that Nielsen stands apart from so many of his contemporaries." "From the white-hot, orchestral hammer blows of its opening to its triumphant and open-hearted conclusion," wrote James Goodfriend in his notes for Bernstein's recording of the "Espansiva" with the Royal Danish Orchestra, "the 'Sinfonia Espansiva' proclaims itself the work of a great composer, one of the twentieth century's most irresistible symphonists at his best."

The symphony is remarkable in another way as well: the second movement includes wordless vocals for a soprano and baritone. They add an otherworldly quality to the Andante pastorale second movement. This weekend, that otherworldliness will be supplied by Kate Reimann and Jeffry Heyl, both of whom are familiar figures on the local opera and concert stage. Kate comes from a musical family, by the way; her mom Charlene is a respectable jazz singer in her own right and a frequent guest at the open mic night that I host for The Cabaret Project at the Tavern of Fine Arts.

The essentials: John Storgårds conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra with piano soloist Lars Vogt, soprano Kate Reimann, and bass-baritone Jeffrey Heyl on Friday and Saturday at 8 p.m., October 23 and 24. The concerts take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. For more information: stlsymphony.org.

The Mortal Storm

Who: The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra conducted by David Robertson, with pianist Yefim Bronfman and violinist Erin Schreiber
What: Music of Brahms, Vaughan Williams, and Nielsen
When: September 12 and 13, 2014
Where: Powell Symphony Hall, St. Louis

The late eighteenth century artistic movement known as sturm und drang (usually translated as "storm and stress") had already evolved into the pervading sensibility of the Romantic era by the time the earliest work on this weekend's St. Louis Symphony concerts—the "Piano Concerto No. 1" by Brahms—was written. But "storm and stress" of one sort or another lie at the heart of it and the other two pieces on the program.

David Robertson

In the case of the Brahms, the stress was personal. When the composer began work on the piece in 1854 his friend and mentor Robert Schumann was confined into an asylum following a suicide attempt and the 21-year-old composer had moved in with Schumann's wife Clara to help manage her household and seven children.

Schumann would die in the asylum two difficult years later, and it's hard not to think of the great stress and tragedy of that when you hear the powerfully dramatic opening of the concerto, with its portentous drum rolls, declamatory first theme, and melancholy second. Like the composer's second concerto, it's a big work—nearly 50 minutes long and structured more as a symphony with piano obbligato than a conventional concerto of the period. It demands much in the way of stamina and skill from the soloist.

Pianist Yefim Bronfman demonstrated that he had both when he performed the Brahms Second here back in 2012, and he did it again Friday night. He has the chops to deliver the big, pounding climaxes, especially in the final movement, but he was just as persuasive in the tender lyricism of the Adagio second movement, which Brahms described as a musical portrait of Clara Schumann.

I wouldn't say this concerto is my favorite Brahms. The first movement, in particular, tends to ramble and never fully realizes the dramatic potential of those opening minutes. Still, Mr. Robertson made a very good case for it, pulling every ounce of angst and drama from the score. The second movement was serenely beautiful and the main theme of the Rondo finale was more infused with the spirit of the dance than I have heard in some recordings. There were a couple of ragged moments in the horn section in the first movement but otherwise the orchestra performed at its usual high level.

The "storm and stress" that informs the two works in the second half of the program is more global than personal. Both Ralph Vaughan Williams's "The Lark Ascending" and Carl Nielsen's "Symphony No. 4" ("The Inextinguishable") were begun during the early years of World War I. They're radically different pieces, but the shadow of that great cataclysm hangs over both.

Inspired by a George Meredith poem that describes the characteristic way skylarks spiral up into the sky while singing, "The Lark Ascending" is a work of surpassing beauty for violin and orchestra. Begun in 1914 and completed in 1920, the work is a wistfully nostalgic look back at a bucolic way of life shattered forever by the winds of war. The final pages, in which the lovely main theme slowly fades into silence as it makes its final ascent, can surely melt the hardest heart.

Erin Schreiber

The last time I saw Assistant Concertmaster Erin Schreiber in the solo spot (November of 2011), she was rocking the house in Luciano Berio's absurdly difficult “Corale (on Sequenza VIII) for violin, two horns, and strings.” The Vaughan Williams, with its sustained lyricism and ethereal final section, requires an entirely different kind of virtuosity. I'm happy to report she delivered the goods, with a performance of transparent beauty. The balance between soloist and orchestra was also quite good, at least from where we sat in the first row of the dress circle. That's not always easy to accomplish in Powell Hall's acoustical environment, which tends to swallow up soloists.

Nielsen's "Symphony No. 4" confronts the horror of the war directly. Like G. B. Shaw, Nielsen believed in a kind of pantheistic "life force" that pervaded all of nature. It's that force that Nielsen saw as "inextinguishable," even in the face of war and death. As he wrote in his program notes for the piece, "music is life, and like it inextinguishable." That force is demonstrated most dramatically in the famous "timpani battle" in final movement, in which timpani players placed on opposite sides of the orchestra fire volleys of sound at each other, but that's just the most vivid example of what British music writer Hugh Ottoway describes as "an elemental opposition of forces" that pervades the whole symphony.

This is dynamic, propulsive music, and it got an appropriately kinetic performance from Mr. Robertson and the symphony, with some really fine playing by the musicians. Nielsen's orchestration gives each of the different sections of the band a chance to shine. Brasses dominate the first and last movements, woodwinds the dance-like second, strings the searing third and, of course, the timpanists get to mix it up in the finale. They were all on top of their game Friday night, but percussionists Tom Stubbs and Shannon Wood deserve a particular shout-out for their performances.

I'm a great fan of Nielsen's symphonies and feel they haven't gotten nearly the attention they deserve locally. I'd be happy to see them on the Powell Hall stage more often, especially when they're performed with this kind of skill and conviction.

This weekend's concerts mark multiple anniversaries for the SLSO. It's the orchestra's 135 season and the 10th under Mr. Robertson. It's also the 20th for Concertmaster David Halen and Chorus Director Amy Kaiser (whose work you'll hear next week in the score for "Pirates of the Caribbean"). Mr. Robertson led the entire audience in a celebratory champagne toast at intermission, and a splendid time was had by all.

Next at Powell Hall: it's a movie night as Richard Kaufman conducts the orchestra and chorus in Hans Zimmer's score for "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest" while the film plays on the big screen. Showings are Friday and Saturday at 7 and Sunday at 2 p.m., September 18-21. For more information, visit the SLSO web site.

St. Louis Symphony Preview: Storm Clouds Rising

Brahms in 1853
en.wikipedia.org

Sturm und drang (usually translated as "storm and stress") was an early Romantic (late 18th century) movement in German literature and music that emphasized drama and conflict. Both Haydn and Mozart wrote symphonies that were seen as embodying the movement's approach. The music that opens the St. Louis Symphony's 135th season this weekend was all written well after the sturm und drang movement had passed, but it's chock full of high drama nevertheless.

To be fair, sturm und drang hadn't passed so much as simply evolved into the pervading sensibility of the Romantic era by the time the young (age 21) Johannes Brahms started work on his "Piano Concerto No. 1" in 1854. The concerto comes from a stormy time in Brahms's life. After attempting suicide by flinging himself into the Rhine, Robert Schumann, Brahms's mentor and friend, committed himself to an asylum. "As soon as he heard about Robert's suicide attempt," writes René Spencer Saller in her program notes, "Brahms rushed to the family's aid, living among them as man of the house. He and Clara became more than friends, if not quite lovers." With seven children and a household to manage, Clara no doubt appreciated the help.

Schumann would die in the asylum two difficult years later, and it's hard not to think of the great stress and tragedy of those events when you hear the powerfully dramatic opening of the concerto, with its portentous drum rolls, declamatory first theme, and melancholy second. "The Piano Concerto No. 1," wrote Larry Rothe in his program notes for a San Francisco Symphony performance, "was born in psycho-turmoil." The piano doesn't even enter until around four minutes in, and when it does it acts more as an equal partner with the orchestra than a flashy solo player. Given the length and scope of the piece (it runs around 45 minutes; longer in some classic recordings), it sometimes feels as much like a symphony with piano obbligato as a concerto; in fact, a symphony was what Brahms had originally intended it to be.

This wasn't what audiences at the time expected from a concerto, and although the initial performance (in Hanover on January 22, 1859, with Brahms at the keyboard) was well received, subsequent performances weren't. In Leipzig they hissed both the music and Brahms's efforts as soloist. A March 1859 performance with the Hamburg Philharmonic went well, but a return engagement of the revised and final version of the concerto did not. After five performances and only one favorable reception, Brahms set the work aside, and it would not come into its own for many years.

At the concert grand for this weekend's performances will be Yefim Bronfman, who made such a strong impression with the Brahms 2nd in November of 2012. I'm looking forward to hearing what he and Mr. Robertson will do with the equally challenging First.

Carl Nielsen in 1910
en.wikipedia.org

If the tragedy underlying the Brahms concerto was purely personal, the one behind the other big work on the program—Carl Nielsen's "Symphony No. 4" (subtitled "The Inextinguishable")—was far more universal. Written between 1914 and 1916, the fourth and the subsequent fifth symphony (from 1920) both bear the scars of The War to End All Wars. "Although Denmark was not drawn into the First World War," writes British musicologist and broadcaster Robert Layton in his notes for the 1988 Paavo Berglund/Royal Danish Orchestra recording, "the unremitting slaughter and senseless destruction haunted Nielsen's imagination. It was quite evident that the war presented the great divide in the affairs of mankind and that life could never be the same again. Nielsen's music assumed a new mantle; its harmonies are less rich, its textures denser and darker, and with the greater complexity of dissonance."

Nielsen's personal life was in disorder as well at the time—his infidelity was causing his marriage to unravel—but there's little doubt that (as Ms. Saller points out in her program notes), even as a citizen of neutral Denmark, he viewed the cataclysm engulfing most of Europe with horror. "It's as if the world is disintegrating," he wrote in an often-quoted letter to a friend. "National feeling, that until now was distinguished as something lofty and beautiful, has become a spiritual syphilis." Sadly, little seems to have changed in the intervening century.

Like the Brahms concerto, Nielsen's symphony jumps out at you from the first notes with a leaping, aggressive theme that quickly dissolves into sad descending figures in the flutes and the first statement of a theme that will eventually morph into a triumphant declaration by the end of the final movement. There's a headlong rush in the music of this symphony that reminds us of the fact that Nielsen, like G. B. Shaw, believed in a kind of pantheistic "life force" that pervaded all of nature. It's that force that Nielsen saw as "inextinguishable," even in the face of war and death. As he wrote in his program notes for the piece, "music is life, and like it inextinguishable."

That force is demonstrated most dramatically in the famous "tympani battle" in final movement, in which tympani players placed on opposite sides of the orchestra fire volleys of sound at each other. "It's as if we are answering each other," says timpanist Shannon Wood in the symphony program notes. "One timpani goes at it, then the other timpani goes at it. You can think of it like guitar duels in rock concerts. Maybe I'll toss my stick out to the audience at the end. Or I'll kick the drums Keith Moon style.”

Vaughan Williams in the army, 1915
rvwsociety.com

In between these two symphonic titans comes a little gem that also dates from the World War I era: Ralph Vaughan Williams's short (13 minutes) romance for violin and orchestra, "The Lark Ascending." Begun in 1914 while the composer was strolling along the seaside cliffs in Kent, it was not completed until the composer returned from his service in the war disillusioned and with what would prove to be progressive hearing loss. By the time "The Lark Ascending" had its first performance in 1921, it had turned into a wistfully nostalgic look back at a bucolic way of life shattered forever by the winds of war.

The piece takes its title from an 1881 poem of the same name by George Meredith that describes the characteristic way skylarks spiral up into the sky while singing. Meredith heard a kind of pantheist divinity in the lark's song that seems to have resonated with the composer, even though he was a devout Christian. Many have since heard a metaphor for the soul's climb to heaven in the way the work's lovely melody floats and, in the end, slowly fades into silence as it makes its final ascent. Indeed, when New York public radio station WNYC polled its listeners on the best classical piece to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, "The Lark Ascending" came in second, right after Barber's "Adagio for Strings."

The full poem is 122 lines long, but here are the lines Vaughan Williams chose to accompany the score:
He rises and begins to round,
He drops the silver chain of sound,
Of many links without a break,
In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake.

For singing till his heaven fills,
‘Tis love of earth that he instils,
And ever winging up and up,
Our valley is his golden cup
And he the wine which overflows
to lift us with him as he goes.

Till lost on his aerial rings
In light, and then the fancy sings.

The part of the lark this weekend will be played by Assistant Concertmaster Erin Schreiber. This makes me happy. I'm always glad to see local artists get the spotlight.

The concerts will open with an arrangement of "The Star Spangled Banner" by long-time New York Symphony Orchestra conductor Walter Damrosch (he led the world premieres of Gershwin's "Concerto in F" and "An American in Paris"). With lyrics about "the rocket's red glare" and "bombs bursting in air" it is, I guess, an appropriate way to open a program in which strife is such a major subtextual element.

The essentials: David Robertson conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and piano soloist Yefim Bronfman in Brahms's "Piano Concerto No. 1," violin soloist Erin Schreiber in Vaughan Williams's "The Lark Ascending," and Nielsen's "Symphony No. 4" Friday and Saturday, September 12 and 13, at 8 p.m. The concerts, which open the orchestra's 135th season, take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. For more information: stlsymphony.org.

Roll over, Beethoven

Andrey Boreyko

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Who: The St. Louis Symphony conducted by Andrey Boreyko with violinist Adele Anthony
What:  Music of Stephanie Berg, Nielsen, and Beethoven
When: Friday and Saturday, January 10 and 11, 2014
Where: Powell Symphony Hall

The first of the St. Louis Symphony's "Beethoven Festival" concerts this weekend brought exciting performances by guest conductor Andrey Boreyko of three works, each separated by nearly a century: Beethoven's "Symphony No. 7 in A major", Op. 92 (first performed in 1813), Carl Nielsen's Op. 33 "Violin Concerto" (1912 premiere), and "Ravish and Mayhem", a colorful little tone poem by Missouri composer Stephanie Berg from 2012 that opened the evening.

New music at the symphony isn't often greeted with wild applause. More often the reaction is polite (if somewhat baffled) approval from audience members who aren't sure whether they missed something important or whether, as Anna Russell once observed, the composer was just trying to get away with something.

Stephanie Berg

Not so with "Ravish and Mayhem," which drew enthusiastic ovations for both the orchestra and—when Mr. Boreyko persuaded her to appear on stage—Ms. Berg as well. Inspired, according to the composer, by a vision of "an ancient Middle Eastern street festival," this unabashedly cinematic and vivid piece was a delight from the opening Coplandesque fanfares and melismatic woodwind figures to the brass glissandi near the end that conjured up images of trumpeting elephants.

Yes, dear friends, it was the 21st century version of Ketèlbey's 1920 hit "In a Persian Market." And I mean that in the best way possible. Many contemporary composers, in my view, could benefit from trying to be a bit more like the late British master of "light music" and a bit less like (say) Karlheinz Stockhausen.
The symphony musicians handled this new work with the same ease they display with well-worn favorites. There were especially notable contributions by Andrea Kaplan (flute), Ann Choomack (piccolo), Scott Andrews (clarinet), and Diana Haskell (E-flat clarinet) in the lively opening section.

Next was Carl Nielsen's violin concerto, a work that, like many of the Danish master's symphonies and other larger works, often defies expectations in ways that can leave audience members a bit confused. Which might explain why the concerto wasn't heard at Powell until 2001 (nearly 90 years after its premiere) and hasn't returned since Robert Spano conducted a performance with Yang Liu in October of 2002. Adele Anthony was the soloist this time, and she gave us a thoroughly idiomatic and assured reading (as you might expect from a Carl Nielsen International Violin Competition winner), dashing off the cadenza and final pages of the Allegro cavalleresco that closes the first half of the concerto so impressively that she was awarded with a spontaneous burst of applause.

Adele Anthony

Personally, I've always loved Nielsen's music. I find the composer's joy in the unexpected and characteristic melodic voice immensely appealing. It would be nice to see more of it on the stage at Powell.

The evening closed with an exhilarating Beethoven "Symphony No. 7," beautifully shaped by Mr. Boreyko. He last conducted the orchestra in an all-Tchaikovsky program in November of 2012 that was distinguished by an electrifying performance of the "Violin Concerto" by Vadim Gluzman and a "Symphony No. 1" that exploited all of the work's extremes in tempi and dynamics while still pulling everything together into a coherent whole. The Beethoven Seventh comes from a more restrained emotional world than the Tchaikovsky First, but Mr. Boreyko nevertheless found and effectively exploited all the drama inherent in the music.

He displayed an unerring ability to build to an effective climax, both within movements (as in the opening Poco sostenuto) and in the overall structure of the symphony. The white-hot intensity of the finale was simply the inevitable conclusion of an arc that had been built from the first notes of the first movement—the conclusion of which got a round of spontaneous applause—and which ran through the steady rhythmic pulse of the second and the fleet-footed romp of the third. An enthusiastic and thoroughly justified standing ovation followed.

It's likely that the orchestra that first performed Beethoven's seventh was somewhat smaller than 73 musicians assembled for this weekend's performance, but they played with the crisp articulation and precision of a much smaller ensemble. Timpanist Shannon Wood, in particular, deserves a shout-out for exactitude and endurance during that remarkable final movement.

The Beethoven Festival continues this coming weekend with the "Piano Concerto No. 5" (the "Emperor") along with Weber's "Euryanthe Overture" and Bartók's "Concerto for Orchestra." Andrés Orozco-Estrada conducts with soloist Louis Lortie . Performances are Friday at 10:30 AM (a Krispy Kreme coffee concert), Saturday at 8 PM, and Sunday at 2 PM, January 17-19. For more information: stlsymphony.org.

Tales of the unexpected

First page of Beethoven's 7th

This weekend the symphony brings us the first of four "Beethoven Festival" concerts that will feature performances of the third and fifth symphonies, the fifth piano concerto (the "Emperor") and, this Friday and Saturday, the "Symphony No. 7 in A Minor," Op. 92. The two works that precede the Beethoven this weekend, however, are at least as noteworthy.

I'm not knocking the Seventh, mind you. First performed at a December 8, 1813, charity concert to benefit widows and orphans of soldiers killed in the Battle of Hanau—which marked the beginning of the end of Napoleon's dreams of empire—the work was greeted with wild acclaim by audiences and critics alike. The second movement Alegretto in, in particular, "enchanted connoisseur and layman," according to a contemporary review in the Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung. Welsh musicologist David Wyn Morris has called the symphony "the continuous cumulative celebration of joy," and I'd have to agree.

But we get to hear the Beethoven seventh quite a lot. The symphony last performed it, for example, two years ago with Semyon Bychkov on the podium. By way of contrast, the piece that takes up most of the first half of the concert—Carl Nielsen's 1911 "Violin Concerto"—didn't make it's SLSO debut until 2001 and hasn't been seen on the Powell Hall stage since Robert Spano conducted a performance with soloist Yang Liu in October of 2002.

Carl Nielsen in 1910

Not that this is unusual. The concerto doesn't have anything like the high profile of the Sibelius concerto from six years earlier—possibly because it, like many of Nielsen's large-scale works, often defies expectations in ways that can leave audience members a bit confused. "The Violin Concerto," writes René Spencer Saller in her program notes, "for all its Neoclassical trappings, is similarly weird, not to mention unusually long and difficult to play. Notes ring out shrilly; harmonies collapse into dissonances; themes collide and implode. Its beauty is severe and gleams like a glacier."

For me, this is exactly what makes Nielsen such a very cool composer. His symphonies have always been favorites of mine, along with his concerti, programmatic pieces like the remarkable "Helios Overture," and the quirky incidental music he wrote for Adam Oehlenschläger's "dramatic fairy tale" "Aladdin" in 1919. When you encounter his concerto, expect the unexpected. It's in two movements instead of the usual three of four, for one thing, and each movement is preceded by a slow introduction. It's dramatic stuff but it makes no effort to impress with simple virtuoso display. Even the concluding Rondo, in the composer's own words, "renounces everything that might dazzle or impress." But I think you'll be impressed anyway.

The concerts open with a brand-new piece, "Ravish and Mayhem," written in 2012 by Missouri native Stephanie Berg (she was born in Parkville, MO, in 1986 has a Master's in composition from the University of Missouri). "With its wide-eyed, almost Coplandesque harmonies and hectic rhythms," writes René Spencer Saller, "Ravish and Mayhem neatly encapsulates Berg's approach. Dramatic brass vies with whimsical woodwinds; grand gestures are interrupted by playful passages; ceremony succumbs to chaos. The sonorities are at once American and exotic." Berg is also quoted in the symphony program as acknowledging an "Arabic" influence in the work in that "the melodies involve a lot of trills and flourishes, which seem to be a feature of music from that region." "It's a very high-energy piece," she said in a 2012 interview for Vox Magazine, "very folk-like melodies."

Stephanie Berg

Why the title? I have no idea, and Ms. Berg hasn't been quoted on the subject as far as I can see. I guess we'll just have to draw our own conclusions once we've heard it.

Turning from the music to the performers, this week's conductor, Andrey Boreyko, last led the symphony in an all-Tchaikovsky program in November of 2012 that was distinguished by an electrifying performance of the "Violin Concerto" by Vadim Gluzman and a "Symphony No. 1" that exploited all of the work's extremes in tempi and dynamics while still pulling everything together into a coherent whole. It will be interesting to see what he does with this weekend's vary varied program.

Mr. Boreyko's violin soloist, Adele Anthony, is making her SLSO debut. It's appropriate that she's playing the Nielsen, since she first made her mark on the international scene at Denmark's 1996 Carl Nielsen International Violin Competition. She has gone on to appear with important orchestras world wide, including the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra, NDR Orchestra Hannover, and the Orchestre Philharmonique de Radio France; also all six symphonies of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. She performs on a 1728 Stradivarius.

Andrey Boreyko conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra with violin soloist Adele Anthony this Friday and Saturday, January 10 and 11, at 8 PM at Powell Hall in Grand Center. The Saturday concert will be broadcast on St. Louis Public Radio, 90.7 FM, HD 1, and live streaming at the station web site. For more information: stlsymphony.org.