Symphony Preview: Sounds of joy and despair at Powell Hall Saturday and Sunday, November 22 and 23

There are only two pieces on the program this Saturday and Sunday at the symphony, and even though they were written less than 60 years apart, the contrast between them is so stark that they might as well be from different worlds.

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Schumann in 1850
en.wikipedia.org

The concerts open with Robert Schumann's "Cello Concerto in A minor," op. 129. It dates from 1850, which SLSO program annotator Paul Schiavo describes as "a watershed year" for the composer. "His 40th birthday was celebrated with a concert organized by his admirers," writes Mr. Schiavo, "and after what seemed an interminable series of delays his only opera, Genoveva, was finally produced in Leipzig. At about the same time, the composer accepted the directorship of the municipal orchestra and chorus in Düsseldorf and in September moved with his family to that city on the Rhine. The Duüsseldorf appointment represented a significant professional advance for Schumann, and he was cheered at the prospect of finally gaining some measure of the recognition which had thus far eluded him."

Schumann's joy would be short lived—he would try to commit suicide three and a half years later by throwing himself into the Rhine—but for time being the composer was on top of the world, resulting in music that was, in the words of the late British musicologist Eric Sams, "as secure and buoyant as the Rhine itself, with hardly a hint of the dark chill depths to come."

That said, the concerto wasn't all that well received, despite the skill evident in its composition. As with the earlier piano concerto, Schumann disdained the kind of flashy virtuoso writing that typified concertos in the mid-19th century (Liszt and company were very much in fashion). Worse yet, he disapproved of the applause between movements (which was commonplace at the time), so the three sections of the concerto follow each other without pause. Schumann didn't even call it a concerto originally; the autograph score describes it as a Konzertstück (concert piece) rather than Konzert (concerto). Clara Schumann loved the work, but the composer himself seems to have had doubts, not even sending to his publishers until 1854. It wasn't performed publicly until 1860, almost four years after the composer's death.

The lack of obvious fireworks in the cello part doesn't mean that this piece is easy to perform, though. Quite the opposite: it requires for a combination of technical facility and artistic sensitivity that asks a lot from the soloist. As cellist Jan Vogler noted in a 2012 interview, although he had already performed the concerto over 60 times, he was just getting "to the point where he can see the light."

The soloist this weekend, Principal Cello Daniel Lee, certainly looks like the right man for the job. As I wrote in my April 2012 review of his performance of the Dvorak concerto (which, like the Schumann, requires nimble hands and a warm heart), Mr. Lee combines technical proficiency with an emotional openness that allows him to be completely within the moment at every point in the music.

Mahler in 1907
Photo: Moritz Nähr
en.wikipedia.org

If Schumann's concerto comes from a high point in his life, Mahler's "Das Lied on der Erde" ("The Song of the Earth") comes from a low point in his. When Mahler bean work on the piece in the summer of 1907, his eldest daughter has just died of scarlet fever at the age of four and the composer himself had just been diagnosed with the heart condition that would lead to his demise four years later. Suddenly death—which had always been a theme in Mahler's music—became very personal.

Scored for large orchestra and two singers (typically tenor and mezzo-soprano, although Mahler allows for the substitution of a baritone in the second, fourth, and sixth songs), "Das Lied" is essentially a vocal symphony that takes its texts from Hans Bethge's "The Chinese Flute," a German-language re-write of English, French and German translations of some ancient Chinese poems. Further edited and re-written by Mahler, the lyrics contemplate a variety of aspects of life and death. "Every mood," writes Tony Duggan at musicweb-international.com "from cynical and drunken hedonism to serene and Zen-like stasis gets covered in the course of the hour this work takes. At the end, the message is that, since the beauties and mysteries of the earth renew themselves year after year, our own passing should not be feared but accepted calmly and without rancour. The earth, the world and nature goes on without us."

Too true. In particular, the last movement—"Das Abschied" ("The Farewell")—is possibly one of the most emotionally powerful things you will ever encounter in a concert hall. In it, the narrator's farewell to a friend becomes a farewell to life itself: "Die liebe Erde allüberall Blüht auf im Lenz und grünt aufs neu! Allüberall und ewig blauen licht die Fernen! Ewig... ewig..." ("Everywhere the good earth blossoms in spring and turns green once again! Everywhere and forever, distant spaces shine their blue light! Forever...forever..."). "The music of this closing movement," writes Mr. Schiavo "is...by turns heartbroken and serene, and this remarkable dualism persists even in the unresolved sixth—the most gentle of dissonances—which colors its final chord."

This weekend's soloists, Susan Graham and Paul Graves, have impressive but very different resumes. Ms. Graham's is heavily tilted towards opera while Mr. Graves appears to have substantial oratorio and concert experience. That should make for a nice balance in a work that straddles the concert and opera stages. Although he never wrote an opera, Mahler was a composer with an infallible sense for the dramatic.

The essentials: David Robertson conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra along with mezzo-soprano Susan Graham, tenor Paul Groves, and cellist Daniel Lee in Schumann's "Cello Concerto" and Mahler's "Das Lied von der Erde" on Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sunday at 2 p.m., November 22 and 23. The concerts take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. For more information: stlsymphony.org. The Saturday concert will be broadcast live on St. Louis public radio at 90.7 FM, HD 1, and via the station web site.

Friends again

James Gaffigan

Who: The St. Louis Symphony conducted by James Gaffigan
What: Music of Mendelssohn and Brahms
When: February 7-9, 2014
Where: Powell Symphony Hall

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St. Louis Symphony Orchestra guest conductor (and fellow Rice University alum) James Gaffigan gave us a highly dramatic and immensely satisfying Mendelssohn "Symphony No. 3 in A minor," op. 56 ("Scottish"), Friday morning, along with an equally impassioned Brahms "Concerto in A minor for Violin, Cello, and Orchestra (Double Concerto)," op. 102. Symphony Concertmaster David Halen and Principal Cello Daniel Lee were the soloists in the Brahms, demonstrating that you don't have to fly in stars to get stellar performances.

"The lovable side of Brahms' nature," write Wallace Brockway and Herbert Weinstock in their chatty "Men of Music," "is nowhere better illustrated than in the circumstances surrounding the composition...of the "Double Concerto." Brahms wrote it in 1887 in an attempt to mend fences with his friend and musical collaborator Joseph Joachim, from whom he had been estranged for six years after Brahms was caught in the crossfire of Joachim's messy divorce.

The attempt was apparently successful. Joachim and cellist Robert Hausmann (who had commissioned the work) gave the first performance with Brahms on the podium. Indeed, listening to the intimate relationship between the violin and cello in this music, it's impossible not to picture the kind of close friendship Brahms wanted to rekindle. As Paul Schiavo writes in his program notes, "the cello and violin are equal partners, paradoxically both solo, yet conjoined... The violin finishes the cello's sentences; the cello chuckles at the violin's jokes. They are having an intimate conversation, really listening to each other, supporting, and forgiving each other."

Daniel Lee and David Halen

In giving the solo roles in the concerto to colleagues who have worked together for years, I think the symphony has given us a performance with an extra degree of depth and resonance. Mr. Halen and Mr. Lee were clearly very much in synch with each other throughout the concerto, taking on the role of old friends Brahms has written for them.

For me, the whole collaboration was neatly captured in a moment during the Vivace non troppo finale when, after the statement of the first theme of the rondo, Mr. Halen and Mr. Lee looked at each other and shared a smile as if to say, "that was fun, wasn't it?" That attitude comes across to an audience, which is probably one reason why they got a smattering of spontaneous applause after the first movement and a well-earned standing ovation at the end.

This is difficult material to perform, by the way. That's partly because, as Brahms wrote to Clara Schumann, he was "writing for instruments whose character and sound one can only incidentally imagine" and partly because the soloists have to work so closely, often trading licks like traditional fiddlers. Mr. Halen and Mr. Lee played together like a single instrument, weaving a seamless garment of sound. Nicely done, gentlemen.

Mendelssohn got the idea for his "Symphony No. 3 in A minor", op. 56, ("Scottish") back in 1829 during a walking tour of the British aisles. Scotland in general and Edinburgh in particular made a strong impression on him. Although most of the symphony wasn't written until 1842, Mendelssohn got the idea for the slow introduction to the first movement when he visited the ruined Holyrood Chapel in Edinburgh. "In the evening twilight," he wrote, "we went today to the palace where Queen Mary lived and loved... Everything round is broken and mouldering and the bright sky shines in. I believe I today found in that old chapel the beginning of my 'Scottish' Symphony."

Holyrood Chapel

The actual "Scottishness" of the rest of the symphony has been a subject of some debate among critics over the years, but everyone seems to agree that this dramatic and engaging work is one of Mendelssohn's best. It was also, despite the number assigned to it, his last; he died five years after its 1842 premiere.

James Gaffigan gave it the full Romantic treatment, beginning with a forceful declaration of that "Holyrood" introduction followed by a statement of the main theme that brought out the clarinet melody more prominently than usual—a nice touch. That set the tone for the rest of this highly charged performance, which emphasized strong tempo and dynamic contrasts and left many individual moments lingering in my memory.

The clarinet theme of the second movement, for example, sounded especially perky in the hands of Scott Andrews, as did the oboe reply from Phil Ross. The horns, led by Associate Principal Thomas Jöstlein, also impressed me with their balance of power and precision in the rapid passages here. In fact, the winds and brasses sounded excellent all the way through, which is no small accomplishment for a morning concert. Warm-ups must have started fairly early.

The third movement Adagio was powerfully majestic and the A major restatement of the "Holyrood" theme at the end sounded notably jubilant, bringing everything to a highly satisfying conclusion.

The concert opened with an equally fine reading of Mendelssohn's "Die schöne Melusine (The Fair Melusina) Overture," op. 32 from 1833, inspired by a medieval French fairy tale about a water sprite's unhappy love affair with a human prince. The piece is a bit discursive in places but offers opportunities for the winds to show off. And so they did, with the limpid melody that represents the heroine first stated by the clarinets and played quite effectively Friday morning by Associate Principal Diana Haskell and Tina Ward and later picked up beautifully by the flutes (Ann Choomack and Associate Principal Andrea Caplan). This strikes me as somewhat minor league Mendelssohn, but Mr. Gaffigan and the symphony musicians certainly made a fine case for it.

For what it's worth, I couldn't help noticing that Mr. Gaffigan, like many of the symphony's guest conductors, had a very physically demonstrative style on the podium, often favoring big gestures and generally characterized by what seems to be a real joy in music making so large that it can barely be contained. As an audience member, I've always found that approach appealing.

Next on the schedule: Lift Every Voice: A Black History Month Celebration with Kevin McBeth conducting the orchestra and IN UNISON chorus Friday, February 14, at 7:30 PM. Then Steven Jarvi conducts the orchestra for a live performance of Max Steiner's score for Casablanca, accompanying a showing of the classic film. There will be a drink special, popcorn, another movie-themed goodies, all of which you can take into the hall with you. The opening credits roll at 7 PM on Saturday and 2 PM on Sunday, February 15 and 16, at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand. For more information: stlsymphony.org.

Music of love and friendship

James Gaffigan

This weekend (February 7-9) marks the return to the Powell Hall stage of Lucerne Symphony Chief Conductor (and fellow Rice University alum) James Gaffigan for a program of music by Mendelssohn and Brahms that puts two of the symphony's own in the spotlight.

The concerts open with "Die schöne Melusine (The Fair Melusina) Overture," op. 32 from 1833.  It's not, as you might think from the title, the overture to an opera or play but rather a stand-alone concert work based on an extra-musical subject.  It's the sort of thing Liszt would later call a "symphonic poem." That wouldn't happen for another decade, though, so back then such pieces were simply called "concert overtures."  Mendelssohn's far more well-known "The Hebrides" op. 26 (a.k.a. "Fingal's Cave") is a classic example.

The story of "The Fair Melusina" comes from the realm of the supernatural.  "The eponymous heroine," writes Paul Schiavo in his program notes, "derives from a medieval French tale about a water nymph, or mermaid, who can pass as a human being. She falls in love with a human prince and agrees to marry him on the condition that he leave her alone one day every week, when she secretly reverts to her half-fish form. When her husband discovers her true identity, their happiness ends and Melusina is exiled to an aquatic fairy realm." 

This is not unfamiliar territory for classical composers; a similar story drives Dvořák’s 1901 opera "Rusalka" (the Metropolitan Opera live HD broadcast of which is, coincidentally, showing at the Art Museum on Saturday afternoon).  As Robert Schumann noted, though, Mendelssohn doesn't attempt literal storytelling her so much as he “portrays only the characters of the man and the woman, of the proud, knightly Lusignan and the enticing, yielding Melusina."  You hear the latter in clarinet arpeggios and the former in a more heroic theme for the strings.  Nice stuff, and not heard as often as "Hebrides"; the last symphony performance was in 2008.

The ruins of Holyrood Abbey's nave in August 2011

The other Mendelssohn piece on the program—the "Symphony No. 3 in A minor", op. 56, “Scottish”—is much more well known and is frequently heard in concert halls and on the radio.   Although most of it wasn't written until 1842, Mendelssohn got the idea for the slow introduction to the first movement when he visited the ruined Holyrood Chapel in Edinburgh on 1829 walking tour of Scotland.  “In the evening twilight," he wrote, "we went today to the palace where Queen Mary lived and loved…Everything round is broken and mouldering and the bright sky shines in. I believe I today found in that old chapel the beginning of my ‘Scottish’ Symphony.” 

That opening theme aside, though, the "Scottish" nature of the symphony is a subject of some debate among critics and program annotators.  Some, like the Los Angeles Philharmonic's Eric Bromberger, feel that "no one is sure what that nickname means. This music tells no tale, paints no picture, nor does it quote Scottish tunes."  British composer and conductor Julius Harrison, on the other hand, thought the symphony "illustrates the near-scenic aspect of Mendelssohn's romantic art" and felt that the jaunty clarinet theme of the Vivace non troppo second movement has "a touch of 'Charlie is My Darling' about it's dotted quavers—something Mendelssohn may have remembered and set down."

I fall more into the late Mr. Harrison's camp, but wherever you come down on the "Scottishness" of this music there's no getting around its unflagging appeal and elegant construction.  To hear this music is to love it.

Love played a part in the composition of the second work on this weekend's program, the "Concerto in A minor for Violin, Cello, and Orchestra (Double Concerto)", op. 102.  "The lovable side of Brahms' nature," write Wallace Brockway and Herbert Weinstock in their chatty "Men of Music," "is nowhere better illustrated than in the circumstances surrounding the composition" of this piece.  Brahms wrote in in 1887 in an attempt to mend fences with his friend and musical collaborator Joseph Joachim.  Brahms had taken (or appeared to take, anyway) the side of Joachim's wife in an ugly divorce suit six years earlier and Joachim refused to forgive him despite repeated attempts at reconciliation.

A commission for a concerto from Robert Hausmann, the cellist Joachim's string quartet, finally gave Brahms the opening he needed.  Brahms approached Joachim for advice on the concerto and, as it evolved from a cello concerto to an unusual concerto for violin and cello (harking back to the old Baroque concerto grosso), the old musical partnership between the two men was rekindled.  "This concerto is a work of reconciliation," noted Clara Schumann in her journal. "Joachim and Brahms have spoken to each other again for the first time in years."

Daniel Lee and David Halen

It's a remarkable piece due in part—as Mr. Schiavo notes—to "its insistence that the cello and violin are equal partners, paradoxically both solo, yet conjoined. Like all great pairings, the union engenders something entirely new—in this case a crazy hybrid super-stringed instrument that can plummet as low as a cello and soar as high as a violin in one delirious run."  It opens with a dramatic declaration for the cello, followed by a more lyrical theme on the violin.  The cello quickly joins in and soon they're off on a rapturous duet that will continue, in various forms, for the next 33 minutes or so.  "They are having an intimate conversation,' writes Mr. Schiavo, "really listening to each other, supporting, and forgiving each other. Together they make a better person."  It really is a labor of love, and that comes through is every measure.

That said, Brahms himself was somewhat dismissive of the concerto and lacked confidence in his writing for the solo instruments.  "It is quite a different matter," he wrote to Clara Schumann, "writing for instruments whose character and sound one can only incidentally imagine than for an instrument which one knows totally—as I do the piano." 

And he wasn't alone in his misgivings.  As Peter Gutmann writes at Classical Notes, Edward Hanslick (normally a fan) dismissed it as “a product of a great constructive mind rather than an irresistible inspiration of creative imagination and invention.”  Brockway and Weinstock go ever further: "It is of appalling difficulty both for soloists and audience: playing it may give the pleasure of obstacles overcome, but there is no such reward for most listeners."

Listening to the Yo-Yo Ma and Itzhak Perlman recording with Daniel Barenboim and the Chicago Symphony now, I find it impossible to agree with that assessment.  The give and take between the soloists that Mr. Schiavo describes is irresistible to my ears. 

Brockway and Weinstock are right about the technical challenges, though.  Fortunately this weekend's performances will feature concertmaster David Halen and principal cellist Daniel Lee in the solo roles, so technique isn't likely to be an issue.  And there will be the additional appeal of watching these two colleagues work together.

The Essentials: James Gaffigan conducts the St. Louis Symphony with soloists David Halen (violin) and Daniel Lee (cello) in the Brahms "Concerto in A minor for Violin, Cello, and Orchestra (Double Concerto)", op. 102, along with Mendelssohn's "Die schöne Melusine (The Fair Melusina) Overture," op. 32 and "Symphony No. 3 in A minor", op. 56.  Performances are Friday at 10:30 AM (a Krispy Kreme coffee concert with free doughnuts), Saturday at 8 PM, and Sunday at 3 PM, February 7-9, at Powell Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center.  For more information: stlsymphony.org.  The Saturday concert will be broadcast live on St. Louis Public Radio at 90.7 FM, HD 1, and streaming from the station web site.  But, of course, it’s best heard live.

Dona nobis pacem

Jun Märkl; photo by Christiane Höhne

Who: The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and Chorus conducted by Jun Märkl with soloists Daniel Lee (cello), Dominique Labelle (soprano), Kai Rüütel (mezzo-soprano), Christoph Genz (tenor), and Stephen Powell (baritone)
What: Music of Schoenberg, Haydn, and Mozart/Süssmayr
Where: Powell Symphony Hall
When: November 9-11, 2012

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The St. Louis Symphony Chorus and their director Amy Kaiser covered themselves with glory Friday night with powerful performances of Schoenberg's Friede auf Erden (Peace on Earth, a fiercely difficult piece for a cappella chorus from 1907) and the Mozart/Süssmayr Requiem under the baton of Jun Märkl. In between, Daniel Lee demonstrated once again what top-notch cello playing sounds like in Haydn's D major concerto.

As I have noted in the past, much as I love hearing the standard repertory at the symphony, encountering a work for the first time has a special kind of excitement. Schoenberg’s Friede auf Erden is not a new piece—it was written in 1907 and first performed in 1911—but this is the first time the Symphony Chorus has tackled it. And (to stretch this metaphor past the breaking point), they scored a touchdown.

One look at the score of Friede auf Erden shows why this is likely the kind of work that gives choir directors the willies. Polyrhythms are frequent, and Schoenberg’s harmony, while still close to the late 19th century mainstream, definitely looks forward to his upcoming abandonment of key-centered composition. One gets the sense the Schoenberg never really understood what Davie Vernier (in a review for Classics Today) describes as “the practicalities of producing pitch-accurate sounds with human rather than mechanical instruments” and, in fact, the first scheduled performance in 1907 was cancelled because the singers just couldn’t hack it.

There were no such problems Friday night. Under Jun Märkl, the chorus delivered a performance that was as powerful as it was precise. The emotional impact of the text—a Christmas poem with a potent anti-war message by the Swiss poet and historical novelist Conrad Meyer that seemed appropriate for Armistice Day weekend—was stunning, assisted by a projected English translation. Anyone who wasn’t nearly moved to tears by those closing measures was made of sterner stuff than yours truly. You couldn’t have asked for a better opener.

Brilliant musicianship was the order of the evening in the next work as well. Haydn’s D major Cello Concerto was written for Esterhazy court cellist Anton Kraft in the 1780s. Based on the difficulty of the solo part, which exploits the instrument’s full range and calls for nearly every technical trick in the book, I’ve got to conclude that Herr Kraft was quite the virtuoso.

Happily, “quite the virtuoso” is a phrase that applies just as well to symphony principal cellist Daniel Lee. If you were fortunate enough to hear his Dvořák Cello Concerto this past April, you know just how good Mr. Lee is. Back then I noted that his playing combined nimble hands with a warm heart. Both were on display once again in the Haydn. His bravura performance of contemporary German cellist Reiner Ginzel’s first movement cadenza (as was customary at the time, Haydn didn’t provide one) resulted in spontaneous applause at the movement’s end, the second movement Adagio radiated ethereal beauty, and the concluding Rondo delivered all the good humor for which Haydn was noted. Mr. Märkl and the orchestra backed Mr. Lee up nicely, and there was good communication between conductor and soloist.

The big draw for these concerts, of course, is the Mozart Requiem. Begun during the final months of the composer’s life, it’s a mostly stirring and affecting setting of the standard Latin mass for the dead that’s understandably popular with performers and audiences alike. I say “mostly” because Mozart died before he could complete it and the parts commonly attributed to his student Franz Xaver Süssmayr (who may or may not have had help from others) are clearly the work of a second-rater. The “Benedictus”, in particular, could do with some editing.*

Still, four-fifths (or thereabouts) of a Mozart masterpiece is still very fine stuff. The anguished shrieks of the violins in the “Requiem aeternam”, the dramatic “Dies irae”, the heartfelt quartet of the “Recordare”, and the famous baritone and trombone duet of the “Tuba mirum” are only a few of the many memorable things in this lovely score.

And what a masterful performance by Mr. Märkl and the chorus! I’ve only seen him conduct the symphony twice in the past. They were both heavily Romantic programs, so it was a pleasure to see him approach Mozart with the same combination of passion and attention to individual performers and sections that he had lavished on Ravel, Dvořák, and Saint-Saëns in those earlier programs. The members of the chorus, of course, were their usual flawless selves.

The vocal soloists for the Requiem had a nice mix of concert, oratorio, and opera appearances in their resumes, so you won’t be surprised to learn that they fully did justice to the music’s drama without ever committing the musical equivalent of overacting. I was especially taken with soprano Dominique Labelle’s work in the “Recordare” and with the way baritone Stephen Powell blended so well Vanessa Fralick’s flawless trombone in the “Tuba mirum”, but all four singers were really impeccable.

Next on the symphony calendar is an all-Tchaikovsky program with conductor Andrey Boreyko and violinist Vadim Gluzman. Performances are Friday at 10:30 AM (a Krispy Kreme Coffee Concert with free doughnuts), Saturday at 8 PM and Sunday at 3 PM, November 16– 18. There’s also a youth orchestra concert on the 16th at 7 PM. For more information: stlsymphony.org

*Nearly everything about the Requiem has been a source of dispute since Mozart’s death, including the wisdom of using Süssmayr’s completion. At least two other completions were done in the early 19th century and several musicologists have produced their own over the last four or five decades. You can read all about it on Wikipedia or take a look at Christoph Wolff’s 1994 book Mozart’s Requiem.

Lee's summit

Who: Cellist Daniel Lee and The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra conducted by Peter Oundjian
What: Music of Smetana, Dvořák, and Tchaikovsky
Where: Powell Symphony Hall, St. Louis
When: April 20-22, 2012

[Download the complete St. Louis symphony program notes in PDF format]

If St. Louis Symphony Principal Cello Daniel Lee isn’t feeling extraordinarily pleased with himself right now, it must mean that his virtuosity is exceed only by his modesty. Certainly the spontaneous applause that burst forth after the first movement of the Dvořák Cello Concerto and the standing ovation at the end are the sorts of things guaranteed to gladden the heart and increase the self-esteem of any performer.

For that matter, Peter Oundjian can feel pretty proud of his impassioned reading of Smetana’s Šárka from Má vlast and a snappy Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 2 (Little Russian). It all made for an entertaining evening of late-19th century music with, to quote symphony program annotator Laurie Shulman, “an emphasis on native rhythms, harmonies, and melodies composed at a great distance from the music capitals of London, Paris, and Vienna.”

The cello doesn’t appear in the symphonic spotlight that often. It’s not that there aren’t concerti out there (although far fewer than for violin or piano), it’s just that most of them are relatively obscure. The Dvořák A minor concerto is probably the most popular—right up there with the Elgar—and justifiably so. Written during the composer’s final year in America, it’s a mature and deeply felt work of genuinely symphonic proportions. It’s also technically challenging without being superficially flashy. There are no cadenzas, for example, and the demands on the soloist’s technique arise naturally out of the concerto’s dramatic narrative.

To play this concerto well, then, you need not only nimble hands but also a warm heart. This is music of deep sorrow and overflowing joy. The soloist had better be open to all of it.

Mr. Lee has all that and then some. Sure, his performance on Friday night was technically proficient. But more importantly it was emotionally genuine. You could see the play of Dvořák’s feelings echoed on his face and in his body. He was, as we say in the theatre, completely in the moment and in tune with not only the music but with his fellow players as well. I have always loved this concerto, and Mr. Lee’s exemplary performance reminded me why.

The concert began and ended with a pair of virtuoso orchestral works. The opener, Smetana’s Šárka, is perhaps an unusual choice. It’s based on an incident from the legendary twelfth-century “Maiden’s War” in which the titular heroine seduces the warrior Ctirad and then, with the help of her fellow Amazons, slaughters him and his men in their sleep. Smetana’s tone painting is fairly literal (even including a snoring bassoon as the men fall asleep) and concludes with a particularly violent orchestral outburst. Mr. Oundjian’s interpretation made the most of the composer’s dynamic contrasts, with an especially hair-raising coda. I’d love to hear him tackle the entire Má vlast.

The evening concluded with Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 2, nicknamed the “Little Russian” for its use of folk material from the Ukraine (a.k.a. “Little Russia”). Tchaikovsky’s first three symphonies don’t get nearly the respect they deserve, in my view, so it was delightful to hear this one at Powell Hall for the first time in nearly twenty years.

The symphony abounds in flashy writing, especially for the winds, and the orchestra’s players were more than up to the task. Even Mr. Oundjian’s breakneck pace in the finale posed no challenge. Everything, including the cheerful little piccolo solo, came through with perfect clarity.

Mr. Oundjian, as I have noted in the past, appears to run a tight musical ship. His podium style is less aerobic than Mr. Robertson’s and more traditional in approach, with the right hand mostly keeping time with the baton and the left cueing soloists and shaping dynamics. The dynamic contrasts he shapes can be extreme, but to my ears they always make sense and serve the music well. He appears to have an excellent rapport with the musicians, which may be one of the reasons he has appeared so often here—and will be returning May 4 and 5.

Next at Powell Hall: The much-heralded “Rach Fest” Friday through Sunday, April 27-29, with Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 1 (Friday morning at 10:30) and Piano Concerto No. 2 (Saturday at 8 and Sunday at 3) along with Shostakovich’s youthful Symphony No. 1 and Rimski-Korsakov’s Op. 29 Skazka (“Fairy Tale”). Hans Graf is at the podium with Stephen Hough at the keyboard. For more information you may call 314-534-1700 or visit stlsymphony.org.