Music is the only art form that does not require sight for full absorption; you need only consume its beauty through your ears.
You can certainly keep your eyes open, though. Such was tempting for me Saturday night when the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra (ASO) played at the Lucas Theater as the finale to the Savannah Music Festival. For about one-hundred minutes, the hymns of Finnish composer Jean Sibelius and Norwegian musician Edvard Grieg reverberated in lush, perceptible harmony. Though my eyes remained opened, my ears operated as my concerto canal, collecting every vibration floating up to my seat up in the balcony’s nosebleed section.
Under the musical direction of Robert Spano, the ASO performed three distinct and demanding compositions written by two of eastern Europe’s most influential Romantic era musicians. Spano was calm, or so I made him out to be from my perch. Watching the onstage reactions added intrigue and layers to the art, making a night the symphony a compelling match of sight and sound. The conductor was both the quietest and most interesting subject amidst the musical cyclone. Spano’s demeanor paralleled the extreme musical movements of guest French-Canadian pianist Louis Lortie, who seemed to be the true conductor with his incredible renditions of Grieg’s most popular works.
My seat neighbor was kind enough to lend me his opera glasses several times throughout the evening for a momentary gaze at the ensemble’s elaborate personality. Imagine my amazement when I discovered I was hearing the calls of six cellos. Besides my joy at finally getting the chance to use opera glasses in an appropriate setting, I was both amused and fascinated by counting the instruments in each section.
The stand certainly did not limit itself to the compositions’ designated instrument count. Sibelius’s Finlandia, Opus 26 is scored for, and I quote, “two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, tuba, timpani, bass drum, cymbals, triangle and strings.” That’s the minimum, but this was the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra. A limit to the amount of cellos and french horns did not exist. In fact, the additional instruments only amplified the jubilation in Opus 26’s mid-section, not to mention making for an exquisite picture with the onstage ensemble.
Sibelius wrote Finlandia as a “tone poem” for the Finnish “Press Pension Fund Pageant,” which took place following the threat of Russian censorship of the Finnish press. He conducted its first performance in November 1899 and I’m sure the composer would have applauded at the depth and texture of Spano’s direction in 2016.
Opus 26 began with a solemn measure, before it started to tickle slightly at a lighter tone. The three oboes signaled a league of triumphant trumpets. An escalation of woodwinds followed a triangle’s soft ping, which echoed with imagery of butterflies landing on each note. The clarinet hummed a hymn of budding heroism, later completed with brass accompaniment for a beautiful conclusion. Even in the nosebleed section my ears easily heard the art of Sibelius’s twentieth-century concerto. It all happened in a matter of nine minutes, just enough to prepare for the shift to Grieg’s Concerto for Piano and Orchestra in A minor, Opus 16.
Grieg’s Opus 16 was a stunning reflection of the joy and prosperity its composer experienced in the year of its inception: 1867. This piece has endured since its premiere 1869 as an elegant yet proud series of two allegros and an adagio. The diving octaves and subtle strings shone from the nucleus of the set’s grand piano, as well as Lortie’s expressive and flawless performance. I stared (or made an attempt to stare) at his hands as they dissolved into a blur of rhythmic, rapid score.
The arrangement of the three works was thought out rather nicely. With Grieg’s piano concerto sandwiched in between Sibelius’s melodic repertory, the final forty-four minutes of the night felt congratulatory and commemorative of something glorious and earned.
Sibelius referred to his Symphony No. 2 in D major, Opus 43 as “a confession of the soul.” My ears agreed with him as Spano guided his ensemble in a sequence fluctuating in grace and mysterious, albeit majestic, development. The standing ovation upon the piece’s final allegro moderato was well deserved by ASO’s conditioned ensemble. Just as I heard their hearts manifested in music, so I believe they heard the repercussion of their efforts in the lingering applause.
Written by Emilie Kefalas.
