On Friday, April 24, an evening unfolded at Bozar that initially presented itself as a classically constructed program, but gradually revealed a far more layered field of tension between ambition, discipline, and interpretive coherence. The Belgian National Orchestra (BNO) under the direction of Antony Hermus, with Nemanja Radulović as soloist, chose not the easy path, but contrast—and it was precisely there that both the strength and the friction of this concert took shape.
The evening opened with Mikhail Glinka's (1804-1857) Overture to Ruslan and Ludmila, a work that immediately sets the tone in its apparent lightness. What should have sounded sparkling and energetic was given a rushed and poorly cohesive rendition here. The brisk tempo and numerous musical ideas didn't naturally find each other: entrances were uneven, phrases lacked direction, and the line unfolded with difficulty. The result was restlessness rather than elegance.
Next, Radulović took the stage for Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953)—and the evening shifted noticeably. His interpretation of the Second Violin Concerto was no mere display of virtuosity for virtuosity's sake, but a musically thoughtful and intensely felt reading. What stood out above all was the tight bond between soloist, conductor, and orchestra: from the first note, a shared focus emerged in which technique was entirely in service of expression.
Radulović played with a pronounced physical presence. His phrasing was fluid, sometimes angular, then surprisingly smooth, and always laden with intent. In the slow movement, he revealed a restrained lyricism that never became sentimental, but rather convinced through its very fragility. The finale sharpened the dialogue further: the orchestra remained taut, the soloist pushed and pulled, and in that tension emerged a performance that truly resonated—musically coherent, communicatively powerful, and convincing in its entirety.
Weeks in advance, a signing session and meeting with Radulović had been announced, but it was unexpectedly cancelled hours before the concert due to the unavailability of the advertised CDs. This left some audience members with a sense of disappointment, though of course the musical impact of the concert itself remained unaffected.
After the intermission came Prokofiev's Fifth Symphony, and there it became clear how fragile the built-up arc of tension actually was. The orchestra bore no blame whatsoever: the BNO musicians played with impressive force and technical assurance, and sonically there was undoubtedly something there. But therein lay the very problem: what was audible was primarily volume, energy, and precision, rather than a sustained musical narrative.
Important context here is the background of this work: the Fifth Symphony was created in 1944, in a Soviet Union still completely gripped by war. Officially, Prokofiev spoke of a "hymn to the free and happy man," but that formulation inevitably carries a double meaning. Behind the monumentality lies tension; behind the triumph, a certain ambiguity. Under Hermus, the symphony remained stuck in a succession of well-played passages that rarely developed into a convincing whole—all the more unfortunate for a work with every ingredient for a gripping reading. The notes were there, often sharp and emphatic, but the underlying arc of tension and emotional depth remained strikingly absent. Where Prokofiev sketched an ambiguous world—between heroism and bitterness, between facade and underlying tension—this reading remained too one-dimensional. The music was not so much built as produced: loud, emphatic, and at times exhausting in its directness.
This also affected the listening experience. Where the violin concerto seemed to stop time, the symphony at moments dragged on without truly gripping the listener. The intensity tipped into listener fatigue, and the accumulation of sonic masses felt more like effect than meaning. What was missing from this performance was precisely what this symphony needs to convince: a sense of direction, of necessity, of inner tension.
Thus the impression lingers of an evening of sharp contrasts. A strong and musically deeply felt violin concerto formed the clear highlight, while the symphony—despite all the effort and technical qualities—ultimately disappointed through a lack of vision and impact. It was not an evening that left one indifferent, but one that makes clear how essential interpretation is: without depth, even the loudest sound rings hollow.
