When the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra settles into BOZAR, it always brings considerable history with it, but under Santtu-Matias Rouvali, that tradition received a wonderfully fresh impetus on Saturday evening, May 16. Gone was the solemn prestige; in its place came movement, breath and spontaneity. That conductor and orchestra clicked was palpable from the first notes: as if an orchestra that knows its cards inside out, decided to deal them in a completely different way this evening. The result? A concert that continuously surprised and yet never lost its coherence for a moment.
The program aligned perfectly with that. From the nature poetry of Antonín Dvořák (1841-1904) and the finely constructed modernism of Bohuslav Martinů (1890-1959), to the playful card game of Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971) and the sensuous orchestral magic of Maurice Ravel (1875-1937): four works that each show how music continues to reinvent itself to remain expressive. Thus emerged a clear dramaturgical arc in which almost a century of music history passed by. The journey ran from late-romantic expansion to modernistic fragmentation, without the underlying quest for lyricism ever disappearing.
The first cards on the table
With Dvořák's In Nature's Realm the evening opened full of openness and expectation. This overture is the first part of the triptych Nature, Life and Love, in which Dvořák did not want to paint concrete nature scenes, but sought the deep connection between man, nature and emotion. The work had a beautiful beginning in the double basses, which immediately provided a warm, deep foundation. What often sounds like mere pastoral romanticism gained much more relief and energy under Rouvali. His interpretation kept the music continuously in motion: nature as something breathing and changeable, not as a still backdrop.
The Concertgebouw Orchestra played with beautiful transparency and showed lovely interplay. Especially the woodwinds gave the work an almost chamber musical refinement, while the strings added warmth without clogging the sound. Rouvali deliberately avoided any heavy sentiment. He emphasized internal tension and densification, as if Dvořák's romanticism were already coming under pressure here. This made this work much more than a mere atmospheric sketch.
Lyricism with sharply shuffled cards
Martinů's First Cello Concerto formed the heart of the evening. This spirited work combines European melancholy with a clear, almost objective and exquisitely refined orchestral language. That duality between emotion and construction determined the entire performance of this challenging piece, which was visibly relished by the audience.
Sol Gabetta found exactly the right balance. Her playing possessed warmth and intensity, but remained always clear of line. Not broadly spun romanticism, but a tight, almost architectural construction. What stood out, was the driven interplay and beautiful eye contact between the cellist and conductor; a dialogue that gave the performance wings. Gabetta made of the concerto not a romantic showpiece, but a lively conversation with the orchestra. In the first part, the cello sometimes sounded more like a commentator than a protagonist. The score contains some famous, abrupt orchestral passages, but the Concertgebouw Orchestra positioned itself extremely reservedly once the cello played, allowing the solo line all the space it needed.
Especially in the beautifully melancholic second movement, a nice tension arose between introspection and movement. Beneath the melodic lines of Martinů, there is always an undercurrent of unrest. Gabetta did not play this out as a great emotional climax, but as concentrated inner tension. During a beautiful solo moment, her playing flowed beautifully together with that of the viola player – a musical understanding that Gabetta sealed after the piece by personally thanking the viola player.
In the finale, Martinů shuffles the cards again. Rhythmic impulses, sharp accents and abrupt shifts give the closing section a nervous liveliness that Rouvali held tightly together without suppressing spontaneity. Gabetta maintained her clear lineplay here as well: virtuosity was never an end in itself. This gave the finale not only energy, but also an underlying restlessness.
The Concertgebouw Orchestra accompanied her with great alertness. Rouvali carefully guarded the structure, allowing Martinů's quirky construction to remain organic sounding. The concerto unfolded to the very end as a subtle play of give and take.
The game becomes explicit
With Jeu de cartes, Stravinsky makes the metaphor literal. This ballet about a poker game is music as strategy, surprise and irony. Motifs function as playing cards that are deployed, combined or unexpectedly withdrawn again. This is purely about the logic of the game itself, in which bluffing and chance form the musical motor. In this neoclassical work from 1936, Stravinsky tells no story, but sets up game rules that continually shift.
Rouvali was visibly at home here; his approach aligned perfectly with that game principle. He conducted sharply and with rhythmic alertness, but kept the music at the same time supple and dance-like. Each musical 'move' received a direct, audible consequence. He chose resolutely for nervousness over elegance: the music was allowed to grate and unsettle, as long as the internal logic remained intact.
The performance stood out for an incredible sense of playing pleasure. The Concertgebouworkest let the constantly shifting moods be heard that you also experience in a real card game. At the end, it truly seemed as if the money had run out and all chips had been gambled away. The orchestra shimmered in the speed with which colors alternated and produced an insane richness of sound. Especially impressive was how lightly the complexity remained to sound. Behind the playful façade, the precision remained astounding, without ever becoming academic.
All colors at once
With Ravel's Suite nr. 2 from Daphnis et Chloé, the absolute highlight of the evening began. This masterpiece for Diaghilev's Ballets Russes is one of the most colorful scores from the early twentieth century; a work in which sound becomes almost tangible. After Stravinsky's strategic game, the rules here seem completely dissolved. No moves or cards anymore, but a total outburst of color and light.
Rouvali chose not for impressionistic vagueness, but for a clearly structured tension. The Lever du jour had a delightful build-up and grew layer upon layer organically from the silence. The flutes provided fine work in coloring the awakening atmosphere. The subsequent pantomime was extremely atmospheric and formed a beautiful, flowing transition to the finale.
When the final dance burst forth, the Concertgebouworkest combined rhythmic sharpness with pure joy of sound. That was perhaps the greatest quality of this performance: the music retained its refinement, but at the same time radiated an infectious sense of playing pleasure. Even the greatest tutti's remained completely transparent, so that the sensual abundance never became massive, but culminated in an overwhelming sound orgasm.
Thus the evening moved from Stravinsky's strict rules of play to Ravel's total surrender: from cards that compete with each other to a moment in which all cards lie open on the table at once.
The winning hand
What ultimately drove this evening to the ultimate showdown was the masterful control of Santtu-Matias Rouvali. He connected structure and spontaneity in an admirable way, giving Sol Gabetta and the Concertgebouworkest all the space to shine. Nothing sounded monumental or fixed; as if each new musical card did not close, but was simply dealt out again.
That is precisely why this concert lingers. Not as a series of separate works, but as one continuous game in which the Concertgebouworkest proved that tradition only lives when you dare to rearrange it. Tonight the pot was won, because this concert was not about individual highlights, but about the incredible playing pleasure and the insanely beautiful orchestra sound that kept everyone on the edge of their seats from beginning to end.