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Schubert Triumphant, Mendelssohn Less Convincing Montreal
Maison Symphonique, Place des Arts
10/01/2026 - & October 3, 2026
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy: Violin Concerto No. 2 in E minor, Op. 64
Franz Schubert: Symphony No. 9 in C major, D. 944
Christian Tetzlaff (violin)
Orchestre symphonique de Montréal, Philippe Herreweghe (conductor)
P. Herreweghe (© Antoine Saito)
The pairing of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto and Schubert’s Ninth Symphony offered more than an attractive juxtaposition of two monuments of early Austro-German Romanticism. It also brought together two works whose historical relationship was unusually intimate: Mendelssohn, an ardent admirer of Schubert, had championed the latter’s neglected C major Symphony, conducting its first public performance in Leipzig in 1839, eleven years after its composer’s death. The OSM’s programme thus traced a musical kinship as well as a succession of masterpieces. Yet Thursday’s concert proved a decidedly uneven affair, its two halves separated by a striking difference in musical conviction.
Mendelssohn’s concerto, encountered so frequently that its beauties might seem impervious to surprise, nevertheless demands a particularly delicate equilibrium between soloist and orchestra. Christian Tetzlaff possessed all the technical resources the work required: his intonation was impeccable, his command of the instrument unquestionable, and his playing allowed the audience to savour its innumerable nuances. Yet technical accomplishment did not invariably translate into a convincing musical dialogue.
At moments, Tetzlaff seemed strangely detached from the orchestral proceedings, as though the solo part and its accompaniment were proceeding along parallel rather than convergent paths. Certain cues and transitions lacked the spontaneity that gives this concerto its distinctive sense of organic continuity. The orchestra deserves considerable credit for accommodating these uncertainties, smoothing the transitions and supplying the rhythmic cohesion that the performance occasionally lacked.
Philippe Herreweghe, too, seemed less than entirely at ease with the score. The Belgian conductor, whose interpretative authority is more readily associated with the Baroque and Classical repertories, did not appear to find in Mendelssohn’s concerto the same natural affinity that would become so evident in Schubert. Whether fatigue from the morning rehearsal or other circumstances contributed to this impression, the performance lacked the consistency one might have hoped for. The orchestra’s attentive support helped preserve its continuity, but the partnership between conductor and soloist never quite achieved the necessary spontaneity.
This was not a question of demanding novelty from a familiar masterpiece; it was a matter of making its familiar wonders feel freshly discovered. Tetzlaff’s encore offered a welcome change of perspective. A Bach selection revealed a more inward, assured musicianship, the clarity of the musical argument and the expressive restraint suggesting a performer entirely at home in the music. It was also an apt tribute to Mendelssohn, whose devotion to Bach had helped restore the older composer’s music to public consciousness.
If the concerto had been disappointing, Schubert’s Ninth proved revelatory in quite another sense. Here Herreweghe appeared transformed. His gestures, economical yet unmistakable, elicited an orchestral response of extraordinary attentiveness. The musicians seemed to anticipate the smallest inflection of his baton, and the performance acquired an organic unity that had been elusive in the first half. Where Mendelssohn had seemed an obligation, Schubert appeared to be a source of genuine delight.
The opening movement established the symphony’s expansive architecture without sacrificing its inner animation. The strings displayed a marvellous buoyancy, their rhythmic spring lending the music both momentum and lightness. Particularly in the first and third movements, this elasticity prevented the work’s monumental proportions from becoming ponderous. The Scherzo danced rather than marched, its rhythmic vitality illuminating the kinship between Schubert’s symphonic writing and the instrumental traditions from which it emerged.
Yet the performance’s achievement lay in more than rhythmic verve. Herreweghe allowed Schubert’s long melodic spans to unfold with unforced naturalness, preserving the tension between Classical formal discipline and Romantic expansiveness. The winds and brass contributed colour and definition without overwhelming the strings, while the orchestra’s finely graded dynamics gave the music room to breathe. The slow movement, with its characteristic mixture of inward reflection and restless undercurrents, belonged to the same carefully sustained expressive world.
The finale brought the symphony’s immense energies into focus. Schubert’s repetitions, so easily rendered merely accumulative, became part of an inexorable yet buoyant progression. The result was neither a contest in orchestral decibels nor a succession of climactic effects, but a convincing traversal of the work’s vast musical landscape.
This was precisely where Herreweghe’s interpretative virtues came into their own. A performance of “The Great” need not depend on monumental gestures to convey grandeur. The conductor’s restraint, clarity of articulation and sensitivity to the relationships between orchestral sections allowed the symphony’s architecture to emerge from within. The result was deeply moving.
The orchestra’s responsiveness, the buoyancy of the strings and the conductor’s control of the symphony’s long trajectory combined to produce an interpretation of uncommon coherence. Herreweghe demonstrated that grandeur need not be synonymous with sheer weight, and that the monumental can emerge through movement, proportion and lyrical continuity.
The audience’s standing ovation was well deserved. Indeed, the musicians’ reluctance to rise immediately when Herreweghe signalled them to do so suggested that they, too, wished to prolong the moment before acknowledging the applause. It was a touching conclusion to a performance in which the orchestra seemed fully invested in the music it was making.
The Mendelssohn had left reservations; the Schubert dispelled them. For one memorable half of the evening, Herreweghe and the OSM demonstrated how a great symphony can transcend its formidable dimensions and become not merely an impressive musical construction, but a living, breathing experience.
Ossama el Naggar
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