An Emotionally Rich and Varied Night with Paavo Järvi and the TSO at Roy Thomson Hall
31.oct.2025
EESTIELU
When posters made us aware of the Toronto Symphony Orchestra performing under the baton of the esteemed Paavo Järvi, running from October 30th to November 2nd at Roy Thomson Hall, one’s expectations could of course be immediately elevated.
For music-lovers and first-timers at the TSO alike, the draw was clear. Especially those who’ve never witnessed a conductor from the famed Järvi dynasty on stage. Moreover, there was the orchestra’s reputation, the hall’s sound and architecture, and the promise of thoughtful repertoire.
From the moment the first notes of Debussy’s Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun drifted through the hall, the air felt suspended. The orchestra opened like a faint shimmer in the distance. One could visualize the horned mythic faun making his way through a soft green forest in spring. Delicate harp and double bass plucks laid down tentative footsteps beneath a crooning French horn. Soon the flute took the lead, fitting with the lore of the faun. It should be noted that this piece was in fact composed in the 1890s around Stéphane Mallarmé’s poem of the same name, the sound of which the poet came to adore. The shimmering strings, the glint of the percussion section’s handheld bells, the gentle swell of violins and cellos. This was Debussy at his dreamiest, warming the audience for what followed.
Then came the truly unusual. World-renowned accordion virtuoso Ksenija Sidorova joined the orchestra for Tõnu Kõrvits’ Dances: Concerto for Accordion and Orchestra (a North American premiere and TSO co-commission). The piece opened with raw, sorrow-laden accordion tones, dissonant and atmospheric. A percussive arpeggio on the accordion keys led into the orchestra’s mysterious and charged entrance. In the second movement, clarinets and horns assembled an imperial mood, while Sidorova’s angular triplets, with almost organ-like timbre, suggested damnation with a small glimmer of hope. The third movement offered refuge: the orchestra and accordion locked into an extraordinary battle of sound, with timpani in full force, like a great conflict nearing its end. It left one to question whether this “dance” was not a kind of folk celebration and more of a metaphorical confrontation.
“The piece opened with raw, sorrow-laden accordion tones, dissonant and atmospheric. A percussive arpeggio on the accordion keys led into the orchestra’s mysterious and charged entrance… Sidorova on the accordion offered us the rawest sounds in the gusts of notes she played.”
While the TSO did not miss the opportunity to tell us that the accordion is not just an instrument for folk and polka, it should be said that Sidorova on the accordion offered us the rawest sounds in the gusts of notes she played.
Less showy but no less affecting was Pēteris Vasks’ The Fruit of Silence (arranged by George Morton), another North American premiere. Here, the mood shifted to melancholy, introspective prayer. Marimba and faint traces of accordion provided a contemplative setting for what would have been words underneath by Mother Teresa: “The fruit of silence is prayer. The fruit of prayer is faith. The fruit of faith is love. The fruit of love is service. The fruit of service is peace.” The entire five-minute span felt like a moment of breath and stillness.
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Before Sidorova left for the night and the intermission began, her and Järvi treated the audience to a bright and jovial extra piece by Sibelius. In case anyone was missing the elements of folk that accordion usually provide, this piece almost took us into polka territory, with a hop and a chassé, hands raised and face tilted up high like dancers.
You may wonder when Paavo Järvi will be mentioned in this review. But this is the thing: for most of the night, he did not interject himself too much in his conducting. His style is calm. He is unphased by the blazing fire that surrounds him on the stage, a sign that he trusts the composition, trusts the orchestra’s musicians, and they trust him back.
After intermission, all attention turned to Jean Sibelius’ Symphony No. 5 in E-flat major, Op. 82, the juggernaut of the evening. Described in the program as a “throwback… a retreat from the forward-looking tendencies of his leaner, more dissonant Fourth Symphony”, it might well serve as the soundtrack of a youthful, ambitious hero on a daring, precarious journey. The image of Leonardo da Vinci testing his flying machine also came to mind. Although really, it’s a tribute to the nation of Finland.
“This was all done with great confidence. If you looked closely at the podium, you could see the lack of a score at all in front of him. Everything was done by feel at this point.”
Järvi led the ensemble with vision. The first horn blasts and descending trombones we heard sounded like a foreshadowing of danger. The triple forte wall of sound crackled through the hall. The third movement’s string bowing, with eight bassists rasping their fingerboards, rang out like restless horses.
Here, Paavo Järvi became most physical. He was most insistent and vigorous. And this was all done with great confidence. If you looked closely at the podium, you could see the lack of a score at all in front of him. Everything was done by feel at this point.
The second movement brought serenity: overlapping horns, upward pizzicato strings, moments of perfect unison, and profound quiet, while the finale edged towards doom, a tragic inevitability punctuated by timpani and six final powerful hits, chords that really drove home the conclusion of the night, like exclamation points.
What this four-part programme gave to the audience is somewhat difficult to pin down precisely, as it contained many different styles and moods. It began softly and mysteriously, before shifting to bold, darker emotional terrain, ending in an expansive heroic sweep. But when you think about it within the context of someone who has never witnessed any of the Järvi family at the podium, to see this spectrum of Finnish, Estonian, Latvian, and French music was a definitive experience.
Whether you go for the Saturday evening show or the Sunday matinee, the outing promises to be memorable. And if you’ve never been inside Roy Thomson Hall before, this is certainly the moment to go.
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