The Boston Symphony Orchestra remixed some highlights from its past season with some surprising treats on Friday evening. The post-intermission offerings featured Scriabin’s Prometheus (most recently and famously performed in April of this past season) alongside a piece which must have deeply influenced Scriabin’s work: Jean Sibelius’s The Origin of Fire. Where Sibelius’s work is a tone poem explicitly narrating (through baritone Will Liverman and the men of the Tanglewood Festival Chorus) how the supreme creator god Ukko provided mankind with fire (using verses from the “Kalevala”), Scriabin communicates something of the same idea abstractly through Yefim Bronfman’s bravura on the piano and the complete Tanglewood Chorus’s wordless vocalise. The pairing proved effected at preparing the mind and ears for the progressively radical music. Both works begin with a musical depiction of ‘the void.’ Sibelius paints this world through low reeds and rich strings rendered in technicolor by the Boston Symphony. Scriabin’s depiction moved a step further, emerging the ensemble from not only atonality from a fractious sense of music and sound created compounding muddy strings and various members of the bassoon family beneath a shimmering cloud of bass drum and tam-tam. Scriabin’s use of soloistic gong at the work’s most pivotal moments warrants a credit for the promethean percussionist.

Sibelius’s gorgeous work developed organically through a cascade of emotions that incensed the text. Baritone Will Livermore delivered the opening recitative commandingly. His intense recitation of the epic text captivated our attention through a might equivalent to all of the men of the Chorus. Sibelius took pains to give him space to sing over the relatively reduced strength of the orchestra but unleashed its full potential when the Chorus entered. The drama and severity of this opening seamlessly resolved into a tender hymn about the ether-maid who heroically brought fire to earth. (The subject matter works well for Sibelius who covers most of his transitions with a thunder clash of timpani rolls.) The work ended optimistically with the chorus singing over batteries of horns and celestial strings. Scriabin’s work didn’t have such a strong reception. The Symphony realized the impressionistic work with the expected rich technicolor, but the piece seemed to meander about interruptions of humorous Russian jazz. To be fair, this may be more a comment for Alexander than for the ensemble, but even at their breadth, the combined chorus was nearly inaudible beneath the clang of wind chimes and brass at the conclusion. The preceding climax was notably more colorful, with swirls of lush celli, whistles of piccolo and high violin, and eddies of harp and celeste. Some around me commented that they were glad they had heard the work in Symphony Hall with the full light show, as that performance seemed livelier.

Continuing the “Koussevitzky at 150” celebrations, the first half ended with a real treat: Koussevitzky’s Double Bass Concerto performed on one of Koussevitzky’s double basses! The instrument was surprisingly small. When soloist Edwin Barker stopped to shake bass sections principal Lawrence Wolfe’s hand, the moment allowed for a quick visual comparison of instruments. Koussevitzky’s bass is notably smaller than the behemoth instruments used by bassists today; the front and back also seemed exceptionally curved, like a cello’s body, as though the instrument was ‘over inflated’ with air. These notes of organology aside, Barker was able to produce a direct and sensitive sound with the instrument. While dynamics are an inescapable problem for any concerto, the BSO managed this well. While Barker had to continually fight to keep his head above water, Nelsons carefully managed the ensemble to ensure he never slipped beneath the waves. Some credit must be given to Koussevitzky who constructed a sensitive work, reliant principally on gooey upper string tones to allow the solo instrument to emerge. Barker’s smart interpretation might suggest this essence is ‘mischievous,’ or ‘the kind of panache and romance that comes from a man who smokes cigars instead of cigarettes.’ Many patrons awed at the magical end of the second movement, which positioned the main melody on the double bass’s extreme high register with the paper-thin support of angelic harp and dolce upper woodwinds. Barker’s natural harmonics at moments imitated the purity of flutes as the Andante dissipated into the warm night air with the fragrant scent of gentle reeds and distant grasshoppers. Though Koussevitzky recorded only the second movement, that record, along with  his many wonderful BSO recordings, suggests the man might appreciate a bit more tempic flexibility than we heard). The third movement, while hair raising, ultimately came off as a bit wooden, lacking the intended fantasy and spontaneity.

Lack of spontaneity cannot be a rap for Steven Mackey’s Urban Ocean, which opened the concert. The marine work sought to depict the lives of fish off the California coast using the language of LA’s nightlife. The synthesis of the two images may have been best encapsulated in the syncopated marimba lick that pervaded the piece, and similarly unique orchestrations gave life to the work. Mackey hinted at the dance of hunter and prey through unique pairings such as oboe/bass clarinet or screeching high violins and flex-a-tone. He set the scene with extended wind techniques and viola to capture the untamedness of the sea and used contrabassoon to drop the bass for the movement’s club scenes. All throughout, the swelling cello and double notes hinted at unimaginable depths beyond what is depicted in sound. Ultimately, he provisioned a hearty mix of violin, marimba, harp, chimes to end the work on a high note followed by an equally loud eruption of applause and whistles from the audience.

A musicology PhD student at Boston University, Christopher Hodges earned a M.M. in organ performance with Peter Sykes.