As a prelude to Friday’s Boston Symphony Orchestra colorful concert of classical and neoclassical gems, conductor Samy Rachid led the BSO Chamber Players in a splendid performance of Stravinsky’s The Soldier’s Tale, narrated by BSO President Chad Smith. For the main event, Dima Slobodeniouk conducted the BSO in Caroline Shaw’s enigmatic Entr’acte, Tchaikovsky’s Variations on a Rococo Theme with cellist Jean-Guihen Queyras, and a remarkable rendition of Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony.

The Soldier’s Tale, a 1918 theatre piece by Igor Stravinsky and Swiss author C.F. Ramuz took its inspiration from a story collected by Russian folklorist Alexander Afanasyev, The Tale combines the archetypal deal-with-the-devil story with Stravinsky’s jagged, angular composition, scored for spoken text and seven instruments. Stravinsky’s own experience as a Russian refugee during the First World War influenced his treatment of war, cosmopolitan musical influences, and exile in the piece. When fully staged, it calls for actors who dance and speak, though do not sing; the concert version in Ozawa Hall retained the narrator and septet as well as the entirety of the libretto and music, reprises and all.

The “Soldier’s March” stepped out with crisp brass fanfares over a walking bass. Strong accents and shifting rhythms created an absurd, disorienting scene. Though the clarinet’s middle range was at one point covered up by the trumpet, later clarinetist Christopher Elchico’s screaming altissimo peals made a shocking impact. In the easygoing “Airs by a Stream,” violinist Bracha Malkin portrayed the soldier’s humble background through slides and a little roughness, creating a fiddle-like affect — yet she made her impeccable training evident in extremely in-tune double-stops and agile spiccato. In the “Pastorale,” Samuel Watson’s lonely, pained bassoon melodies longed for the past in an air of cold disillusionment.

The brass featured wonderfully in the “Royal March”. Trombone Toby Oft’s raucous, extroverted tone shouted out over the ensemble’s on-beat and off-beat patterns; Benjamin Wright executed the quintuplets and fanfares with great precision and spirit on an unexpected piccolo trumpet. The “Little Concert” celebrated the Soldier’s temporary victory with joy and vivacity; the ecstatic, jumping violin and the breathlessly fanfaring trumpet danced as voices glided in and out kaleidoscopically, recalling and foreshadowing different motives.

Three dances ensued, in which Stravinsky mimics and parodies dances of Argentina, Austria, and America. The violin, clarinet, and percussion danced the “Tango” with seductive flair, peacocking and flirting. The off-kilter “Waltz” followed, bassist Carl Anderson providing a light yet solid three-four through deft changes between pizzicato and arco. In the jaunty Ragtime, Stravinsky’s wild rhythmic energy sparked in lively violin double-stops, virtuosic bassoon runs, and schmaltzy sliding brass. The “Devil’s Dance” convulsed at frantic, breakneck pace, full of impressive precision and accuracy.

A “Little Chorale” marked another temporary victory, parodying the classic Bach chorales through missing 5^ths and odd harmonies. After the sinister “Devil’s Song”, the “Great Chorale” continued the hymnlike mood, now punctuated by rhythmic narration. The uncanny dissonances created a sense of melancholy and impending doom, climaxing in the “Triumphal March of the Devil.” The soldier’s characteristic motive here had now been corrupted by dissonances and the “diablerie” of the percussion. Brutal stabbing accents highlighted the tragic ending; instruments gradually exited to make way for the final solo by percussionist Matthew McKay, morbid, moribund, at last fading into nothingness.

What an amazing presentation of this wacky piece! Boston Symphony Orchestra president and CEO Chad Smith showed excellent voice-acting prowess. He delivered the fairytale verses through distinct, memorable characters: the devious, growling devil, the naïve soldier, the decrepit old lady, the gently yet sinisterly tempting princess. The libretto of The Soldier’s Tale has odd proportions and several long-winded passages, but President Smith’s spirited narration allowed nary a dull moment. Highlights included the devil barking orders to the soldier as drill sergeant, the goofy echo of the royal announcer, and the furious, vengeful Devil’s Song.

Conductor Samy Rachid worked with the instrumentalists to build a strikingly precise and widely colorful interpretation. Conducting a chamber ensemble such as a septet is an interesting interaction: one must bring the music together without interfering with the chamber players’ artistry and individuality. He knew when to dictate rhythm and intensity and when to guide phrases along subtly, responding and reacting with the musicians’ own expressivities. Having conducted and deeply studied the Tale myself for my undergraduate thesis — and it is somewhat of a rite of passage for many conductors — I deeply appreciated not only Rachid’s facility and control over the crooked, sharp edges, but also his genuine expression and collaborative attitude. The septet’s individual players all shone brightly and virtuosically — it was a true fortune to see The Soldier’s Tale brought to life in such clarity and passion.

The scene moved over to the Koussevitzky Shed, where Finnish conductor Dima Slobodeniouk evinced and evoked the Classical style with the full Boston Symphony Orchestra. Caroline Shaw’s Entr’acte for strings magnifies and twists a facet of Joseph Haydn’s String Quartet, Op. 77 No. 2. A curtain opened upon a blue D-minor world, triplet chords breathing into pauses soulfully. Moments of fog, sketched in pitchless bow noises and translucent harmonics, alternated with full-voiced statements of presence and profundity. In a middle section, styled lightly as a trio to the outside parts’ minuet, pizzicato chords produced a more genial atmosphere, still dotted with floating pauses. Other scenes and characters followed. Intimate solo string lines spun over raindrop pizzicatos; violas built shifting harmonies through rapid string crossings; and falling gestures, as if sighs, returned us to the solemn beginning. A pondering cello pizzicato solo by principal cellist Blaise Déjardin closed Entr’acte quietly, questioning, yet peaceful.

Entr’acte leans tantalizingly into question marks over definitive statements. However, this quality doesn’t quite lend itself to a concert opener. Some of the very quiet techniques were a bit hard to hear in the outdoor venue — or perhaps they were enhanced by the crickets and the night air? Finally, having played Entr’acte myself in my friend Luca Antonucci’s Orchestra Without Borders, I found the tempo in the outer sections rather slow: the composer specifies “sweeping” as a tempo direction, but the triplet figures felt more plodding at Slobodeniouk’s speed than graceful. Still, Shaw’s vision came through in a soulful, meditative take.

French cellist Jean-Guihen Queyras took the stage for Tchaikovsky’s bright-eyed Variations on a Rococo Theme. Like Shaw’s Entr’acte, Tchaikovsky’s variations also invoke a Classical inspiration: that of Mozart’s cheeky, melodious musical personality. The smiling orchestral introduction unfurled sunnily between the strings and winds, before a horn solo beckoned the theme itself. Queyras entered in mellow tone, enunciating the titular theme with warmth and familiarity. The first variation brought in playful, rolling triplets, followed by a second variation of flying scales of 16^ths. In the loving, crooning third variation, Queyras found a smooth, introverted, yet passionate strain, using tasteful rubato, surrounded by caressing woodwind triplets. A sky-high E major cadence floated into the ether.

Going on, the fourth variation’s joking phrases surrounded showy spiccato scales up and down. In the fifth variation, a series of upward-climbing trills led to a stormy cadenza of gnarled triple-stops and dramatic outcries. Anger gave way to the sorrowful sixth variation, wind lines threaded through the cello’s plaintive laments. The final variation burst with excitement, even in the pianos, zooming to a victorious finish.

I have a soft spot for the Rococo Variations, having played them (not so well, but very enthusiastically!) during my undergraduate days. Perhaps that familiarity hindered my enjoyment of the performance. Queyras’s best results came in the melodic passages, which consistently sang out richly. However, as a listener and sometime player, I felt more should have been at stake and more risks taken; the cadenza lacked panache and the big string crossings in the final variations barely used two-thirds of the bow. Neither did the performance feel especially polished: there were some rough shifts and intonation issues on certain high notes. Most surprisingly — though I may have misheard — Queyras appeared to have left out the final set of virtuosic octave double-stops in the last minute of the piece. It was a perplexing decision to omit this difficult, but not impossible lick, losing a great opportunity for showmanship. Slobodeniouk and the orchestra mostly supported Queyras well, but an indistinct pizzicato at the end of the sixth variation and an oddly sedate set of ending chords troubled the ensemble impression.

Nevertheless, Queyras’s singing passages always sounded caramel-sweet and genuine, and earned a call for the very fitting encore: the Andante cantabile from Tchaikovsky’s String Quartet, arranged for cello and strings. Queyras expressed his gratitude to Tanglewood and the BSO, invoking his own student experience there with mentors such as Ozawa, Bernstein, and Yo-Yo Ma. He pointed out the Andante cantabile’s inspiration: a Ukrainian melody, and from his experience of playing in Ukraine a year past, Queyras hailed music’s power to bring joy and unity even in difficult times. A comforting, gentle song radiated from Queyras’s instrument, stately and grateful. In the livelier middle section, the melody reached upwards, crying out before a return to the initial gentle mood, intimate, introverted, with petals of uncertainty. A heartfelt, ephemeral high note ended the poignant encore, solidifying Queyras’s expertise in these lyrical, legato strains.

After a pair of re-interpretations of the past, the BSO brought us Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony in all its glory. In B-flat minor, the universe opened, foreboding, creeping, tentative. Booming dominant chords ushered in the major Allegro. Hooray! Bubbling with excitement and anticipation, in Beethovenian fashion, the mood shifted quickly between declamatory explosions and tender airs. The syncopations perhaps could have used more attack, but the orchestra produced a vigorous, healthy sound, yet with an agility and clarity perfect for the Classical style.

In the kind, gentle Adagio, one of my favorite Beethoven slow movements, smooth lines glided down the E-flat major scale over trotting, skipping dotted rhythms, first in the strings then in the winds. Clarinetist William R. Hudgins sang out in a beautifully bittersweet, longing solo, answered by a reassuring tutti resolution. A turbulent minor-key climax rang out, punctuated by timpani and trumpet, before returning to peace and finally to an emphatic finish.

The scherzo hopped along in merrily rolling arpeggios. Major triads were quickly troubled by diminished chords and 2-3 hemiolas—a little mischievous. The trio’s winds endeared in almost shy phrases, rising from small forces to a tutti climax. At times this movement felt a little heavy due to some holding-back rubatos and a slightly slow trio, but I respect the musical intention, and the players committed in lockstep.

In contrast, the ebullient finale dashed at breakneck pace. Here the orchestra, especially the well-oiled strings, never got stuck in the eighth-note machinations— they never missed a beat. Bassoonist Richard Svoboda nailed the bassoon reprise of the theme, as did Hudgins on the clarinet iteration; the whole cello and bass sections sounded amazing on their own rapidly rumbling figures towards the end. Again, tempestuous sforzandos lived alongside lighthearted quips in the high winds and strings. It’s Beethoven, after all, and at least to me, some of the most Mozartian material in his middle period — laughing, lightly chromatic, though with Beethoven’s trademark mercuriality. The BSO pulled it off adroitly, all leading to the slow, final fragmented reprise of the theme across strings and bassoon, capped off in a mad dash to the end.

The Beethoven represented the BSO at its strongest of the night. They are veterans of this repertoire, but the symphony never felt tired or mundane; a fresh zeal obtained throughout all four movements. The string sections excelled in the lightning-fast passagework, the winds shimmered in brilliant solos, and the brass and timpani suffused the ensemble with enthusiastic rhythmic energy. Dima Slobodeniouk was a pleasure to watch. His freedom and fluidity showed true trust between him and the instrumentalists, in both directions. He was able to dictate important tempi and arrivals, but happily he sat back and allowed the artists to do their own musical and expressive work when appropriate. The BSO expertly portrayed the life-affirming cheer of Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony in a resounding success.

For me, Friday was a nostalgic night. Each piece figures in my own history: I’ve conducted and studied The Soldier’s Tale and played Entr’acte and Rococo; and Beethoven’s Fourth was one of the first scores I tackled in my formal conducting studies; it has a special home in my heart. In another way, though, the evening skillfully tied together elements of past and present: the folk inspiration of The Soldier’s Tale against Stravinsky’s 20^th-century harmony and rhythms; Shaw and Tchaikovsky’s re-interpretations and re-imaginings of Haydn and Mozart; and Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony, enduring though centuries and across an ocean to find us at Tanglewood in 2025.

Queyras’s exaltation of music as a heartening, unifying force in times of trouble is a sentiment shared among all sorts of artists and audiences. His sentiment feels all-the-more poignant given the chaos and uncertainty that confront us. As the evening’s composers and performers drew upon lineages and traditions of centuries past, we found shared smiles and tears within an uplifted community. The lovely Tanglewood evening brought us into warm communion with our friends Stravinsky, Shaw, Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, and each other.

Julian Gau is a Boston-based freelancer and writer with a master’s degree in orchestral conducting from the Boston Conservatory. He serves as founder and conductor of the Horizon Ensemble, and resident conductor of the Chinese Music Ensemble of New York. He holds degrees in music and mathematics from Brown University.