The opening of the artistic season is not just a ceremonial evening – it’s the beginning of a conversation that will last many months. A conversation where music speaks. Not in words but through emotion, tension, silence, and sound. That’s why we open this season with works that give voice to the inexpressible – longing, fear, grief, hope, and love. These are pieces created by composers who had already traveled far in their life journeys.
Antonín Dvořák’s Cello Concerto in B minor, Op. 104, completed in 1895 during the composer’s stay in New York, is one of his last symphonic works. Previously unconvinced about the cello’s potential as a solo instrument, Dvořák created a masterpiece – technically brilliant and profoundly human.
It's music that speaks with the cello's voice – warm, low, close to the human voice. A voice that sometimes tells stories with tenderness and at other times cries out in dramatic exclamation. In the final movement, the composer quotes his song Lasst mich allein, beloved by his late sister-in-law, Josefina. It's a personal, intimate moment that transforms the entire work – as if the music becomes the final word in a conversation that never had the chance to be finished.
The solo part will be performed by Bruno Philippe – one of the most outstanding young cellists, whose talent has been recognized at prestigious competitions, including the ARD International Music Competition in Munich and the Tchaikovsky Competition. He has appeared in leading concert halls across Europe and the Americas, collaborating with renowned orchestras and artists such as Renaud Capuçon and Antoine Tamestit. He has recorded acclaimed albums for harmonia mundi, including the complete Bach Cello Suites. He plays a 1760 cello by Gennaro Gagliano.
Dvořák's Cello Concerto performed by Johannes Moser and the Prague Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Jakub Hrůša:
Pyotr Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Op. 74, known as Pathétique, premiered on October 28, 1893, in St. Petersburg. Nine days later, the composer died. The symphony's title was not his idea – he had provisionally called it a "program symphony" but never revealed the program. His brother Modest suggested the title, which should not be understood in today's sense as "pathetic" but rather as "full of feeling, noble, intense."
Fragment of Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6 performed by Berliner Philharmoniker under the baton of Daniel Barenboim:
And that's what precisely this symphony is – unusual, reversing classical expectations. Instead of a triumphant finale, it reaches its dramatic climax in the third movement, followed by a slow, quiet, and heart-wrenching fourth. Tchaikovsky ends his work like a letter without a signature – not loudly, but honestly.
Though different in form, both pieces speak a shared language – the language of emotion, which needs no words. As Yehudi Menuhin said, Music is a language that speaks without words yet hits the very core. This evening, music will speak – not as a background, but as a voice. A voice of emotions we all know, even if we can't always name them. A voice that connects – soloist with orchestra, stage with audience, past with present.
It is the voice with which we open the new season. Let it be the beginning of a conversation that – though without words – will continue throughout the coming year.
