This concert just an evening before National Day was, surprisingly, very poorly attended. I would have thought that, considering that the next day was a holiday, more people would want to enjoy a concert. At any rate, the embarrassingly small crowd (small enough to fit into the center block at the front) was not short-changed by the performance that night, though neither the soloist nor the orchestra gave encores at the end.

Die Moldau, or "Vltava" in the original Czech, is the second tone poem of the six-part cycle Má Vlast ("My Homeland") by Bedrich Smetana (1824-84). It is a very graphic piece of music that depicts the river Vltava going down its course. As a starter, it was an excellent choice, incorporating some very evocative and unforgettable tunes - bold and opulent melodies that are instantly recognisable as coming from the Czech musical tradition. Dvorák's and Smetana's composing styles are quite similar in the way they work out a piece of music by piecing memorable melodies together.

The meandering flute solo lines that opened the piece, representing the cold stream that is one of the two sources of the river, was followed by a full orchestral depiction of the broad vista of the river itself with the aid of a rippling string accompaniment. The gushing torrent of notes swelled and ebbed under the masterful leadership of the principal flautist, who was later to give another impressive performance in the Shostakovich Symphony.

Thick sweeping bow-strokes from the low strings created an urgent and intense song intended to depict, along with horn calls and trumpet fanfares, the presence of a hunting party. This was followed by a joyful and lively dance that, as the programme notes explained, was designed to "set a scene for a riverside wedding party." With the fall of night the music passed into a brief introspective mood, but before long the string section returned passionately to the initial melody. The music faded away in ritardando "to suggest the river moving into the distance," but the work ended in a joyful flourish with two strongly affirmative chords.

Jennifer Koh showed much professionalism in her interpretation of the Dvorak Violin Concerto, making it into a far more interesting work than I had expected. Her performance was strong with regards to technique, though she tended to be rather brash when she tried too hard, causing the doublestopped passages to grate. If one wanted to do more nit-picking, one could say she was a bit careless at times in the way she tripped over the strings to produce pizzicato notes accidentally, but this did not distract from her otherwise smooth delivery. I did find her gestures and constant tossing and shaking of her head somewhat distracting, though it did help inject more drama into her performance.

Lan Shui kept to a moderate tempo throughout, which dampened the spirit a bit at times. At a certain memorable point where the violin repeats a motif and builds it up to a climax, the pace was too laborious, detracting from the inherent excitement of the passage. The third movement, after the adagio, consisted of a more spirited allegro, and Koh was at her best here, running masterfully through the series of variations on the theme like the seasoned performer that she is. Her emphasis was clearly placed on maintaining the giocoso spirit rather than on getting all the notes right, but I found that acceptable given her excellent achievement overall in making the concerto come alive. In spite of all the applause that the paltry crowd was able to muster for her performance, however, it was not enough to persuade her to give an encore.

Shostakovich's Sixth Symphony, the feature piece for the second half of the concert, was also a memorable performance. The opening movement, the Largo, started out slowly and methodically, gradually building up a contemplative space. It featured a rich melody that developed into a haunting theme. There was a sense of pressing from within, a slightly disconcerting touch that nevertheless captivated me. The character of the movement as a whole is difficult to describe, but it sounded like an attempt at disciplined contemplation punctuated with escaping slivers of anxiety.

The orchestra plunged into the performance as if determined to take centre stage for the second half, after having let the soloist steal the show earlier. Each player showed off his instrument for all it was worth, proud and unabashed. At times, it seemed that the different sections took turns at taking the lead, resulting in a delightfully wide range of sound. At other moments, different sections seemed to be conversing with another, producing startlingly interesting sounds. The wind section, in particular, had many excellent opportunities to display its skill, pairing up with the percussion section for a compelling blend of poignancy and robustness.

The overall effect of the Largo was a striking, brilliant sound that held the audience in rapt attention. It was lyrical enough to draw the listener into periods of heavenly calm, yet neurotic enough for the flawed mortal to relate to. In short, it was a rich display of emotion with a down-to-earth touch.

The next two movements, the Allegro and the Presto, increased in tempo until the final palpitating climax. In consisting of a slow initial movement followed by two fast movements, the Sixth Symphony was a bold break with the conventional symphonic form when it first appeared in 1939, and it is unusual even today. On that humid night before National Day, it came across as a breath of fresh air, unencumbered by any stiff form. The Allegro was a light and energetic waltz that delighted the ear, with the winds and percussion joining forces once more, sometimes in integration and sometimes in mutual tension. Notes flew and flickered with sublime spontaneity.

Although the orchestra seemed to lack at times that last ounce of amplification that would have carried me even closer to the edge, the first onslaught of sound from the Presto already had me gripping my seat. The movement burst forth furiously, with almost athletic playing from the orchestra. As the strings wailed on, mercilessly layering and escalating, the tension that had earlier been contained spilled out. The tone of frenzied emotion intensified to a manic wave that swept over the audience; vigour became violence and anxiety became hysterics. It was as if a brook had turned into a tidal wave. Wild as a beast, the movement nonetheless managed to chart its path to final resolution, ending off splendidly.

The audience burst into energetic applause as if commanded by the lingering echoes in the concert hall. The orchestra seemed exhilarated. It had been a hard day's night.

Ong Yong Hui and Deanne Tan are still young, despite the serious work they perform.

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