The streets of Vienna are paved with culture, the streets of other cities with asphalt.
— Karl Kraus
Of the world’s major orchestras, few are more traditional than the Vienna Philharmonic, which performed its first concert in 1842. It has had no music director for many years, another of its distinguishing features. The outcome is an orchestra that is always the primary draw on any program, particularly when it goes on tour.
So why do audiences flock to its frequently sold-out concerts? Technical mastery, certainly. Legacy, too—Felix Weingartner, Richard Strauss, Wilhelm Furtwängler, Herbert von Karajan, and Leonard Bernstein all left their mark. But above all, there is its unmistakable sound. Many of its instruments are custom-made by Viennese artisans, from woodwinds to timpani, and the specially crafted horns are renowned for their muted power.
What has most impressed me, however, is the orchestra’s unwavering musicianship. These are the most unflappable performers of classical music—disciplined, cohesive, and effortlessly elegant. No orchestra is more confident in restoring familiar music to life, with interpretations that engage and occasionally astonish.
Of course, there is praise to be accorded the conductor—still invariably a man, in Vienna’s case. This tour—presented by the Philharmonic Society of Orange County at Segerstrom Concert Hall last night—treated us to Yannick Nézet-Séguin, the overextended music director of the Metropolitan Opera, the Philadelphia Orchestra, and the Orchestre Métropolitain of Montreal. Although reviewers have criticized his lack of preparation at the Met in recent seasons, here he was fully committed and gave it his all. (There’s another performance tomorrow, March 11.)
The evening began with Beethoven’s Third Piano Concerto, with Yefim Bronfman, a pianist acclaimed for his commanding interpretations of the Romantic repertoire. The concerto, finished in 1803, spans the Classical and Romantic eras, with hints of Mozart but also foreshadowing Beethoven’s own muscular style. The turbulent C minor tonality, rough-hewn orchestration, and increasing independence of the soloist look ahead to the composer’s later, large-scale efforts.
It was played with the sort of unchallengeable aplomb that always makes their concerts seem as though they’re inevitable, as if the music always sounded this way. The initial orchestral statement was heavy but never heavy-handed, its dark C minor phrases etched with an almost chamber-like clarity. When Bronfman entered, his phrasing was both formal and spontaneous, each note placed yet alive. The orchestra greeted him with a give-and-take more instinct than interpretation, molding Beethoven’s volatile veering between storm and calm with a natural, unforced momentum. This was Beethoven not as an exercise in grandeur, but as something lean, urgent, and profoundly human. Bronfman played with commanding, yet elegant, skill, overcoming Beethoven’s treacherous passages with piercing articulation, without sacrificing inner life. His handling of the cadenza—Beethoven’s own—combined constructive clarity with a sense of improvisation, bearing witness to his close acquaintance with the composer’s emerging voice. Bronfman’s phrasing had a natural give and take, never letting virtuosity stand in the way of music. He battled the temptation to over-romanticize, instead emphasizing the transitional character of the work—bridging Mozartian elegance with Beethoven’s forceful individuality. Through the somber drama of the first movement, the restrained introspection of the Largo, and the celebratory fervor of the finale, this was Beethoven played with authority and heart.
For an encore, Bronfman performed Debussy’s Poissons d’or (Goldfish), shaping each phrase with a sculptor’s delicacy. Each note had weight, yet nothing was ponderous. The fluid runs, the brief bursts of color—Debussy’s shimmering goldfish weren’t so much envisioned as summoned, darting across the keys.
The second part of the program was Richard Strauss’s Ein Heldenleben (A Hero’s Life), the huge, semi-autobiographical tone poem of 1898. A hero—widely assumed to be Strauss himself—fights through battles, victories, and moments of introspection. The work is a contrast study, from its aggressive confrontations with critics to the beautiful violin solo that depicts his wife, Pauline. Part self-mythology, part late Romantic grandiosity, it both celebrates and interrogates the idea of the artist-hero, its paradoxes as potent now as in 1899.
Nézet-Séguin, who recorded this work with the Rotterdam Philharmonic, didn’t leave a personal mark but let the Vienna Phil do what it does best. This music is in their DNA. Strauss himself recorded Heldenleben with them, and five other Vienna Philharmonic recordings of the work exist. Where the Chicago Symphony is razor-sharp in precision and the Berlin Philharmonic depends on brute muscularity, Vienna’s manner is effortlessly natural. Their strings bore the hero’s theme with flexibility and warmth, and they preferred aristocratic refinement to bombast. The brass, famous for its burnished glow, endowed even the most forceful moments with nobility. The violins and violas sounded together, as a corps de ballet drawing curves on a stage.
Where other orchestras stress brute force in the battle scenes, the Vienna Phil uncovered Strauss’s own theatricality, shaping the drama through subtlety instead of sheer volume. The famous violin solo for the hero’s wife was played with songlike intimacy, avoiding overt sentiment.
And the final few minutes, as the hero retreats into memory, felt less like resignation, more a wise and kindly farewell. This was a Heldenleben that favored color, grace, and storytelling over spectacle. In Vienna’s hands, Strauss’s autobiographical epic was less egotistical, more deeply human.
As an encore, the orchestra played Johann Strauss’s Rosen aus dem Süden (Roses from the South), drawn from themes in his operetta Das Spitzentuch der Königin (The Queen’s Lace Handkerchief). They played it as only they can—gracious, unhurried, effortlessly stylish. The waltz breathed, never pushed, never forced. Strings sang, woodwinds curled around the melody, and the rhythm swayed with easy charm. Nostalgic, elegant, and perfect.
The Vienna Philharmonic is still unique. While orchestras everywhere are attempting to remake themselves, Vienna holds fast to tradition, but never to stuffiness. They showed us why their way—tempered by centuries of musical tradition, but very much alive in the here and now—continues to enthrall. Their combination of technical perfection, individual personality, and that unmistakable Viennese sound gives them performances that are both new and timeless. As the final notes of the waltz encore dissolved into quiet, I was thankful that in a world of unending change, certain artistic riches continue to be gloriously, unapologetically themselves.
photo by Philharmonic Society of Orange County/Drew A. Kelley
Vienna Philharmonic
Yannick Nézet-Séguin, conductor
Renée and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall, 615 Town Center Drive in Costa Mesa
reviewed on March 9, 2025, at 3
next performance on Tuesday March 11, 2025, at 8
Schubert/Symphony No. 4 in C minor, D 417, Tragic
Dvořák/Symphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95, From the New World
for tickets, visit Philharmonic Society
