Sometimes it catches you completely off guard: You're sitting in a concert hall, half expectant, half skeptical, and suddenly you realize – whoops, that sounds completely different than expected. That's what happened on Monday evening at the Alte Oper in Frankfurt. Brahms's first piano concerto was on the program, that behemoth that has caused generations of pianists to break out in a cold sweat. And it was a 23-year-old American, Maxim Lando , who sat down at the piano as if he were simply meeting up with an old friend. No tension, no trace of that stiff "I'm about to play a masterpiece" attitude. Just: making music. Period.

Now, it must be said: this concerto is certainly no walk in the park. It's something of a hybrid – born from the shock of Robert Schumann's collapse, first a sonata, then almost a symphony, and finally a hybrid that can't quite decide whether it's a concerto or a symphonic battle. Apparently, people yawned at the premiere in Leipzig. Well – today we know: they simply had no clue.

And then came Maxim Lando , who at the age of three was already pounding on the keys, and here in Frankfurt acted as if taming this monstrous work were the most natural thing in the world. He is a pianist who doesn't just play, but who takes a sweeping approach, engages with the music, and thinks orchestrally. His articulation: crystal clear. His stamina: seemingly limitless. The Bechstein grand piano he played had this rich, direct sound that blended brilliantly into the orchestra – not the velvety warmth of a Steinway, but something sharper, more brilliant. It was a perfect fit.

Cornelius Meister , currently General Music Director in Stuttgart, appearing here as a guest, opened the evening with a decisive gesture. No hesitant introduction, no convoluted Romanticism. Crisp chords, precise, to the point. The Frankfurt Opera and Museum Orchestra (freshly named "Orchestra of the Year 2025" by the magazine Opernwelt , and yes, one could hear why) followed with a force that immediately made it clear: This wasn't just about reveling, this was about thinking and telling a story.

And then: Lando. His first theme in the Allegro maestoso, deep, almost humming, he presented not as a heroic statement, but rather tentatively – like someone watching a thought take shape. It became truly interesting in the lyrical secondary theme, in E-flat major. Most pianists see a grand melody there, one they can daydream about. But Lando heard architecture. He sculpted voices, laid out the contrapuntal framework, thus revealing: This is how Brahms thinks. A risky approach, because it doesn't aim for immediate effect. But – it worked.

Lando played the Adagio, a secret declaration of love to Clara Schumann, like a prayer: intimately, poetically, a bit like a watercolor painting slowly filling with paint. At the same time, Meister created a sonic environment that breathed balance. Woodwinds sang, the strings laid down their carpet, and then those cellos, those basses, sublimely underpinning the whole – wonderful. Lando's delicate details were masterfully captured by Meister on the podium.

Then, in the finale: pure energy. Brahms's wild rondo became a celebration. Lando played with orchestral breadth, rhythmically rock-solid precision, but without harshness. His cadenza was a mini-lesson in motivic development – ​​themes flashed up, intertwined, and then dissolved again. And he basked in the adulation, not arrogantly, but generously. As extensive encores, he hurled two dazzling pieces into the hall: Rossini's "Barber of Seville" overture, which in his version felt almost like a Tom and Jerry chase, and then the second half of Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue." Casual, playful. The audience roared with enthusiasm. No wonder.

After the intermission came the real surprise: Antonín Dvořák's Fourth Symphony. Who's familiar with it? The "New World" Symphony, of course, and the Eighth, naturally, but the Fourth—it languishes in the repertoire's archives, languishing in obscurity. A pity, really, because it's a gem. Composed in 1874, amidst Dvořák's exploration of his own voice, caught between Wagnerian adoration and a desire for his own voice, it offers everything: melancholic themes, clear structure, and folkloric bursts. Cornelius Meister conducted from memory, and that made all the difference. He had the work not just in his head, but in his body and, above all, in his heart.

The Allegro began with a theme only Dvořák could write: melancholic without being plaintive; Bohemian, but not folkloric in a cheap way. Meister laid bare the exposition so that one could hear its architectural structure, and in the development section he teased out polyphonic textures without ever sounding dry. The Frankfurt Orchestra was in top form: strings of crystalline precision, woodwinds with a warm tone, brass refined, the timpani sharp but never clumsy.

The Andante sostenuto showcased Dvořák's melodic genius in full bloom. The wind instruments struck up chorale-like tones, evoking reminiscences of Wagner's "Tannhäuser." The woodwinds sang so beautifully that the strings could almost have been envious. And then that harp—little moments of pure bliss. This movement is a treasure.

In the third movement, the Allegro feroce, Dvořák brought out the bass drum, cymbals, triangle, and harp—an orchestral extravaganza he never again dared to use in his symphonies, and a tribute to Bohemian folk songs. Meister used this tastefully: not as noise, but as an effect that heightened the drama. And he struck precisely the folkloric tone the trio demanded—lively, without lapsing into folksy sentimentality.

The finale became the culmination of all the emotions. Meister conducted with a relaxed, wonderfully serene approach, giving the orchestra free rein – and the musicians rewarded him. Precision in the strings, richly colored accents from the woodwinds and brass, and sheer joy in playing evident in every phrase. No wonder the audience reacted with enthusiasm. This symphony, which is usually overlooked, unfolded like a newly discovered painting. And suddenly, one understood why Brahms held the young Dvořák in such high esteem.

In the end, the feeling remained of having attended a well-rounded, indeed blissful, evening. Three protagonists carried it: a young pianist who played Brahms without reverence, but with great clarity and energy; a conductor who is both a structuralist and an emotional man, with a sense of rubato and a love of color; and an orchestra that clearly underlined its reputation as the newly crowned "Orchestra of the Year".

What you take away: The name Maxim Lando, without a doubt. Cornelius Meister, who conducted Dvořák from memory, offering a fresh perspective, and the Frankfurt Opera and Museum Orchestra, which played with palpable joy. And the realization that Dvořák's Fourth Symphony deserves to be performed far more often. In the end, the audience was rightly enthusiastic.

Dirk Schauß, September 30, 2025

Concert of the Frankfurt Opera and Museum Orchestra under Cornelius Meister with Maxim Lando (piano) at the Alte Oper Frankfurt, September 29, 2025

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