Blog: Boston University at Symphony Hall

There are moments before walking on stage when time seems to disappear.

Days, weeks, hours have been consumed by anticipation and practice, everything leading to that instant when the performance begins, in front of thousands, in one of the world’s great concert halls. The orchestra tunes. I walk out. Applause rises, and with it, the sense of expectation.

Then…stillness. Total concentration. Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 begins.

Everything we had worked so hard to achieve becomes reality. You can feel the audience listening.

The first movement unfolds with its dramatic ebb and flow, the insistence of its motives, their repetition, evolution, and transformation. We pushed to the extremes of dynamic control we had explored in rehearsal: as the world grows louder, but never at the expense of the smallest, softest details. Transparency is everything.

In the final coda, the movement’s menacing character reaches its inevitable conclusion, its narrative drawn together with tremendous force. We close, and the audience erupts.

(Applause after the first movement is always something to consider. Some works invite it; others do not. I was surprised—but not unhappy. The orchestra is impressive. Beethoven, of course, is the giant who stands above us all.)

The second movement scherzo, placed by Beethoven in an unconventional position, came to life with clarity and precision. The fugal writing emerged cleanly, each line distinct, the basses relishing their final entries. Our timpanist, bold and fearless, broke through the texture with what felt, suddenly, like humor. I had never thought of that moment as comic before, but perhaps it is one of Beethoven’s jokes: an interruption at just the wrong time, deliberate and mischievous, while the music presses on regardless.

The trio offered contrast, warmth, lyricism, a sense of ease, before the movement’s clever and graceful close. Again, applause. Smiles exchanged. And a quiet thought: how to manage that energy moving into the third movement, where the true stillness must begin.

The third movement is a world unto itself, an idyllic, deeply human landscape. It is music one hardly dares touch, for fear of disturbing its perfection. To conduct it feels like the understanding that one develops from deeply loving and deeply respect: a partnership built on trust, listening, and restraint.

I was struck by the maturity of these young musicians, their patience through rehearsals as we worked toward a shared vision. In performance, that vision finally settled. We allowed the music to speak, to transcend, to carry us into what I feel is one of Beethoven’s most soulful slow movements. And yet—even here—those distant fanfares remind us that the outside world remains, waiting.

And then…the finale.

A moment of reckoning. One wonders what Beethoven felt as he wrote it: a shaking of the fist at the world, and at the same time, a profound call to unity. Schiller’s Ode to Joy asks us to come together, to recognize our shared humanity, to reach toward something greater.

In that final movement, time stood still. We were all part of something larger—players, singers, audience—drawn into the same current. Bows on strings, breath through metal, drums sounding, voices rising together. Live performance at its most essential: searching, unpredictable, alive. So much has been prepared, but in the end, we must let go, trust the moment, and allow the music to unfold freely. That is where the miracle lies.

Thank you to all who shared such generous and thoughtful responses.

Bravo to our choir for their power and expressivity throughout, and to our soloists, who sang with beauty and deep emotional connection. Each is an artist with a remarkable path ahead.

My deepest thanks as well to the faculty and our terrific student conductors and assistants who supported our students through this intense period, amid classes, exams, recitals, and opera preparations. Boston University is a busy place. But this was our night in Symphony Hall.

Students, you rose to the occasion. Orchestra, you gave everything. 

We grew together, and it showed.

-Sarah Ioannides

Photos by Jake Belcher