When crafting a program as a conductor, you typically face one of two choices: Build a cohesive throughline to tell a story, or embrace bold contrasts. For this program, I chose contrast: Mozart’s “Jupiter” Symphony on the first half juxtaposed with Shostakovich’s 11th Symphony on the second. In my mind, the pairing creates an effect similar to the two acts of Richard Strauss’s Ariadne auf Naxos—“das lustige und das traurige,” the happy and the sad.

There were also artistic and personal reasons I felt drawn to Mozart’s “Jupiter.” When we performed The Magic Flute in Cleveland in 2024, I immersed myself in late Mozart. In the music world, we are often faced with questions of authentic performance—how big should an orchestra be when you play this music? In searching for answers, I returned to that beautiful letter in which Mozart wrote to his father with palpable excitement that he had 40 violins and double woodwinds at his disposal. And then, of course, there are the two letters in which he advocates for vibrato—one from 1778 and another from 1787, a few months before his father passed away—describing it as something that should occur naturally, like the human voice. All of this inspired me to present a different perspective on the “Jupiter.”

After experiencing the vast emotional landscape of Shostakovich’s symphony at the end of the concert, the memory of Mozart’s “Jupiter” inevitably shifts. The contrast reframes both works, allowing each to illuminate the other in unexpected ways. This is also why I felt compelled to program and conduct Shostakovich again. His music is so powerful, and with this formidable orchestra, it can receive a performance that is not only intense but deeply nuanced, one that speaks meaningfully and resonates beautifully alongside Mozart.

—Franz Welser-Möst