The third day of the George Enescu International Festival offered me two unforgettable musical encounters. By afternoon, at the Romanian Athenaeum’s “Concerts at the Athenaeum” series, I set out on a vibrant journey with the Chamber Orchestra of the Republic of Moldova under maestro Cristian Florea, featuring the young violin virtuoso Ilie Gârneț. That same evening, I was carried away by the Ukrainian Freedom Orchestra, led by its founder Keri-Lynn Wilson, with American soprano Rachel Willis-Sørensen as soloist.

The afternoon began with Enescu’s Prélude à l'unisson from his Orchestral Suite no 1., presented with the very nobility that first enshrined it. Florea’s gestures - at once restrained and magnanimous - sketched the music’s opening harmonies, conjuring an atmosphere poised between solemnity and inner reflection. Melodic lines wove themselves into a radiant tapestry, and the audience’s applause sprang forth naturally, alive with genuine enthusiasm.

Next came Benjamin Britten’s Variations on a Theme by Frank Bridge, a transition both surprising and deeply consoling. Under Florea’s baton, the work’s tension gave way to moments of serene release, uncovering hidden emotional depths; then, like shafts of sunlight, passages of lyrical grace unfolded, rooted in English folk tradition. Weighty rhythms alternated with graceful inflections, while delicate, whispered pizzicati served as crystalline accents, holding us in rapt suspense until the very last note.

Ilie Gârneț returned in Tartini/Kreisler’s Devil’s Trill Sonata, his violin engaging the orchestra in a passionate, almost fiery dance. His ornamentation sprang from breathtaking virtuosity, while the ensemble’s velvet-soft support provided the ideal backdrop for him to sculpt sound with his bow. Each embellishment, each measured tremolo, seemed born of a quest for nuanced perfection, offering an intimate glimpse into the masterly craft of this tempestuous Kreislerian showpiece.

The program’s first half closed with the Carmen Fantasy by Bizet/Waxman, an incandescent suite distilled from Bizet’s most brilliant and impassioned gestures. Gârneț soared through its formidable passages with astonishing ease: Hispanic-inflected flourishes, Iberian accents and seguidillas all emerged with dazzling freshness. Especially in the feverish Chanson bohème, the music whirled us into breathless exhilaration.

To cap the concert, Constantin Rusnac’s Sărbătoreasca (Festive Dance​) transported us back to our own folk traditions in an authentic spirit of festivity. Its brisk tempo and joyful violin interjections painted a vivid sonic tableau, and the final ovation affirmed once more the Chamber Orchestra of the Republic of Moldova’s gift for traversing eras and styles with unflagging emotional intensity. It was, in sum, an evening in which virtuosity and sensitivity intertwined, as musicians and conductor wove diverse musical idioms into a seamless whole.

Later, the Ukrainian Freedom Orchestra, under Keri-Lynn Wilson’s incisive yet empathetic direction, took the stage at the Palace Hall to bear witness through sound to suffering and hope alike. Each note felt like a plea for freedom, each measured silence a moment of remembrance for the victims of horror.

They opened with Victoria Poleva’s haunting Lacrymosa. From the first, somber chord—a summons to conscience—the air grew thick with tension. A solo violin seized the initial tremolo and transformed it into a heartrending lament, the bow’s quiver seeming to cry out Ukraine’s profound anguish. In Poliva’s score I heard not mere dissonance or sonic illusion but an etched historical truth, a bold confrontation between the atrocities of war and music’s redemptive power. That single “musical tear,” underscored by the ensemble’s sinister hues, proved that only a company so deeply rooted in its own suffering and resilience could convey this message with such intensity.

Next came American soprano Rachel Willis-Sørensen’s luminous interpretation of Richard Strauss’s Vier letzte Lieder:

- In Im Frühling her sumptuous, velvety tone suffused the hall with the comforting warmth of nature reborn; each high line floated above the orchestra like a butterfly in spring sunlight.

- September unfolded as a delicate counterpoint between the fragility of the voice and the orchestra’s rich strength, as though life and death were dancing in the same beam of light.

- Beim Schlafengehen became a solemn procession toward nightfall, the solo violin’s soaring lament touching each listener’s heart.

​- And in Im Abendrot, Willis-Sørensen summoned a peace almost supernatural in its grace, yet never softened the profound drama of Strauss’s orchestration.

Finally, Antonín Dvořák’s radiant Symphony No. 8 in G major drew the evening to a majestic close. From the outset, the light of Bohemia shimmered through folk-tinted harmonies and forest evocations. The first movement sparkled with vitality under Wilson’s impassioned leadership; the Andante exuded an elegant neo-classical lyricism, the conductor’s every gesture seeming to paint the air itself. The Adagio felt like a silent drama, only to yield to the playful-bright themes that returned as a breath of hope. In the concluding Rondo, the music spread its wings in triumphant splendor, Wilson deftly balancing exuberant celebration with intimate nuance.

This was a concert that, through the power of musical expression and the performers’ emotional commitment, reminded us that art remains today more than ever an ambassador of our shared humanity. The Ukrainian Freedom Orchestra gave us not merely sounds but a stirring affirmation of music’s healing power.

The year 2025 marked, for me, a joyous return to the spellbinding realm of classical music - whether symphonic, chamber or operatic - through encounters (and re-encounters) with some of the world’s greatest orchestras and most celebrated soloists. For nearly a month, they all converged in Bucharest under the vast artistic umbrella of the “George Enescu” International Festival. Once again at the festival’s artistic helm stood Maestro Cristian Măcelaru, who - together with the Artexim team - crafted an impressively ambitious program. For over three weeks, we basked in the transformation of Bucharest into a major capital of high art music.

The opening concert presented the Orchestra and Choir of the “George Enescu” Philharmonic, conducted by Măcelaru himself. The evening commenced with Dan Dediu’s Concert for Orchestra - a work commissioned for this edition and unveiled as a captivating sonic voyage. Through an artful blend of harmony and motif, Dediu gently evokes the Enescu legacy, honoring both the master and his own contemporary vision. His characteristic playfulness (which I’ve long admired in his operas “O scrisoare pierdută”/”The Lost Letter” and “D’ale carnavalului”/”Adventures at a Carnival” at Bucharest’s National Opera) mingles here with a wistful melancholy, granting each orchestral section a distinct voice. Under Măcelaru’s inspired baton, the ensemble sculpted color and tension with impeccable balance. In the concert’s second half, drama mounted steadily, culminating in an exuberant tutti - with brass and percussion driving a thrilling, propulsive climax.

The evening’s second highlight was Aram Khachaturian’s Violin Concerto, its energetic brilliance given extra luster by the magnetic presence of Nemanja Radulović. At the festival’s press conference, Radulović spoke of the freedom he seeks in interpretation - and that very freedom animated his every phrase. The virtuosic flourishes of the first movement emerged with a distinctive, poised touch; pauses themselves became a potent musical language. Maestro Măcelaru, ever attentive, ensured no sonic collisions ever marred the dialogue between soloist and orchestra. Radulović’s cadenza - laden with charged silences - struck me as even more compelling than the celebrated version by Oistrakh. In the second movement, the concerto’s lyric melancholy surfaced fully: violin and orchestra shared deep nostalgia, invoking the plaintive hues of the “Spartacus” lamento. And in the third movement’s vigorous finale, Radulović’s interpretive freedom blossomed into a true visual and sonic spectacle - one which the orchestra, under Măcelaru’s assured guidance, embraced with unflagging enthusiasm. A dialogue between harp and flute shone especially bright, a moment of elegant color that showcased each instrumentalist’s artistry.

Finally, George Enescu’s “Romanian Rhapsody” closed the program in a mood both poetic and reflective, framed by the opening recitation of Marius Bodochi. His eloquent delivery of Enescu’s own words - “Life is a dream, and the dream is my whole life,” “In art you progress very, very slowly,” “Originality happens only when it is not sought,” “Write music, not about music,” “Hone your craft in silence” - cast an intimate, contemplative spell over the hall. As the Rhapsody unfolded, an offstage chorus murmured from the wings, while multimedia projections deepened the sense of memory - as if Enescu himself, in the winter of his life, were recalling his childhood. The orchestra’s interjections - sometimes tempestuous, sometimes delicate - were driven by Măcelaru’s gestures, both sensitive and decisive, demonstrating how organically a Romanian ensemble can resonate with its greatest national composer. Transitions from stormy episodes to folk-inspired passages flowed seamlessly, interwoven with melancholic strains reminiscent of a doină. In the final bars, the conductor’s full-bodied expressivity reminded us that when a maestro commits his entire being to the music, the emotional power of the score transcends the fourth wall between performers and audience.

It was a consummate evening, one in which three musical worlds - Dediu’s modern invention, Khachaturian’s fiery lyricism and Enescu’s timeless spirit - came together in perfect artistic communion.