Latvian-born Mariss Jansons is one of the giants among classical conductors of our time. After pioneering work for the Oslo Philharmonic and the Pittsburgh Symphony, he was named chief conductor of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra in Amsterdam, one of the oldest and most highly esteemed musical organizations in Europe. In his concerts and recordings, he has distinguished himself with innovative and stylistically sensitive readings, beyond the Russian repertory of his early training (at the Leningrad Conservatory). Last night, he brought his new group to the Kennedy Center for a much-anticipated concert, and DCist was there for you.

Each half of the concert featured only a single work, beginning with Haydn's Symphony No. 94 in G Major and the classical core of the Concertgebouw group, reduced numbers of strings and a few winds and percussion players. The first movement was a fairly calm and self-assured rendition of Vivace assai, in which the orchestra responded beautifully to the encouraging conducting of Jansons. His face was often smiling as he offered the players mimetic gestures to evoke smoothness, wonder, or whatever character he wanted. At times, he did not even seem to be giving a real beat, just an expression. The musical response was lush, rhythmically united, uniformly articulated, and infectiously buoyant. There is wit in Haydn, as mentioned in our review of Alfred Brendel's recital last week, but it does not need to be overemphasized. When we got to the fourth movement, with its sudden loud outburst from the timpani (cued playfully by just one of Jansons' fingers), we clearly understood why the "Surprise" Symphony got its nickname (not for the unexplained fortissimo blast near the beginning of the slow movement, which is also funny and in this performance much more jarring than the actual "surprise"). The Menuetto third movement became a boisterous beerhall dance in Jansons' hands, accompanied by a sweet sotto voce Trio. The fourth movement, conducted at a rollicking tempo with very minimal gestures, was a puckish whirlwind.

One of Mariss Jansons' predecessors at the Royal Concertgebouw, Willem Mengelberg, was the dedicatee along with this orchestra of a new work by Richard Strauss, the elegiac masterpiece Ein Heldenleben in 1898. Supposedly inspired by Beethoven's Eroica Symphony but sharing only its key signature -- E-flat major -- with that work, this long and magnificent tone poem tells the story of an unnamed hero and his struggles. Many have speculated that Strauss's great hero was none other than the composer himself, with the score's dissonant band of enemies corresponding to the critics who vexed Strauss with every new piece and the mysterious helpmate who assists the hero on his way to triumph representing the composer's beloved wife. (Frau Strauss, a soprano, regularly received musical Valentines from her composer husband. That trumps roses and candy any day.) That Strauss quotes liberally from his own pieces in one section of Ein Heldenleben certainly seems to support that interpretation. The association of this orchestra with the origins of the work added a new biographical layer to its story, and perhaps Jansons sees elements of his own life and career in its hero's victory.

It was a thrill to see the entire orchestra arrayed on the Concert Hall stage, vast numbers of strings in front, with the 16 woodwinds, 2 harps, 18 brass players (not to mention the three trumpets who play from offstage at one point), and a battery of percussion for the battle movement. The logistics of taking a group of musicians this large on a tour of the United States must have been daunting. The orchestra was in Chicago on Sunday, playing the Shostakovich program that did not impress one reviewer in London, and they will play both that program and the one they played at the Kennedy Center today and tomorrow, at Carnegie Hall, before heading back to Amsterdam. We certainly could not perceive any fatigue in the sound that the group produced, great sweeping crescendi, pure soaring violin sound slicing like a blade, the dissonant clatter of the prodigiously talented wind players conjuring the hero's vociferous critics, and concertmaster Vesko Eschkenazy brilliantly negotiating the role of the alternatingly shrewish and sweet beloved.

All in all, this was a startling and thrilling performance, with warm, cheerful Haydn playing (really good Classical style playing is not regularly heard here in Washington) and transcendent Strauss. The jangling, clamorous battle scene will remain in my ears for a long time. When the hero's melody rose up out of the orchestra, to triumph over his enemies, Jansons simply opened his arms and let himself be washed in the sound. There was no instrument in that vast array that presented anything other than rarefied sound. The delightful encore, the Andante Cantabile from the String Quartet in G Major, op. 3/3, Hob. III:15 -- once thought to be by Haydn and now generally attributed to Roman Hoffstetter -- was a study in understatement, just to show that those amassed strings were capable of something absolutely delicate, too. The smile on Mariss Jansons' face tells it all: yes, we can do that.