NCH, Dublin

Dvorak – Wind Serenade. Haydn – Cello Concertos 1 2.

Dutch cellist Pieter Wispelwey presents himself as a fearless musician. Two concertos instead of one? No problem. Leave out the conductor? That’s fine, too. And follow up the two concertos with a late night solo performance? Whatever you like.

On Friday, Wispelwey played and directed Haydn’s two cello concertos with the RTÉ National Symphony Orchestra. As director, he didn’t seem to do much except sit centre stage and play. But, from time to time, he leaned a bit this way or that, curved the air with a hand gesture, swivelled a little, or leant backwards and raised a foot.

The effects were immediate, and sometimes dramatic. It was as if, musically speaking, the orchestra had taken to the gym, lost a few pounds, toned up its muscles, and was in unusually lithe and responsive form.

The instrumental tone was thinner than usual and a little more penetrating.

The internal balances were rather less competitive than is often the case when the NSO tackles 18th-century repertoire, and there was, as a consequence, a welcome increase in internal clarity.

Wispelwey treated the entire range of his instrument as if it were home territory, moving around the exposed upper reaches as freely as the fuller-toned depths. The ease of movement had a transformative effect, making passages that often seem effortful sound entirely natural, in spite of the occasional inaccuracy of intonation.

The result was that both soloist and orchestra seemed to have interesting things to say. Haydn was stripped of all sense of patter, the opening movement of the Second Concerto mixing impetuosity and suavity to impressive effect, and the finale showing just how turbo-charged Haydn’s cello writing can be.

The concert opened with a conductorless performance of Dvorak’s Wind Serenade, directed from the clarinet by John Finucane, gorgeous music, delivered with plain, common sense.

Wispelwey’s late-night performance was of Bach’s Cello Suite in D minor.

The audience seemed to be gathered with a special sense of anticipation, and Wispelwey played as if for himself, allowing his listeners to eavesdrop rather than projecting the music for their benefit.

Yet, even when the music-making was at its most controversial (and there were some speeds that were very fast indeed), it was always communicatively sure.