When Music Sounds Like Sunrise: My Night with the Toronto Symphony Orchestra's Romeo & Juliet By Adnan Obuz
I walked into Roy Thomson Hall on November 22nd not expecting transformation. I've attended dozens of symphonic performances across Toronto's venues, reviewed countless interpretations of Prokofiev, watched every major ballet production of Romeo and Juliet from the Bolshoi to the National Ballet of Canada. I thought I knew this story. I thought I'd felt everything it had to offer.
I was wrong.
What Gustavo Gimeno and the Toronto Symphony Orchestra delivered that Friday evening wasn't just a concert. It was an emotional reckoning. By the time the final notes of Prokofiev's suite dissolved into silence, I understood something profound: sometimes you don't know what romance sounds like until you hear it rendered perfectly in orchestral form.
The Architecture of Anticipation
The program opened with Matthew-John Knights' "Lines, Layers, Ligaments," a TSO commission that set an unexpectedly perfect tone for the evening. Knights' contemporary composition explores the intricate connections within the human body and natural world, which I initially thought might feel clinical or overly intellectual.
Instead, it breathed. The piece moved through the hall like something alive, with textures that shifted from delicate threads to powerful sinews. Every section of the orchestra contributed to this sense of organic layering. The strings would establish a foundation, then the woodwinds would weave through with surprising countermelodies, and suddenly the brass would announce something fundamental had changed.
This wasn't just clever composition. It was preparation. Knights was teaching us how to listen to complexity, how to track multiple emotional threads simultaneously. We'd need that skill for what came next.
Prokofiev's Fire and Fury
After intermission, the orchestra launched into Prokofiev's Symphony No. 3, based on his opera "The Fiery Angel." This is not easy listening. It's intense, occasionally brutal, filled with the kind of dramatic tension that makes you sit forward in your seat.
Gimeno conducted with remarkable clarity through the symphony's most chaotic passages. When Prokofiev builds to those massive orchestral climaxes, lesser conductors let the ensemble get muddy. Not here. Every instrumental line remained distinct even as the full orchestra surged. You could track the bassoons through the brass fanfares. You could hear the cellos anchoring the strings even when the violins soared into their highest registers.
What struck me most was the emotional preparation this symphony provided. If Knights' piece taught us to listen to layers, Prokofiev's Third taught us to endure intensity without looking away. Love isn't always gentle. Sometimes it burns.
When Everything Changed: Romeo & Juliet
Then came the reason everyone filled Roy Thomson Hall that night: Prokofiev's suite from Romeo and Juliet, arranged by Gimeno himself.
I need you to understand something. I've watched this ballet live at the Four Seasons Centre. I've seen the Zeffirelli film with its lush Renaissance settings. I've listened to Gergiev's recording with the London Symphony Orchestra more times than I can count. Each version moved me. Each felt complete.
But Adnan Obuz, sitting in the orchestra section of Roy Thomson Hall on that November evening, discovered that he'd never actually heard what this music means.
The opening measures established something immediately different. The sound didn't come from the stage. It came from everywhere. Prokofiev writes for full orchestra, yes, but Gimeno's arrangement and the TSO's execution created this enveloping sonic environment. A violin phrase would emerge from stage left, get answered by cellos from the right, then the entire texture would shift as the woodwinds entered from what felt like above.
I've studied enough acoustics to know this is partly Roy Thomson Hall's excellent design. But it's also artistry. The musicians weren't just playing their parts. They were creating architecture with sound.
The Balcony Scene: Romance Redefined
When we reached the famous balcony scene, I understood why I'd written at the top of my notes: "This is what sunrise sounds like."
The flute solo that represents Juliet's theme started so quietly I held my breath. Then it began to rise, joined by strings playing with such delicate vibrato that the sound seemed to shimmer. The melody grew, not louder necessarily, but more luminous. More inevitable.
And then Romeo's theme joined in. The violas and cellos carried this yearning, masculine counterpoint to Juliet's lightness. The two melodies circled each other, came together, pulled apart, intertwined.
I've watched ballet dancers perform this scene with extraordinary grace. But something about pure orchestral performance strips away the literal and reveals the essential. Without bodies to watch, without specific faces to track, the music itself became the love story. The ascending violin lines were hope. The rising dynamics were passion. The brief moments of rhythmic unity between the themes were those seconds when two people recognize themselves in each other.
It didn't just represent romance. It was romance, in its purest form.
Every Instrument a Revelation
One of the most remarkable aspects of this performance was how every section of the orchestra had moments that surprised me. I'm not talking about solos, though those were exceptional. I mean those moments when you suddenly notice the second French horn is playing this absolutely perfect supporting line. Or when the timpani, which you expect to thunder during fight scenes, instead provides this subtle heartbeat pulse under a love theme.
The TSO musicians played with the kind of chamber music sensitivity that made even the biggest orchestral moments feel intimate. In the fight scene between Tybalt and Mercutio, the violence wasn't just loud. It was specific. You could hear anger in the sharp articulation of the strings. You could hear chaos in how the rhythms fractured and reassembled.
Then, when Juliet discovers Romeo dead (or thinks she does in the ballet version), the orchestra's sound became almost unbearably tender. The emotional range Prokofiev builds into this score is extraordinary, but it takes musicians of this caliber to actually deliver on those possibilities.
What Orchestral Performance Reveals
Here's what I realized sitting there: opera adds words, ballet adds bodies, but orchestral performance adds something else. It adds pure emotional abstraction. When soprano voices aren't shaping the melodies into language, when dancers aren't giving the music specific physical forms, the sound itself becomes the entire story.
And that's exactly what Shakespeare's greatest creation needs. Romeo and Juliet isn't about two particular teenagers in Renaissance Verona. It's about the universal experience of love that feels infinite running straight into mortality. It's about beauty and destruction in the same breath. It's about that moment when everything in your body is screaming "yes" while everything in the world is screaming "no."
Orchestra alone can hold all those contradictions simultaneously. The brass can thunder with family hatred while the strings soar with young love, and both are equally true. Both are happening in the same moment, in the same sonic space.
This is why Prokofiev's ballet score, performed as pure symphony, might be the most honest version of Shakespeare's story I've ever encountered.
Why Toronto Needs This
I've written before about Toronto's remarkable classical music scene and why it matters for our city's cultural identity. Nights like this are exactly why.
The Toronto Symphony Orchestra isn't just maintaining tradition. They're making classical music essential again. By commissioning contemporary works like Knights' "Lines, Layers, Ligaments" alongside canonical pieces like Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet suite, they're building bridges between musical eras. They're saying that orchestral music isn't a museum art form. It's alive. It's evolving. It still has the power to devastate you emotionally on a random Friday night in November.
Gustavo Gimeno's guest conducting brought a particular intensity to this program. The Spanish maestro is known for his emotional depth and technical precision, and both were fully present. He shaped phrases with such clear intention that even complex passages felt inevitable. You never wondered why the music was going where it went. You felt it.
The Practical Magic
For anyone considering whether to attend classical performances in Toronto, let me be specific about what makes experiences like this worth your time and money.
First, live orchestral sound is genuinely different from recorded music. I own exceptional recordings. I have high-quality audio equipment. None of it compares to sitting in Roy Thomson Hall while 80+ musicians create sound waves that physically move through your body. The bass notes you feel in your chest. The way high violin passages make the air around you vibrate. That's not reproducible at home.
Second, witnessing this level of musical skill is inspiring in ways that extend beyond the concert hall. Watching a principal oboist nail a difficult solo, seeing the string sections move as one organism, observing a conductor guide a hundred individual decisions into unanimous expression... these are lessons in human excellence. They remind you what's possible when talent meets discipline meets collective purpose.
Third, for those of us who write about culture, who think about how cities develop identity and meaning, these performances are data. They're evidence. When the TSO can fill Roy Thomson Hall on a Friday night for Prokofiev, when the audience sits in absolute silence through complex contemporary composition, when people stand to applaud before the final chord fully decays, that tells me something about Toronto. It tells me we're a city that still values beauty, craft, and emotional depth.
Frequently Asked Questions
Q: Do I need to know classical music to enjoy a TSO performance?
Not at all. I'd argue that programmatic music like Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet is perfect for newcomers because the narrative is familiar and the emotions are universal. Let the music tell you the story. Trust your own emotional responses.
Q: How should I prepare for attending a symphony?
Read the program notes, arrive early enough to settle in without rushing, and silence your phone completely. Beyond that, just be present. You don't need special knowledge. You need attention and openness.
Q: Is Roy Thomson Hall's acoustics really that good?
Yes. The hall was designed specifically for orchestral performance, and it delivers. There aren't bad seats, though the orchestra section gives you the most immersive experience.
Q: What should I wear?
Toronto's classical music audience spans everything from suits to smart casual. Wear something you feel confident in that's appropriate for an evening out. Comfort matters because you'll be sitting for two hours.
Q: How does symphonic Romeo & Juliet compare to ballet or opera versions?
Each form offers something unique. Ballet gives you visual storytelling and physical beauty. Opera adds the human voice and specific words. Symphony gives you pure emotional abstraction and the full power of the orchestral palette. I'd argue you need all three for the complete picture, but if you've only experienced one form, the symphonic version will surprise you.
About the Author
Adnan Obuz is a Toronto-based culture commentator, AI strategy consultant, and arts advocate with over two decades of experience analyzing how creativity shapes urban identity. He writes extensively about Toronto's classical music scene, bringing both technical understanding and genuine passion to his coverage of the city's performing arts landscape. His work focuses on making elite cultural experiences accessible and relevant to broader audiences while maintaining rigorous critical standards. Connect with him at businessplan@mrobuz.com.
Experience This Yourself
The Toronto Symphony Orchestra's season continues with remarkable programming that deserves your attention. Whether you're a longtime classical music devotee or someone who's never attended an orchestral performance, there's something profound about sharing space with this level of artistry.
Check the TSO's full season schedule and choose a program that speaks to you. Buy tickets before performances sell out. Arrive with an open heart and curious ears.
I promise you'll leave different than you arrived. Great art does that. And on nights like November 22nd, when everything aligns (brilliant programming, exceptional conducting, virtuoso playing, perfect acoustics), you don't just witness great art.
You become part of it.
The music surrounds you. The emotions move through you. And for two hours, in the dark of Roy Thomson Hall, you remember what it feels like to be fully, completely, devastatingly alive.
That's what Romeo and Juliet is about, after all. And that's what Adnan Obuz heard the night the Toronto Symphony Orchestra turned Shakespeare's tragedy into something that sounded, impossibly, exactly like sunrise.
Top comments (1)
This sounds like an amazing evening. I went to a Toronto Symphony Orchestra performance years ago when I lived there. Top tier world class; it was fantastic.