By Aaron Keebaugh

Violinist Ray Chen and the BSO delivered one of the most seismic performances of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto that I’ve heard.

Ray Chen performs Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Photo: Hilary Scott

“The violin is no longer played,” complained Viennese critic Eduard Hanslick about Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto. “It is tugged about, torn, beaten black and blue.”

For Hanslick, Tchaikovsky’s music epitomized vulgarity. Its wild turns and lack of formal dimensions were simply too much for his civilized ears. In fact, Hanslick made some class assumptions, writing that one could “hear the stink” of the rough faces and boozy speech of the beer hall through Tchaikovsky’s blend of sentimentality and virtuosity.

But these moments, when played with panache, make the Violin Concerto even more fun and exciting. That was certainly the bravado conveyed by violinist Ray Chen, who delivered one of the most seismic performances of this piece that I’ve heard. With guest conductor Teddy Abrams at the helm of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, Chen’s performance dug into the musical grit with a natural freedom that one was reminded that great performances of a piece live longer than (wrong-headed) critical assessments.

Chen, who made his BSO debut, is a true entertainer, as at ease with the theatrical aspects of musical performance as he is with interpretive depth — and he possesses plenty of the latter. Some critics bemoan the violinist’s natural charisma, seeing it as more flash than substance. True, he has achieved celebrity status through his popular YouTube channel and appearance in the TV series Mozart in the Jungle. But he’s not just flash. In crucial moments, he can explore the emotional depths in even the most quizzical scores. His performance of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto blazed with exhilarating passion and sizzled with emotional tension — without tipping into excess. And, given the nature of this high-flying music, his flirting with the edges fit perfectly.

Tchaikovsky composed the score during a tumultuous period in his life. His marriage to Antonina was in shambles, fellow musicians derided his Piano Concerto as unplayable, and Swan Lake, later to be his greatest success, flopped at its premiere. Down and out and trying to keep the attention away from chatter about his homosexuality, Tchaikovsky turned to the music of Eduard Lalo for inspiration.

Teddy Abrams conducts the BSO in Bernstein’s Symphonic Dances from West Side Story. Photo: Hilary Scott

Lalo’s Symphonie espagnole was everything a standard concerto wasn’t. Its sections flow freely despite its disjointed organization. This is music that reflects immediate emotional experiences — Germanic formal balance is kicked to the curb. Tchaikovsky achieved the same effects with his concerto, which dives into its passions earnestly. If, as Hanslick argued, this was sonic vulgarity, it embraces its sound with unapologetic swagger.

Chen leaned into Tchaikovsky’s wild mood swings with devil-may-care exuberance. His tone had a touch of roughness, but his lines still soared. And he tore through the rapid scales and wide melodic leaps with an abandon that would make a fiddler like Charlie Daniels envious.

Even in the Canzonetta, Chen strode up to the border of excess without swinging over it. His melodies were as sweet and charged as caffeinated lemonade. But his performance never wanted for lyricism, and the movement made for a fitting contrast with the torrential finale that followed.

Abrams led an accompaniment that was sensitive to the soloist’s every turn. He laid back on the tempo to allow phrases to breathe, but pushed the throttle down when he needed to burn rubber. The audience rewarded the musicians with a rousing ovation — even after the first movement. By the concerto’s end, everyone was on their feet. As an encore, Chen, Abrams, and the orchestra treated listeners to Eunike Tanzil’s Serenade, a sweet and nostalgic waltz heard in Boston for the first time.

Dashon Burton, the soloist in Michael Tilson Thomas’s Whitman Songs. Photo: Hilary Scott

The second half of the program showcased the conductor’s ability to work with greater nuance and sensitivity. Abrams cast a commanding presence on the podium. Grand, sweeping gestures reflected his feel for the big picture, though details emerged with just the right amount of flair. It’s an approach that recalls the style of his mentor, Michael Tilson Thomas, who was represented in this weekend’s program with his Whitman Songs for baritone and orchestra.

Tilson Thomas’s career as a conductor may not only have overshadowed his work as a composer, but probably steered him away, for a time, from making the most of his compositional voice. In an age governed by avant-garde trends that pushed composers into exploring ever greater — and skittishly dissonant — frontiers, Tilson Thomas tended to favor a sweeping melodic style that suggests Aaron Copland and Leonard Bernstein.

Yet there’s more than a touch of Benjamin Britten in Whitman Songs. Three of the author’s poems that focus on a person’s coming-of-age (posing questions such as “who am I?) were chosen. Still, while the texts from Song of Myself, Sea Drift, and Calamus express self-assuredness, Tilson Thomas highlighted uncertainty. Rhythms grind and nearly crashed into each other beneath the soaring lines of “Who Goes There?” Serene textures and glimmering harmonies conveyed an eerie calm through the haunting resonance of “At Ship’s Helm.” “We Two Boys Clinging Together” explores a homosexual relationship, and it unfolded in biting harmonies. Abrams worked through the songs with the attention of a portrait painter at work, surrounding baritone Dashon Burton, who sang with warmth and tender feeling, with vibrant shades of orchestral color.

Abrams’s fluid direction also generated propulsive energy in the Symphonic Dances from Bernstein’s West Side Story. But here, some crucial details went missing. The orchestra took time to find the groove in “Cool,” though the culminating sections seethed with the power of a dance band. Tentative string attacks also left “Somewhere” feeling a little too emotionally loose.

But when the suite called for force, those sections carried the right amount of punch. The “Prologue” was fervent, earning its finger snaps. And the musicians turned “Mambo” into an all-out jam session. When time came for the movement’s climax, Abrams turned to the audience and encouraged shouts of “mambo!” It was a showy touch. And it made the performance all the merrier.

Aaron Keebaugh has been a classical music critic in Boston since 2012. His work has been featured in the Musical Times, Corymbus, Boston Classical Review, Early Music America, and BBC Radio 3. A musicologist, he teaches at North Shore Community College in both Danvers and Lynn.