A Starry Start

The New York Philharmonic began its 2007–08 season on Tuesday night, and Lorin Maazel began his sixth — his sixth as the Philharmonic's music director. He took over the job in 2002, having first led the orchestra 60 years previously, in 1942. The maestro was 12 years old (and already experienced). He will give up the job at the end of next season. His program on Tuesday night was all-Dvorák, and he had with him a starry soloist: the cellist Yo-Yo Ma. But the concert didn't begin with Dvorák. As is customary on Opening Night, it began with the national anthem.

And Mr. Maazel conducted it as he usually does: broadly, purposefully, and well. It is not merely a toss-off for him. And, again as usual, he sang all through.

Then he and the orchestra tucked into Dvorák's "Carnival" Overture. This is a curtain-raiser, and we'd already had a curtain-raiser. The "Carnival" Overture suffered somewhat by going second. But what can you do?

There were several good things about the overture. It was tight, by which I mean, it was cohesive and precise (for the most part). In slower sections, Mr. Maazel did some lovely phrasing. And Glenn Dicterow, in his violin solos, made some angelic sounds. But too much of "Carnival" was cold, hard, and blunt. You can exploit this piece more, allowing it more style. And at least two of the woodwinds were cringingly flat. You know what Mr. Ma played: the Dvorák Cello Concerto, the most popular of all cello concertos. Like every other professional cellist, Mr. Ma has played it a thousand times. And there are two dangers here: first, that you get sick of the piece, and play it tiredly or indifferently; and second, that you get eccentric in it, if only to amuse yourself. Mr. Ma showed no sign of having been ensnared by either danger.

He displayed his widely loved sound, and his widely admired technique. He had some bobbles — some missed and bad notes — but we were reminded: This was a concert, not a CD. Anyone can sound good, even perfect, when the studio engineers finish with their work.

Unfortunately, Mr. Ma had worse problems than dropped notes. He did some souping around, which is to say, he applied some unwise portamento. And he drew out the ending of the concerto in a way that did not quite work. Mainly, however, the performance was competent without being winning, accomplished without being memorable. It was okay — but that was perhaps not good enough for Opening Night, and for Yo-Yo Ma.

Mr. Maazel was an able collaborator, and some members of the orchestra stood out. The principal horn, Philip Myers, played with control and confidence. Most of the time, Mr. Ma and the orchestra were together; all the time, no. Mr. Maazel handled the composer's superb syncopated ending with zip and smoothness. Again, this was a competent performance without being anything special. But what is definitely special is Yo-Yo Ma's warmth, his personableness. When an usher brought him flowers, he kissed her gallantly, causing the audience to sigh. Then he tossed the bouquet into the first rows.

After intermission, Mr. Maazel owed us something really good, musically speaking. And I'm happy to report that he delivered it. His conducting of Dvorak's Symphony No. 7 in D minor was first-class.

The opening measures were dark, rich, and haunting, just as they should be. And the entire first movement unfolded with a sense of inevitability. Mr. Maazel's tempos were unhurried, but not dragging. He obviously knew the score inside out — each bar, and the structure in general. Best of all, he was completely engaged, alive to what he was doing.

What do the restaurant people say? "Fully committed."

Dvorák's second movement, Poco adagio, can be blah, but not in this instance: Mr. Maazel judged it shrewdly, breathed beautifully in it. And what about the famous third movement, that swirling, slightly demonic dance? From Mr. Maazel and the Philharmonic, it was swirling indeed, and slightly demonic — in fact, more demonic than usual.

And the finale was glowing, solid, and resolute. Besides which, the orchestra played with such unity, you might have thought it was a chamber group — one that had practiced.

The Seventh is generally regarded as the least of Dvorák's final three symphonies, the works on which his reputation rests, at least as a symphonist. The G-major is No. 8, and then we have the "New World." But the Seventh didn't sound like any kind of stepsister on Tuesday night.

In his first years with the Philharmonic, Mr. Maazel performed a lot of encores, and these were some of the most exciting and satisfying things we heard. But he seems to have cut out this practice in the last few seasons. Something of a mystery. So there was no Prague Waltz, Slavonic Dance, or some other Dvorák encore. But, particularly with that symphony, it was a pretty successful evening.