Levine’s Animated Podium Performance
This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

In early October, James Levine led his Boston Symphony Orchestra in an all-Ravel program at Carnegie Hall. Last Monday night, in the same hall, he led the BSO in a program of Berlioz, Dutilleux, Duparc, and Debussy. Mr. Levine seems determined to French it up. He began this week’s concert with Berlioz’s “Roméo et Juliette,” a “dramatic symphony.” Or rather, he conducted three popular excerpts from it. The first is known as “Romeo Alone — Festivities at the Capulets.”
It began quietly and arrestingly, really capturing the listener’s attention. And Mr. Levine held that attention throughout the excerpt. He controlled the orchestra, yet allowed it considerable freedom within this control. Everyone was making music.
And this music was beautiful, gossamer, dreamy; then gay, stirring, festive. In all, it was thoroughly Berliozian. And Mr. Levine was full of energy, urging the orchestra on almost aggressively.
The principal oboe, John Ferrillo, floated a beautiful solo. Elsewhere, however, not everything was peachy. Pizzicatos were poor, one after another (as they so often are, from orchestras all over).
Because the evening had started so well, the second excerpt — the “Love Scene” — was a terrible letdown. It was stiff, unflowing — and almost cruelly dull. Time seemed to stand still, and not in a good way. The music should have had far more lyricism and bloom — and far more momentum. I don’t know about others, but I felt like I aged 20 years while the “Love Scene” was being played. This is not what Berlioz had in mind.
The third excerpt was the “Queen Mab Scherzo,” and it was decently together, decently executed. It could have been more shimmering, more magical, more delightsome. But it was decent — not up to Mr. Levine’s standards, or to the BSO’s, for that matter.
At this juncture, the soprano Renée Fleming, America’s Sweetheart, walked out to sing a new work by Henri Dutilleux. It is a work composed for her, “Le Temps l’Horloge” (translated as “Time and the Clock”). It is a set of three songs — brief ones — on texts by Jean Tardieu (1903–95) and Robert Desnos (1900–45). According to Carnegie Hall’s program notes, Mr. Dutilleux will compose a fourth song to complete the set, on a prose-poem by Baudelaire.
The three songs we heard are classic Dutilleux: concentrated, intricate, economical — not a note is wasted. And those notes are good and interesting.
Ms. Fleming performed her music expertly and compellingly. As she often is, she was a bit sultry, alluring — also a bit mezzo-y. Her lower register continues to be a wonder of nature. And yet her top notes are free and soprano-like. And, as she so often does, she injected some jazz into what she was singing. Or, better, call it an American soulfulness. This is simply part of the Fleming DNA, baked into her cake.
The composer, born in 1916, was present in the hall. He walked up to the stage — though not onto it — to thank the performers, and take his bows. The audience responded full-throatedly. One member of that audience was Elliott Carter, the composer born in 1908. Between them, Messrs. Carter and Dutilleux have some serious compositional experience.
After intermission, Ms. Fleming sang songs by Henri Duparc, his greatest hits, so to speak: “L’invitation au voyage,” “Extase,” “Le manoir de Rosemonde,” and “Phidylé.” Ms. Fleming enjoys this music — who shouldn’t? — and she sings like it. She hugs both the notes and the words, expressing them to the full. “Le manoir de Rosemonde” begins as follows: “Love, like a dog, has bitten me.” When Ms. Fleming sang that, you could almost feel it.
But, now and then, she seemed to enjoy the music a little too much. Take “Phidylé.” In my view, it could have been straighter, which is to say, more straightforward — with less rubato, fewer liberties. The line “Repose, ô Phidylé” is one of the most loved — and best — in the entire French song literature. You need merely to sing it, without “helping” it too much.
Mr. Levine and the orchestra handled their accompaniments well, though the horn struggled terribly — as horns tend to do.
To close the evening, Mr. Levine conducted “La Mer,” Debussy’s sensational three-parter, and this was a highly distinguished performance. It was full of color and strength. The playing was sufficiently French, but not overdelicate (if you know what I mean). Never has the opening of the third part — “Dialogue of the Wind and the Sea” — sounded more like Wagner. You think Debussy knew “The Ring”?
And never has Mr. Levine been more animated or more engaged on a podium — at least in my experience. He was gyrating, swimming, almost dancing (though seated on his stool). He was this way all evening long: charged up. He moved quickly on and off the stage. In fact, when he made his final exit, he ran — virtually sprinted. That was definitely a first, for me.
But, oh, that “Love Scene”!