THE NEW YORK PHILHARMONIC WITH MAXIM VENGEROV
Avery Fisher Hall

DIE WALKURE
Metropolitan Opera House

Fresh from an excellent opening concert, the New York Philharmonic delivered a second one that was even better. The most unusual work on Thursday night’s program was the first one: Messiaen’s “Offrandes oubliées: Méditation symphonique pour orchestre” (“The Forgotten Offerings: Symphonic Meditation for Orchestra”). Written early in the composer’s life – 1930 – the work reflects his deep religious devotion. It is in three parts, each corresponding to a kind of prayer.

The first section is marked “Very slow: dolorous, profoundly sad.” Under conductor Lorin Maazel, it was not very slow — it was more like Andante. And that did Messiaen no harm. Mr. Maazel does not allow music to get bogged down, either in tempo or in sentiment. Furthermore, the Philharmonic’s sound was a little cold, unbending — and that did Messiaen no harm either. This section breathed well, avoiding both soupiness and a faux ethereality.

The second section is marked “Rapid: ferocious, desperate, breathless” — and that was what the playing was like. This portion was shrewdly calibrated, marching and escalating as it should.

The final section is “Extremely slow (with great pity and great love).” It was, again, slow, rather than very or extremely slow. And certainly the pity was there; about the love, I’m less sure. In any case, it was affecting. The unison playing in the strings was superb, and Mr. Maazel gave everything a revelatory texture.

I thought I saw a cellist crying. I can’t be sure — she might have had something in her eye.

From the wings bounded Maxim Vengerov, for the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto. He had participated in the Philharmonic’s gala opening, too, traversing the Beethoven concerto. He was just as impressive in the Mendelssohn, and arguably a tad better. He played much of the first movement as though making it up on the spot (and I mean that in a complimentary way). Of his technique, there is rarely any question: It is all-capable. This is no doubt aided by a remarkable relaxation in the arms.

His soft playing was exquisite. And he was patient with the music — patient where it asked for that quality. He refused to rush, all but saying, “Let’s just savor this, dropping daily cares for a while.” He enjoyed what he was doing, and made you, in the audience, enjoy it too.

The orchestra was ultra-disciplined, playing together and with definition. Almost never was the first movement syrupy. On the contrary, it contained some Beethoven-like strength and “verticality.” Both violinist and conductor picked up on the tensions of this score, exploiting each episode, but not making the music episodic.

I might mention, too, that as Mr. Maazel was watching Mr. Vengerov play the cadenza, he — Mr. Maazel (also a violinist, remember) — seemed riveted. If so, he was right.

The Andante movement, Mr. Vengerov sang. And there is so much going on in that tone: It melts, it elevates, it encircles. You’re not supposed to hear sounds like that in Avery Fisher Hall; the place’s acoustics are supposed to forbid it. In this second movement, Mr. Maazel was not — to borrow a phrase from the Iran-contra period — a potted plant. He was involved in every measure. I myself had never so noticed the orchestral part in this movement.

In the final movement, Mr. Vengerov was the picture of felicity, felicity being one of Mendelssohn’s outstanding qualities. The violinist was the picture of buttery virtuosity, too. He and the orchestra were not always perfectly together, and there was some strange and — it seemed to me — unwanted slowing down in the middle of the movement, but this performance was grin-making. And at the end, Mr. Maazel was conspicuously mindful of his soloist, not allowing the orchestra to overwhelm him, as it threatened to do. (Perhaps Mr. Vengerov — ever spontaneous — decided he would be softer than usual.)

Following the concerto, the audience demanded an encore, with which Mr. Vengerov obliged them. He first thanked the Philharmonic and Mr. Maazel, touchingly and profusely, and then noted that Mendelssohn had, alas, written nothing for solo violin. But he had been a great admirer of Bach, so why not a little Bach? With that, Mr. Vengerov played a G-minor adagio, and did so thoughtfully, correctly, and movingly.

A true assessment of Mr. Vengerov will have to await his old age, retirement, or death. But no one should now hesitate to call him great.

Up top, I called Messiaen’s “Offrandes oubliées” the most unusual work on the program. But really, the most unusual work was Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 — unusual in its genius and immortality. This is the work that Mr. Maazel presented after intermission.

What are its qualities? Well, its chief one is balance: what you might term a heavenly and earthly balance. Mr. Maazel captured this quality in his conducting. He has a keen understanding of Beethoven, as he has proven many times (e.g., in last fall’s exhaustive “Beethoven Experience”).

In the first movement, the music had incredible vigor, and every line was sharply etched. In the second, it had the right sense of forward motion. This music had pulse and clarity — but also lushness and pathos. The pulse and clarity make the lushness and pathos all the more effective.

The third movement — Presto — was full of bounce, anticipating another F-major work: the Symphony No. 8. (While the Seventh is in A major, its third movement is in F.) And the final movement was *fast*, driven like mad. Was it too fast, too driven? No — it was musical enough. And thrilling. It was a dervish, though not so much a whirling dervish as a churning one: a churning dervish. I might note, too, that the brass playing in the final pages of the movement was much more prominent than usual. That is a Maazel specialty — bringing out the buried.

Some people say they would like a younger conductor than Mr. Maazel. I say, “For what?” Certainly not vigor. Perhaps he is not receptive enough to the latest tripe from the composition departments?

After the Beethoven, Mr. Maazel signaled that he would perform an encore. Wagner famously called Beethoven’s Seventh “the apotheosis of the dance,” he said, so how about a real dance (that is, a straightforwardly labeled one)? He then tucked into Dvoˇrák’s Slavonic Dance No. 1 in B major, the same encore he had used on opening night. And, as then, it was a rip-roaring joy.

***

“The Ring” returned to the Metropolitan Opera on Saturday night, or rather, a portion of it: “Die Walküre,” Installment II in Wagner’s tetralogy. Is it my imagination, or has the Met been doing “Die Walküre” as frequently as “La Bohème” these past 10 years or so? I’m not complaining — just noting.

One major difference on Saturday night was that music director James Levine was absent; in the pit instead was Valery Gergiev, the company’s principal guest conductor. He is an experienced “Ring” man, and he acquitted himself well on this occasion. The famous opening of “Die Walküre” had less savagery and tension than it might have; for all his gesturing, Mr. Gergiev sometimes gets less from an orchestra than does a more economical conductor. But he led a smart, involving, sinewy performance.

The Met orchestra responded well, with its principal cello outstanding. The clarinet — less prominent — was also excellent. For the horns, this was not the best night, but they ended with honor.

In his customary role of Siegmund was Plácido Domingo, sounding royal. He was smooth, gleaming, and golden, as compelling when singing in a whisper as when waxing heroic. His understanding of Siegmund seems to grow with every season. I keep calling him “the ageless Spaniard,” but he keeps being ageless (and Spanish). His cries of “Nothung” aren’t as ringing as they once were, but he makes up for it with intense characterization. This was an outing to remember.

His usual partner in this opera — his Sieglinde — is Deborah Voigt, but she was replaced by Margaret Jane Wray, who made a mark as Gutrune in last spring’s “Götterdämmerung.” On Saturday night, she was occasionally uncertain of pitch, but mainly she was very good. Her voice has an enviable width and weight, and it gains considerable cutting power at the top.

Hunding was Stephen Milling, a bass with a huge instrument, full of menace — just right for this role.

The Wotan? He was not James Morris, the Met’s longstanding Wotan. Nor was he Vladimir Veneev, the Russian who was scheduled for this role. He was another Russian bass, Mikhail Kit, replacing an ailing Mr. Veneev — and he handled himself admirably. Mr. Kit has a beautiful voice, which he can adapt to the dramatic moment. His German was awfully Russian — especially in the r’s — and his singing generally gave off that flavor: At one point, I thought I was listening to Boris Godunov. But he is a Wotan, too, and he was ever more commanding as the evening progressed.

Henpecking him as Fricka was the Swiss mezzo Yvonne Naef, who scored such a hit in last spring’s “Ring.” She scored a hit on this night, too, exhibiting what seems to be her hallmark quality: self-control.

Last, but certainly not least, there’s a new Brünnhilde in the house. She is Olga Sergeeva, making her Met debut (as was Mr. Kit). Her intonation was dicey, but she was a game Brünnhilde, a flexible Brünnhilde — almost a rubbery one. She sang with vigor and daring, and often with insightfulness. Never was she better than when Brünnhilde pleads her case with Wotan, before taking her rest. Ms. Sergeeva also looks the part of Brünnhilde — a comic-book Brünnhilde.

That helps. Fair or not, it always does.