Winning the Symphonic War

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The New York Sun

On Wednesday night, the New York Philharmonic continued its Tchaikovsky festival, and an invigorating night it was. When performers treat him with good sense and energy, this composer can really charge you up.

The Philharmonic’s music director, Lorin Maazel, opened with excerpts from “Swan Lake.” Does this music “hold up,” after all these decades of hearings? Oh, does it. Mr. Maazel conducted with clear understanding and appreciation.

The famous waltz from Act I was on the fast side, but beautifully waltzy. It had a freshness that you could almost feel, physically. I’m not sure about some portamentos; and I’m not sure about the cymbal crashes — they were a little obvious and jarring. We want contrast, but not headaches. Still, there was little to complain about. Phrasing is almost the entire ballgame here, and this Mr. Maazel did with uncommon taste — Old World.

After the waltz, Mr. Maazel wanted to move immediately to the other excerpts, but the audience wouldn’t let him. They insisted on their ovation.

Throughout this pocket “Swan Lake,” Mr. Maazel was intensely engaged, dancing within himself, connected to Tchaikovsky’s rhythms. And the orchestra played with skill. Nancy Allen showed us how to make the harp lovely but unprissy. The concertmaster, Glenn Dicterow, demonstrated his sweetness. And Carter Brey, the principal cello, was sheer class — he also imparted more of a Gypsy inflection than we usually hear in this music.

I mentioned that Mr. Maazel “danced within himself.” He also did some outright dancing, on the podium — really shakin’ it. Too bad the old man’s past it. Thank heaven the Philharmonic is bringing in some young blood.

Out to play Tchaikovsky’s Variations on a Rococo Theme for cello and orchestra came Johannes Moser. He is a young German, and, as it happens, he won the Tchaikovsky Competition in 2002. And he played this very same piece: the Rococo Variations. In all likelihood, he has played it a hundred times since. So, is he sick of it? Not by the evidence of Wednesday night. He played the piece as if the luckiest man in the world to do so.

He connected to Tchaikovsky’s sense of fun, his playfulness. The composer could be tragically depressed, as we know; but he also had some giddy moments. Mr. Moser played with a warm sound, which had an occasional burr in it. At one point, he dug into his lower register growingly, but not vulgarly. And when he played emotionally, he did not commit any soup.

As for technique, that could be taken for granted. Mr. Moser suffered some slips, squeaks, and other mishaps. But this was not a studio recording, after all — it was a flesh-and-blood performance.

In the orchestra, I should say, the woodwinds handled their weavings nicely.

Tchaikovsky’s finale — the beloved Seventh Variation and Coda — is wonderfully exciting. And Mr. Moser had no doubt of it. He was speedy and delighted. He reveled in the music’s contrasts — now aristocratic, now savage. The cellist practically urged the orchestra on, with his playing. And the orchestra needed little urging, given Mr. Maazel’s mood.

A graceful, semi-wild pep touched this account of the Rococo Variations.

In this Tchaikovsky festival, the Philharmonic has had young soloists play big concertos: the pianist Simon Trpceski; the violinist Janine Jansen; Mr. Moser. And all of them played their pieces with notable joy and enthusiasm. Sometimes you hear that young people don’t want music like Tchaikovsky’s, that sappy old stuff. Instead, they want “thorny,” atonal modern music — “challenging” music that graybeards keep out, in favor of their sentimental favorites.

This is, in a word, bull.

After intermission, Mr. Maazel conducted Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony, and this brought up a point I’ve frequently made about this conductor: He seems not to tire of music that’s supposed to be hackneyed; he invests it with life; as far as he’s concerned, it never lost it. If he conducts badly, it’s not because the piece is overfamiliar.

And he conducted very well on this occasion: His Tchaik 5 was tight, bracing, bold — and very interesting. As usual, you might have quarreled with several things that Mr. Maazel did; but he had a case for all of them; they were not eccentric. And the orchestra played with outstanding accuracy. Sometimes its sound was too hard and bright — borderline blaring. But this is a minor complaint.

From Mr. Maazel, the introduction to the second movement — Andante cantabile — was deliberate, warm, and astonishing. I’d never heard it judged this way; it was extraordinarily effective. And the principal horn, Philip Myers, played his solo music surefootedly. From my attendance, Mr. Myers is having a very good season.

As in “Swan Lake,” the waltz was fast and fresh — airy, but not airy-fairy. And the final movement had phenomenal drive and might. After he stepped off the podium, Mr. Maazel shook himself, as though he’d been through some kind of symphonic war. He had, and he won.


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