Mozart and Berlioz: Christoph Eschenbach, cond., soloists, Philadelphia Orchestra, Benaroya Hall, Seattle, 29.5.2007 (BJ)

 

The Philadelphia Orchestra is still a great ensemble. Indeed, thanks to recent stellar replacements for retiring players whose powers had declined, the celebrated orchestra is probably greater now than at any time since I first heard it live–under Leopold Stokowski’s magic batonless hands–in 1964.

It is, however, possible to be great and yet not to know what is good for you. There was a sad irony about hearing the superb performances Christoph Eschenbach drew in this touring appearance from a band of players of whom, we are told, a majority dislike his leadership, with the result that he will leave his post next year after only five seasons as music director.

One of the players’ gripes, apparently, is that Eschenbach conducts differently in performance from the way he has led rehearsals. In my view, it is precisely this element of unpredictability that has produced great performances through the years, under such conductors as that supreme cliff-hanger Wilhelm Furtwängler. Back in the early 1990s, when I was working for the Philadelphia Orchestra as program annotator, I remember discussing the tempo of the first movement of Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony with Riccardo Muti (then the music director), who had just conducted a performance of the work and was about to take it on a European tour. We agreed that his tempo had become slower in the course of a number of performances, that he needed to get back to his original rapid pulse (very close to the composer’s metronome marking), but that, as he put it, “I mustn’t tell the orchestra in advance. They have to be surprised.” Striding onto the platform the following week in Hamburg, he gave the downbeat, and the orchestra, each player sitting on the edge of his or her seat, gave the performance of their collective lives.

The edge of your seat is, of course, not a comfortable place to sit, which partly explains the orchestra’s prevailing discontent; players tend to prefer conductors who don’t surprise them, or get in the way of artistic business-as-usual with any fresh ideas. But it was exactly that kind of creative originality that distinguished Eschenbach’s performance of Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique in Seattle this week. There was an inimitable feeling of daring, of fearless exploration, about it. Transitions were masterfully shaped, with just the right degree of hesitation before launching out in new directions. Tempos were so well-judged in all five movements that I didn’t even think about them, and every modification of tempo made perfect sense. The first movement brilliantly embodied its “Reveries and Passions” title, with string accents of tigerish power and spontaneity, and a marvelous gradation of color outlining the many crucial woodwind lines. Equally sharply characterized were the graceful Waltz that followed, the Scene in the Meadows (flowing yet finely sustained, and enhanced by Elizabeth Starr Masoudnia’s polished english horn solo), and the thrills and spills of the March to the Scaffold and the concluding Dream of a Witches’ Sabbath.

As loose-limbed and free-spirited as Berlioz’s romantic psychological travelogue was, Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante for winds in the first half of the program was just as stylish in its classical poise and clarity of articulation. There are those who call the work’s ascription to Mozart in question, but in this finely proportioned reading it seemed unmistakably authentic. Richard Woodhams, who has occupied the orchestra’s principal oboe chair with the utmost distinction for thirty years, and his more recently appointed colleagues Ricardo Morales, clarinet, Daniel Matsukawa, bassoon, and Jennifer Montone, the most recent arrival as principal horn, made a supremely accomplished solo quartet, and their tutti support was at once punctual and obviously enthusiastic.

By the concert’s end, it must have been hard for anyone unacquainted with the Philadelphia Orchestra’s recent political travails to imagine that anything could possibly be wrong. It was good to see the players, despite their alleged alienation, insist on according Eschenbach a solo bow of his own, and the proceedings ended with an encore in the shape of the Dance of the Comedians from Smetana’s Bartered Bride, which was dashed off with irresistible elan, feather-light work from the strings, and some immaculate solos from principal trumpet David Bilger.

As was the case when Wolfgang Sawallisch succeeded Riccardo Muti at the orchestra’s artistic helm, whoever is chosen to succeed Eschenbach will have a hard act to follow. I hope for the sake of all concerned that he or she will make a more impressive fist of the directorship than did Sawallisch, whom most of the orchestra worshiped (perhaps for the sort of reason hinted at above?), but whose performances in Philadelphia were often tedious and at times stylistically inappropriate, and who as signally failed ever to elicit really soft playing from his forces as to engender any sense of occasion or artistic risk-taking in the hall. I suspect, however, as in the case of La Scala when Muti was forced out a couple of years ago by discontent in the ranks, that the Philadelphians in their turn will come to rue the cutting short of what seemed to me Eschenbach’s genuinely creative and exciting tenure.

 

Bernard Jacobson