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Berlioz, Ibert and Tchaikovsky: Opening Night of the New York Philharmonic: Sir James Galway (flute), Lorin Maazel (conductor), New York Philharmonic, Avery Fisher Hall, New York, 17.9.2008 (BH)

Berlioz: Roman Carnival Overture, Op. 9 (1843-44)
Ibert: Concerto for Flute and Orchestra (1932-33)
Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 4 in F minor, Op. 36 (1877)


Perhaps the anxiety on Wall Street seeped into Avery Fisher Hall on this first night of the new season, or maybe the orchestra may have been just slightly winded from its European tour.  I don't know how else to explain the feeling of routine that permeated this first concert in Lorin Maazel's final months with the New York Philharmonic, especially given the eye-opening level of playing that has generally been a hallmark of Maazel's time with the orchestra.

After a surprisingly spirited run-through of "The Star-Spangled Banner" (an arrangement courtesy of the United States Marine Corps Band) the ensemble plunged into Berlioz's popular Roman Carnival Overture with the evening's most alert playing.  The composer's innovative orchestral colors are old news by now, but Maazel revealed an edgy energy, and Thomas Stacy's English horn solo was as beguiling as it gets.

Maazel deserves praise for programming Ibert's Concerto for Flute and Orchestra, in its first appearance here, yet even with the estimable talents of Sir James Galway, somehow the piece never took flight.  Cast in four movements, the concerto opens with a burst of dissonance that turns out to be a small joke, a bit of false advertising, since the chords and phrasing that follow are more conventional.  There are some sparkling moments, including a third-movement Scherzo with a fun pizzicato part for the strings, and a finale filled with jazzy syncopations.  But by the end, I wasn't feeling the need to hear it again.  Despite the somewhat muted applause, Sir James offered an encore, Rimsky-Korsakov's The Flight of the Bumblebee, dispatched with appropriate speediness.

The Tchaikovsky Fourth Symphony did not begin promisingly, with the brass contributing an uneasy opening fanfare.  Some soft interludes with the strings and timpani were heavenly, but couldn't quite dispel a sense of relief as the movement ended.  In the second movement Maazel coaxed the woodwinds into some of the night's most graceful interludes, and the effect was generally magical.  If only an audience member hadn't made a grace-less contribution with a mobile phone that went off precisely as the movement reached its quiet end.  The famous pizzicato Scherzo was brisk, with fine dynamic gradations, and at its end, Maazel didn't wait a beat before detonating the finale.  Yet for all the thunder, somehow the last bit of excitement seemed missing—those moments when Tchaikovsky makes the walls collapse, the skull vibrate and the skin tingle.

It seems like only yesterday that Maazel took the helm of the orchestra, and therefore hard to believe that his time is nearing its end.  Some of the programs in months to come, such as a repeat of his dazzling Ravel L'enfant et les sortileges (review here:) and Mahler's titanic Eighth Symphony next spring, should show off both conductor and orchestra at their most communicative.  I'm betting that their best nights of the season are still to come.

Bruce Hodges


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