Also this issue: Oh, the Humanity International male Vikter Duplaix says no way, computer. -A.D. Amorosi Jig Stars Danú turns heads by doing the same old thing. -Mary Armstrong Big Entrance PJ Harvey's pal John Parish makes Animals Move. -A.D. Amorosi Review: Common, Gang Starr, Talib Kweli, Floetry -Elisa Ludwig Ike -Patrick Rapa Danielle Howle -M.J. Fine The Eyeliners -Sam Adams King Crimson -A.D. Amorosi

March 6-12, 2003

music

Review: Philadelphia Orchestra

by Peter Burwasser

The Symphony No. 5 of Dmitri Shostakovich is one of those works that almost always brings an audience to its collective feet. The huge, cacophonous march that concludes the work sounds out as a great shout of defiance from a Russian artist, writing in 1937, re-establishing a sense of humanity amidst swirling clouds of evil. But the work is much more than just these final, heart-rending moments. The symphony is a rigorous, ingenious construction that includes amazingly simple gestures cheek to jowl with dense briar patches of sound.

This acoustic topology was made clear -- as clear as I have ever heard -- in a performance by the Philadelphia Orchestra, led by incoming Music Director Christoph Eschenbach. Conducting from memory, as is his frequent practice, Eschenbach revealed the logic of this masterpiece with both erudition and passion. As exciting as the noisy sections were, it was the serene pools of melancholic melody that made the deepest impression, where exquisite balancing of a wide range of tonalities and phrases formed the soul of the music. Credit must also be given to the acoustics of Verizon Hall, especially in the sorting out of the low tones of the bass, cello and low wind lines.

A particular virtue of Eschenbach's vision of this great symphony is the patience and expansiveness of his pacing. For many years, the brisk, frenzied approach of Leonard Bernstein, especially in the finale, seemed codified as the way to play this music. Eschenbach, perhaps following the example of Mstislav Rostropovich, finds a shape and pulse that reveals more of the composer's voice.

The evening also included a premiere of the violin concerto of British composer and conductor Oliver Knussen. The chief technical distinction of the piece is the contrast of the bright, silvery line of the solo instrument -- here played with nonchalant professionalism by dedicatee Pinchas Zuckerman -- against a darkly textured orchestral accompaniment. To call the piece subtle in its impact may be construed as a polite way of saying it was boring. On first glance, the music would seem to benefit from more contrast of dynamics and thematic material. And yet Knussen is such a fine craftsman that his delicate webs of sound linger in the memory, begging for additional hearings. This suggests a compelling argument for more recordings of such new musical works.

Eschenbach opened the concert with a lithe and propulsive reading of the Overture to Benvenuto Cellini by Berlioz.