Leonidas Kavakos and Alan Gilbert/Photo: Chris Lee, courtesy NY Philharmonic

Last night’s concert by the New York Philharmonic began with one Finn, Sibelius, and ended with another, Salonen. In between came a Russian, Shostakovich.

On the podium was Alan Gilbert, the orchestra’s music director. And the Sibelius was that composer’s violin concerto, in which the soloist was Leonidas Kavakos. He is a very good Greek violinist (and conductor).

A quick sartorial note: Kavakos was dressed in the musician’s uniform of today, those proletarian pajamas—but with a twist: his top was blue or purple, rather than the standard black. So that provided some relief.

On to the concerto—which began well. The music should seem as though coming from nowhere, or as though continuing. The music should not really start. It should simply be made apparent, which it was.

In his general approach, Kavakos was more warm than icy, and Gilbert and the Philharmonic followed suit. Some of us like a little more ice in this movement. I thought of something that Isaac Stern said, years ago, about Jascha Heifetz. “He was the sound we had in our ear.” Yes, all of us did.

In their tempos, Kavakos et al. were fairly slow. Languid. The movement is marked Allegro moderato, and I think the players were moderato to a fault. As for intonation, Kavakos’s was on and off. Flatness on sustained high notes was particularly unfortunate (as in singing). Moreover, violinist and orchestra were out of coordination from time to time.

You know the expression “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts”? In this first movement, the whole was less than the sum of its parts. Kavakos did some admirable things, and so did Gilbert and the Philharmonic. But the effect of the first movement was—meh.

Because of how the movement ends, it’s almost impossible for an audience not to applaud, and this one duly applauded. Kavakos did not acknowledge the audience, and neither did Gilbert. Even with a nod or a glance. Where were they raised? They were lucky to get any applause at all, given how the first movement had gone.

The middle movement began with some nice woodwind choirs, or semi-choirs. Pairings, maybe one should say? And the tempo turned out to be quite slow—self-consciously slow, I would say. The self-consciousness was on Kavakos’s part. Also, he did not produce much beauty of sound. And tempo and sound are related, I think.

What I mean is this: if you’re going to go very slow, you’d better give the audience a sound bath. Kavakos luxuriated in the music, or tried to. But luxury was not abundant in the playing.

Gilbert did his part, conducting with keen intelligence.

At the end of this second movement, this middle movement, the audience applauded—which is wrong, even in my (relatively) tolerant book. The ending of the movement calls for something more like contemplation. Kavakos outright glared at the audience—which was unnecessary. To glare, you’d better play better than Kavakos had.

Who does he think he is, Riccardo Muti? (The maestro is one of the great glarers-at-audiences.)

The finale was fine. It had little bite or intensity. But it was fine. Kavakos played all right, Gilbert conducted all right, the Philharmonic played all right. That’s why they’re paid the big bucks: they should be at least all right.

But the music was somewhat limp. There was no danger in it. It might have been a nocturne. After a top-drawer Sibelius Concerto, you should feel like you’ve been through a war, or at least a battle. This was more like a picnic, on a Helsinki heath (if there is one).

But Kavakos got his applause—this time acknowledged—and he played an encore: Bach’s E-major gavotte. It was all right. There were unaccustomed pauses between phrases. I did not think they were very musical, but at least they were consistent. There were also some unaccustomed embellishments, which were nice.

After intermission, Gilbert conducted the orchestra in Shostakovich’s Golden Age Suite. The Golden Age is a ballet, and from it we get that polka: one of the world’s favorite wacked-out pieces.

Throughout the suite, a conductor has a choice to make: how much wacky and how much normal? Getting the balance right is key. How nutty do you let the music be?

In the first movement—called simply “Introduction”—Gilbert and the orchestra were fine. Maybe a little on the tame side, but fine. The second movement, Adagio, was again fine: but maybe a little sloppy. The pizzicatos at the end were hopeless. Why are pizzicatos so often hopeless?

Then came the polka. The xylophonist really laid on his first note—bam. This is unaccustomed. But wrong? I don’t know. The polka was enjoyable, and so was the fourth and final movement, called “Danse.” It had the verve, accuracy, and cohesion desired.

The concert ended with a new work—which is very rare, right? For a concert to end with a new work. It was by Esa-Pekka Salonen, the conductor and, of course, composer. This was a work for chorus and orchestra, Karawane, a kind of cantata, I would say. (I’m not sure what Salonen would say.) I will address it in my next “New York Chronicle,” for the magazine. Sneak preview: it’s a good piece.

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