Lorin Maazel’s interpretations of the Sixth and Seventh symphonies at Symphony Hall last night left at least one listener unmoved.
(BSO Photo)
MUSIC REVIEW
In Levine’s absence, Maazel places firm, chilly stamp on Beethoven
Lorin Maazel’s interpretations of the Sixth and Seventh symphonies at Symphony Hall last night left at least one listener unmoved.
(BSO Photo)
It is truly unfortunate that, in the end, James Levine’s recovery from back surgery has forced his withdrawal from the Boston Symphony Orchestra’s entire Beethoven cycle. It must surely be frustrating for him personally (he spoke about the project with his self-described “kid in the candy store’’ enthusiasm); it is a missed opportunity for the orchestra, which stood to gain from sustained immersion in this repertoire with its own music director; and of course it’s a big disappointment for the audiences, who are losing out on the chance to experience just what Levine could have done with this cycle in such concentrated form. One can debate whether it makes for creative 21st-century programming, but you can also be sure, under Levine’s baton, it would have really been something to hear.
The same cannot be said for last night’s performance led by Lorin Maazel. Anyone who might have hoped that Maazel’s freer schedule since concluding his tenure with the New York Philharmonic would have led to a mellowing of temperament or a warming up of the native chilliness of his music-making would be disappointed. The orchestra played brilliantly and with utter professionalism, but Maazel’s interpretations of the Sixth and Seventh symphonies left at least this listener decidedly unmoved.
Tempos were routinely too fast or too slow but almost never hit the sweet spot. Maazel has one of the finest stick techniques in the business but he often chooses to put it to the service of a kind of hypercontrolled music-making, pushing and pulling, underlining and italicizing. There is an art to placing a distinctive personal stamp on a masterwork by organically drawing an interpretation out from the true materials of the work itself. Maazel seemed to demonstrate the opposite approach: a personal stamp proudly imposed from above.
And it was so from the very first notes. The opening bars of the Sixth Symphony should present the definition of peaceful, bucolic bliss. Beethoven describes it as the “awakening of happy feelings upon reaching the countryside.’’ But no sooner had the orchestra rolled out that gently cascading opening phrase than Maazel began stirring up the pot, bringing a needlessly edgy quality to the movement. The slow second movement seemed to overcompensate. And on we went. The Allegretto of the Seventh was missing both tonal warmth and an involving depth of feeling. The final movement was taken at a senselessly breakneck speed.
Maazel returns next week for Symphonies Nos. 8 and 9.
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