Bernstein and the finest hour

Press, Volume CXIV, Issue 33616, 19 August 1974, Page 16

Bernstein and the finest hour

The concert by Leonard Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, so eagerly awaited, was given in the Town Hall last evening to an audience which packed the auditorium. The Concertmaster was Eliot Chapo.

It seemed as though the Town Hall had been waiting for last evening’s experience — its finest hour, and possibly the finest it is likely to have. The orchestra is undoubtedly one of the world’s best — and Mr Bernstein confirmed the impression that he is probably the most versatile musician we have today. For the listeners the concert was a shattering experience, and one listener wishes he could have several days to prepare a coherent account of what happened at it. There were surprises and delights every moment. The programme was a

splendid one, with no playing down to the Antipodeans — as some visiting orchestras have done. It began with Mozart’s Piano Concerto in C major, with Mr Bernstein as soloist as well as conductor. There was perfect control — and unanimity in understanding and rapport. The precision, tone, balance, elan, and sheer beauty of sound in the beginning came as a shock, although we have had some very good Mozart playing in the not-distant past. The Concerto is one of the very best — and this performance will be a shining standard of stylish grace and immaculate finish.

Mr Bernstein’s playing spoke clearly for itself, leaving no doubt about the years of finely-honed experience and erudition lying behind it. In direction and in grace of performance he never missed a point. The woodwind and horn playing came as an enchanting revelation — the first of many to come.

Blow by blow descriptions of the outstanding virtues of each movement heard at this concert would be a confusing and harrowing task. Too many would be left out and even a sum total of all, if such were possible, would not give an adequate account of the magic of the evening. It had to be experienced to be realised. After the interval the whole orchestra came on stage for Mahler’s Fifth Symphony—an excellent choice for such a concert. Mr Bernstein conducted this and gave—a virtuoso display, with every muscular movement —a concentrated force of meaning devoted entirely to the service of Mahler’s music. Can it be said that Mr Bernstein was a showman?

Of course he was! He had to be; but he was not selling Bernstein; he does not have to. He pulled every phase of meaning out of the score, and a deaf man watching him would have more than a faint idea of what the music was about. The first few seconds of the movement, after that magnificent trumpet playing, were electric in their impact on the audience. That funeral march would scare hell out of anyone in his prime of athletic well-being. During the symphony’s long course there were many soul-shak-ing climaxes, shattering in intensity. There were lyrical passages of ethereal loveliness entrancing to hear, there was savagery, there was some humour though not much, there was appeal and cajolery, and there were swift kicks in the teeth. All were surprising even when expected. What could not be fully expected was the dazzling excellence of the wood-wind and horn playing—to say nothing of a glorious brass

chorus. This was such as to cause archangels to shed feathers in frustrated envy. The strings had a glory all of their own and were a coalescing agency for all other sounds as well.

And when it was all over, the entire audience came to their feet in cheering exultation. This great outburst seemed like a further movement of the symphony—so great was its fervour and excitement. The pandemonium was so powerful that the roof should be inspected for developing cracks. We have never seen the like before, and it was good to have been there. —C.F.B.