STEVENS, RODGERS SOLOISTS : MAHLER 4TH DOMINATES SALONEN CONCERT

Mahler’s sunny, poignant, quirkily ethereal Symphony No. 4 served as the primary attraction at Esa-Pekka Salonen’s final program of the Philharmonic season Thursday night at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.

Other items enriched the agenda, of course. The indecently young-looking maestro from Finland opened the festivities with an eloquent nationalistic gesture: the brooding, heroically understated, folksy “fantasy” Sibelius created on behalf of “Pohjola’s Daughter.”

Then Thomas Stevens rose from his accustomed chair as principal trumpet to triumph over the fanfares and flourishes--not to mention the nostalgic televisionary echoes of “Brideshead Revisited”--offered by the Telemann D-major Concerto. The conductor presided over elegant string support, though one could bemoan the distant, timid chordal minimalism of the harpsichord continuo “realized” by Zita Carno.

The Sibelius benefited from a fine glow and romantic sweep. The Telemann benefited from ample bravura and baroque clarity. Still, it was the Mahler, after intermission, that made the concert most compelling.

This observation should not imply that Salonen has untied all the knots of the Fourth, definitively solved all its problems and resolved all its expressive contradictions. His Mahler, in fact, suggested work in progress. The work already seems so individual, however, and so thoughtful that exceptional attention must be paid.

Salonen approaches the massive Mahler orchestra as if his basic task were to reproduce Mozartean sonorities and subtleties. He savors lightness, transparency and poise, and not just in the dreamy passages. Even when the composer stomps his feet and shakes his fists, the rhetorical affect remains intimate.

This may not be the only way to deal with the grandiose Mahler dynamic. But in this day of bombast and bathos, it certainly represents a valid, welcome alternative.

Unlike many conductors of his generation, the 27-year-old Salonen does not move through a piece with mechanical propulsion. He likes to pause, to linger, to explore. He takes liberties with rhythm and tempo. He applies unexpected stresses. He experiments freely with the tensions of rubato.

Sometimes the results are illuminating and endearing. Sometimes they border on mannerism and distortion. In either case, they depict Mahler as a lyricist of spectacular impact and Salonen as a conductor of remarkable daring.

The only potentially serious problem in the performance involved an Adagio so “Ruhevoll” that it threatened to become somnolent. Here, the composer’s head-in-the-clouds disdain for economy found stubbornly literal reinforcement.

The innocent charms of the finale introduced Joan Rodgers in her U.S. debut. The young British soprano stoically sat out the first three movements on stage, then embarked on the “Wunderhorn” verses without so much as a hint that she might want to clear her throat.

She sang sweetly, prettily, accurately, with pure, cool, secure and fresh tones that were instantly appealing. The low range may have caused her momentary discomfort, and other interpreters may do more with textual inflection--one missed a certain whimsical ecstasy, for instance, in the expansive phrase describing the mirth of St. Ursula. Still, hers was an auspicious debut.

The exquisite final measures of the symphony were ruined, not incidentally, by a violent chorus of coughers. ‘Tis the season to bring lozenges.