ANOTHER PERLMAN RECITAL AT BOWL

Itzhak Perlman must know something that his vast public does not.

Otherwise, how could he switch to automatic pilot, as he does with some regularity, and feel he’s not cheating himself or his faithful followers?

When the violinist played his Hollywood Bowl recital Wednesday for 10,913 semi-enthusiasts, he notched one more performance onto a pattern now becoming dangerously repetitious.

The danger is to his artistic health, not to mention damage done in the name of music.

Simply said, Perlman has allowed himself to become a note-spinner. He can count on a certain level of mastery, but beyond that he evidences little sense of concentration or involvement. Based on his past recital record, Wednesday’s performance came as no surprise.

The program, as usual, consisted of a pair of obligatory sonatas. This time there was early Beethoven, the G-major Sonata, Opus 30, No. 3, and late Brahms, the D-minor Sonata, Opus 108. After these came intermission and then Perlman took to announcing from the stage the rest of his agenda.

When that agenda consists of 20 minutes of bonbons--Kreisler transcriptions of mindless fluff that also manage to be circusy distortions of musical values--there’s reason for disaffection. When no greater imagination comes into play than this, we’re in trouble.

But the larger question concerns a great virtuoso, one who has become a household name, one who commands what is thought to be the highest income of any violinist before the public today.

An observer must wonder what possible satisfaction he could derive from so perfunctory a display. One must wonder why there’s no search for unusual and more worthy pieces, rather than bottom-of-the-barrel Kreisleriana.

Maybe, just maybe, Perlman likes to check his interest at the gate on a night like this and know that he’s still satisfying concert managers while earning a pittance as well. Especially for a recital sandwiched between two nights of concerto performance.

Whatever the case, he began with relative vigor and engagement in the Beethoven. There was suavely dovetailed phrasing between the violinist and his trusty piano accompanist, Janet Guggenheim, although her imprint remained wrongly unequal in prominence to his. One could even abide the schmaltzy portamentos of the middle movement.

But by the time they arrived at Brahms (the same Brahms, incidentally, that Perlman played several recitals ago at the Bowl), interest flagged considerably. He brought off the Presto Finale with requisite surging excitement, however.

The only substantial item in the second half turned out to be Saint-Saens’ Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso, for which Perlman managed his customary, faultless bravura. The post-encore encores included more Kreisler, a Heifetz transcription and a piece by Bazzini.

It all added up to too much--and not enough.