SLATKIN, PHILHARMONIC AT THE BOWL

Star attractions translate to box-office bonanzas. Everyone knows that. But Thursday at Hollywood Bowl there were no stars to speak of.

Surely Leonard Slatkin on the Los Angeles Philharmonic podium and Peter Donohoe at the piano do not constitute the Bernstein and Horowitz of the concert business. Yet something had to explain why a healthy throng of 12,869, on an ordinary weeknight, found Cahuenga Pass irresistible.

That something might have been Rachmaninoff’s Second Piano Concerto. Promise them anything--a Rachmaninoff keyboard festival, such as the one at hand--but give them this.

With its heaving passions, inspired melodies and languid lyribcism, the beloved warhorse retains its popularity.

As for the British pianist, who rode to glory on the back of this romantic nag, there were no revelations to pass on. He played with requisite suavity and strong, fluent fingers--give or take a few dropped notes at the undersynchronized entrance of the third movement. Moreover, he put in place the generalized waxings and wanings, which by now every hum-along audience knows well.

If Donohoe’s approach was somewhat constricted, not really open to the big-hearted Russian crescendos or the deep-breathed arching lines, at least it did not add superfluous gush or bombast. Slatkin, whose accompaniment bogged down in opaque textures and square tempos at the outset, offered only fitful support. Too clear was the need for more rehearsal time.

But when it came to the evening’s orchestral piece de resistance, Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony, the former Angeleno put his skills to better use.

The result may not have been an important or insightful reading, in line with what the most noble and profound Beethoven interpreters bring to mind. It was a carefully followed blueprint, however--notwithstanding a certain earthbound spirit. And Slatkin’s compulsive attention to detail (hardly less in evidence as he conducted the audience in the national anthem), combined with such a master plan, could not fail to partially illuminate the musical universe of a giant.

The orchestra lapsed into a somewhat scrappy state winding toward the difficult, speedy finale. But Slatkin coaxed from his forces an outsized show of virtuosity for the curtain-raiser, Barber’s spiky yet songful overture to “The School for Scandal.” There was playing of keen contact, terrific energy, expressive edge and stop-on-a-dime precision.

For some conductors, less becomes more.