MUSIC REVIEW : LEVINE, BERLINERS IN 2ND PROGRAM

Before he became the major man at the Metropolitan Opera, James Levine used to visit here--conducting the Los Angeles Philharmonic from time to time and even playing chamber music, as pianist, with the orchestra’s principals.

These days he’s still a familiar figure, thanks to televised Met performances that invariably find him emoting from the pit and swabbing perspiration with his ubiquitous towel in intermission features.

But when he came before the Berlin Philharmonic on Thursday--acting in this second concert at Ambassador Auditorium as deputy for an indisposed Herbert von Karajan--he certainly had not forsaken the lyric muse.

True, there was nothing remotely operatic on the Mozart-Brahms program; at least Wednesday’s agenda had boasted a singer. That didn’t stop Levine from finding his vocal affinity. And with the malleable Berliners--those 100-plus virtuosos who can probably perform any imaginable musical feat--he had only to ask in order to receive.

Indeed, this star of orchestral stars produces a sound so rich and suave and full-bodied and plush that the sonic experience all by itself is fatally alluring. It also seems to have a system of automatic, moment-to-moment balance. The brass never blat nor enter as though from another planet; and the woodwinds blend subtly with the burnished, lustrous strings.

These stunning strings became the focus of Levine’s attention in Mozart’s Symphony No. 38, K. 504 (“Prague”). They could have been a chorus of Lucia Popps or Kathleen Battles, so agile and rounded and delicate was their phrasing, so eloquently shaded their expression.

There were no words, of course, except those the maestro mouthed silently to his charges. But the intent came across just the same--melodies were transformed into the aria-like pleadings of a Susanna or the palpitations of a Cherubino.

Overall, Levine’s handling of the minuet-less symphony was masterful. He sustained a fine tension throughout as a frame for the limpid, cascading figures. And he opted for lean textures that put the melodic line in bold relief. He found Figaro’s deep, fervent voice in passages of the Andante and for the Finale there was an infectiously fleet propulsion.

With Brahms’ Second Symphony, his presence was far less affecting. Because Levine did not luxuriate in the purely orchestral grandeur of the work--those moments of deepest harmonic complexity--he seemed to be skimming the surface. To be sure, he knew how to manipulate the Berliners’ mighty sound and outlined adroitly the work’s architecture.

He seized on the thematic outpourings for all their soulful worth. He capitalized on climaxes and let the thunder rock the house--especially with a galvanizing finale. But Levine suggests that his true mark is in the opera house, not the symphony hall.