MUSIC REVIEW : Slatkin, Friends Celebrate Bernstein’s Broadway

Leonard Bernstein, the erstwhile Wunderkind of American music, turns 70 this week. It hardly seems possible.

The world has seen many Lennys since that fateful day in 1943 when, as a late replacement for the ailing Bruno Walter, he assumed--some might say seized --his rightful place in the symphonic sun.

We have experienced the comings and goings of Lenny the conductor, the pianist and the composer, not to mention Lenny the raconteur, the educator and, simply, the persona. All have demanded, and deserved, widespread attention.

The significance of his work on the podium broaches little debate at this juncture, although his hyper-histrionic style still rankles certain sensibilities. His contributions to the repertory, however, remain paradoxical.

Bernstein wanted desperately to be another Mahler, wanted passionately to create the great American opera. But when he tried to write lofty music, he tended to get buried in bathos--secondhand bathos at that. When, on the other hand, he could be content merely to entertain, he could be original, disarmingly clever, engagingly brash and witty.

Leonard Slatkin and the Los Angeles Philharmonic concentrated on Lenny the entertainer this weekend when they celebrated his rite of septuagenarian passage at Hollywood Bowl. The program, a potentially elegant pop-potpourri, was labeled “Bernstein on Broadway.”

The concert began with the glittery pizazz of the “Candide” overture. This was followed by the funky lyricism of the ballet “Fancy Free,” paired with the jazzy languors of its musical-comedy spin-off “On the Town.” Just before intermission came excerpts from “West Side Story,” the giddy rapture of “I Feel Pretty” contrasted with the sentimental agitation of “Tonight.” Slatkin threw in the orchestral finale for mawkish benediction.

The second half of the evening was devoted to highlights from “Candide,” an operetta blessed with an extraordinarily charming score and cursed, on the stage, with a sprawling, ill-focused book. Enter mercurial sophistication.

On Friday, Bernstein’s music turned out to be more compelling than the performances. The microphones of the Bowl’s vaunted distortion system made the soloists sound as if they were singing under water in echo chambers. The orchestra sounded, much of the time, as if it were sight-reading while trying to beat the conductor to the final frantic cadence.

Slatkin, surprisingly inflexible in beat and insensitive to vocal nuance, seemed to confuse speed with verve. He also compounded incoherence with cuts, interpolations and transpositions unheralded in the printed program.

Under the circumstances, one had to take certain vocal favors on faith. Still, one could savor the bel-canto finesse with which Tracy Dahl and David Eisler floated the last, ascending phrases of “Tonight.” One could marvel at the ease with which the adorably pert soprano negotiated the Zerbinetta stratosphere of Cunegonde’s Jewel Song. One had to admire the fine musicality and wide-eyed innocence projected by the tenor in the title role.

Maureen Forrester left her noble contralto in the parking lot and gobbled up the campy plaints of the Old Lady. Jonathan Mack found the Governor’s aria--and Slatkin’s tempo--something of a strain. Michael Gallup, Adelaide Sinclair, John Atkins and Peter Van Derick handled supporting refrains deftly. A modest contingent of the Los Angeles Master Chorale fell victim to amplification imbalance.

The audience, officially tabulated Friday night at 12,467, applauded politely.