MUSIC REVIEW : Moscow State Symphony Triumphs in Orange County

The Russians came to Orange County again on Wednesday. Last month they brought a mediocre ballet company. This time they brought a great symphony orchestra.

Segerstrom Hall plays host to a lot of orchestras these days, imported and domestic. Few of them, however, play with the special combination of gutsy fervor and intricate precision that has become the hallmark of the Moscow State Symphony.

The fervor is nothing new. Soviet orchestras have always triumphed in matters of throbbing, brooding, soulful expression.

In the old days, however, they often tended to project all that emotion a bit untidily. The American orchestras were the ones that savored technical perfection and split-second unanimity of articulation. Now the Russians seem to have combined the best of both musical worlds.

At the Performing Arts Center, they demonstrated their dual prowess without the participation of their vaunted music director. Yevgeny Svetlanov may have prepared the all-Russian program that serves as calling card for the present tour. He was scheduled to conduct it in Pasadena on Thursday. For unexplained reasons, however, his podium was taken at the introductory concert by Mark Ermler.

Ermler is an old-school no-nonsense professional, best known internationally for his work in opera. Closely associated with the Bolshoi for 30 years, he has made numerous recordings with that company and accompanied it on tours to Montreal and New York.

As a symphonic conductor, he seems primarily concerned with economy of gesture, concentration of purpose and clarity of exposition. Calm and careful, he lets the orchestra do the emoting. He makes the audience do the sweating. It isn’t a bad system.

If one closes one’s eyes, one tends to think of him as cool and detached. The sounds he produces, however, contradict that impression.

It is impossible for us to know, of course, how much of the instrumental passion emanates from him and how much from the orchestra’s regular conductor. The reputedly tempestuous Svetlanov may have been absent on this occasion, but he obviously wasn’t forgotten.

Ermler opened the program with the prelude to Mussorgsky’s “Khovanshchina,” as arranged by Shostakovich. The strings shimmered in subtle, remarkably cohesive pianissimo shades. The resonance in the acoustically quirky hall was astonishing.

He closed the program with Rachmaninoff’s First Symphony. Even with his penchant for compression, Ermler could do little to contain the inherent formal sprawl. He could do a great deal, however, to declare Rachmaninoff’s rambling inspirations with taut conviction and to explore his convoluted digressions with urgency.

The scale here was pervasively heroic. The massed strings attacked the line with constant, incisive bravado. The winds soared. The brass, a few passing infelicities notwithstanding, blared marvelously. The sonic orgy rose to a momentous, climactic ruckus in the final allegro. Still, the saving grace of cantabile virtue was never ignored.

The compositional excesses may have been awful. The performance was wonderful.

For the predictable centerpiece of the program, the Muscovites turned to the beloved cliches of the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto. The protagonist, making his American debut, was Andrei Korsakov, a former student of Leonid Kogan.

Korsakov played the Tchaikovsky as if it were Mozart. It isn’t a bad idea.

He is not the sort of violinist who thumps gut and slurps sentiment. He does not do much dazzling in the pyrotechnics of the rondo finale. His tone is relatively small, his dynamic scale intimate.

He brought abiding sweetness and restraint, however, to the opening allegro, its contrasting themes delineated with leisurely affection and its cadenza transformed into a long, internalized monologue. He underscored the melancholy of the canzonetta with gentle nuance and a seamless legato. He mastered the bravura hurdles neatly, even self-effacingly. This was a thoughtful conception, elegantly executed.

The audience responded with enthusiasm that stopped short of ecstasy. When it comes to Tchaikovsky, introversion remains an acquired taste.

The concert was presented by the Orange County Philharmonic Society. The enterprising organization let its subscribers down on this occasion with inadequate annotation. The fat program magazine mustered six pages of society promotion, fund-raising information, committee credits and general puffery, but not a word about the visiting orchestra, its history, music director or roster.