Previn Wields Baton--and Scissors--for Erickson Premiere

Strange happenings at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. Andre Previn and the Los Angeles Philharmonic had scheduled a world premiere on Thursday: Robert Erickson’s “Corona,” completed in 1986. They ended up offering only a portion of a world premiere.

Although the management deemed the action worthy of neither a public announcement nor an official explanation, Previn had cut the work drastically at the last moment. How much he cut remained a mystery for a while.

Responding to initial questions, a spokesman for the orchestra reported that about seven minutes had been dropped from what would have been a 20-minute piece. Other sources, however, claimed that “Corona” should have lasted 26 minutes and that half was missing. Some morning-after sleuthing suggested that the other sources were right.

What remained was a typical Erickson tone poem--tough, tight, ruggedly individualistic and constantly engaging. The impressionistic title, according to an utterly inadequate program note, refers to the “brilliant halo of light and ever-changing shape” associated with an eclipse of the sun.

Juxtaposing gleaming and blazing sonorities, expanding and compressing key motives, contrasting dramatic blasts with lyrical echoes, the composer constructed a fascinating crescendo of bright colors and primitive dynamics. Or so it seemed.

In a telephone interview on Friday, Previn stated that this piece, commissioned before his arrival here, “was not in the same league as previous Erickson pieces.” The basic problem, he said, involved redundancy. “A unison F-natural for 25 minutes--that’s too long.”

The music director added that the players had “laughed through one and a half hours” of rehearsal. “They could not figure it out,” he said, “and the composer, who has been ill, was incommunicado.”

The only solution, he apparently thought, was deletion. “I decided to undertake some laborious cuts--two bars here, one bar there, no big chunks. I took out the minimalist longueurs . If I didn’t do that, I thought the audience would go crazy. We were going to have a very, very bad time as it was.”

Reached at his home in San Diego, Erickson registered surprise at the turn of events. “I’m sorry they did not do the whole piece,” he said. “I look forward to a complete performance. It is a damn shame.”

Had he been consulted regarding any possible abridgement?

“No.”

Did he agree with the conductor’s stylistic evaluation?

“The last thing the piece does is flirt with minimalism.”

Previn had claimed that he found himself in a no-win situation. “If I play the music as written, I do the gentleman a disservice. If I cut, I am accused of tampering. If I cancel, I am accused of bad faith.”

Bad faith, in this case, might have better served artistic integrity.

The remainder of the program proved less controversial. Jean-Philippe Collard made his belated Philharmonic debut in a big, broad, unabashedly impetuous yet appropriately sentimental performance of Rachmaninoff’s First Piano Concerto. Previn and the orchestra provided lush yet sensitive accompaniment. This was good goo.

After intermission, Previn came up with a brisk, brusque and technically brilliant performance of Beethoven’s Fifth. The audience seemed to appreciate the pervasive streamlining, up to and including the raucous and clunky finale.