A Fond Farewell for the Philharmonic’s Music Man

We’re going to miss Andre Previn.

A few nights ago my wife and I went to the Music Center to hear Previn conduct the Los Angeles Philharmonic in “A Celebration of Academic Excellence,” a concert for young people from the Academic Decathlon program and the Young Black Scholars.

“This is the first time,” he said at the outset, “that I’ve ever been guaranteed that everybody in the audience is smart.”

He said he didn’t want to talk about the music in advance. He said the 3,000 people in the audience could have 3,000 different interpretations. “It’s very difficult to be told what your interpretation should be.”

He said all three compositions he was about to conduct were “absolute musical staples, loved the world over--but all three got terrible reviews when they were first played.”

The first piece was “Ein Heldenleben,” a tone poem by Richard Strauss. Previn had promised only that it was “noisy.” It was full of chilling cries, thunder, bumblebees, and tranquil meadows.

During its performance the young audience had seemed spellbound. At its conclusion Previn slumped; he lowered his baton in a gesture of finality. I wished all conductors would do that so I’d know when to clap. Previn left the stage like a football player leaving the field after kicking a field goal. The auditorium erupted.

“Terrific audience,” my wife said.

After the intermission, the orchestra played Gershwin’s Concerto in F for Piano and Orchestra. Previn played the piano part himself. As always, Gershwin seemed to me to echo the tempo and rhythms of a great American city. Of course that was only my interpretation. His theme may have been death and transmogrification.

The final piece was the Ravel ballet suite, “Daphnis and Chloe.” That was easy. It was about nymphs dancing through woods under waterfalls; I think there were some fawns and turtledoves in it, too. I was transported back to those warm afternoons in music-appreciation class at Belmont High School, when I dozed through Bizet and Chopin. In the end, Hurricane Hugo arrives, just after the wolves.

The orchestra retired. Previn returned. He had discarded his tie; his collar was open. He looked casual and relaxed. He invited questions. “You don’t have to flatter me,” he told them. “It’s all right to be aggressive.”

He strained to hear the questions shouted from the audience. He answered with charm, expertise, honesty and wit.

“What are you going to do after the Los Angeles Philharmonic?” (A reference to Previn’s resignation as musical director.)

“You mean tonight?” (Laughs and cheers.)

In fact, he said, he was going to conduct in Berlin and Vienna and then tour the capitals of Europe--Rome, Paris, London.

“We’ll keep in touch!” a youth shouted.

Someone asked how much Gershwin had been influenced by Ravel.

“Gershwin went to Ravel and asked if he could take lessons from him. Ravel said, ‘That’s possible. How much money do you make?’ Gershwin told him. Ravel said, ‘How about I take lessons from you?’ ”

Which of the three compositions he had just conducted was the best?

“It doesn’t matter what I say. That’s just my opinion. But ‘Daphnis and Chloe’ is an immortal masterpiece.”

He said he didn’t believe in teaching students that they had to like this or that. “If you don’t like something, it’s OK. You can say, ‘I’m sorry, but that bores me.’ Do they still have required reading in school? Like ‘Silas Marner?’ ” (Laughter.)

A woman’s voice: “I’d like to tell you as an English teacher that we no longer read ‘Silas Marner.’ ” (Applause.)

Sometimes he had no answers: “I haven’t the faintest idea.” “I’m allowed to take the Fifth Amendment.”

“Do you consider yourself a romanticist or a classicist?”

“I don’t know. I have trouble enough being a musician.”

He was asked why, in the Strauss tone poem, when Sidney Weiss was playing the solo violin part, he did not conduct.

“He’s playing a long violin solo. Why should you wave your arms in his face? He has a right to say, ‘What are you doing!’ ”

“Did you ever have to conduct music you didn’t like?”

“Yes.”

“What is your favorite era?”

“With any luck, it starts tomorrow.”

“It’s getting late,” he said at last, and took one final question.

They gave him a standing ovation.