Music : Yuri Temirkanov Returns to the L.A. Philharmonic

Yuri Temirkanov doesn’t look like other conductors. Nor does he function as the others do.

The controversial Soviet maestro ascends the podium slowly, assumes a strange prayerful attitude and conjures a downbeat out of nowhere. He doesn’t use, or seem to need, a baton.

He sculpts abstract phrases in the air and acts out the music. He provides his attentive players with poetic clues rather than prosaic cues.

He mimes many roles: composer’s deputy, orchestral paterfamilias, spiritual medium, snake charmer, aesthetic dictator, court jester, musical traffic cop. . . .

The descriptions suggest that he is merely eccentric. That is much too facile. Temirkanov may indeed be eccentric, but he certainly isn’t merely eccentric.

He happens to be a splendid musician, a technician blessed with bold ideas. He abides by his own rules. They work for him.

In November, he brought his Leningrad Philharmonic to Southern California for a series of all-Russian concerts that resembled revelations. Friday afternoon, he achieved comparable levels of illumination conducting the Los Angeles Philharmonic for the first time at the Music Center (his previous engagements here had been limited to Hollywood Bowl).

If all had gone as planned, this would have been another all-Russian program. The death of Aaron Copland on Dec. 2, however, necessitated the interpolation of some musical Americana in tribute. Even though he had never conducted the piece before, Temirkanov agreed to substitute Copland’s “Quiet City” for Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Russian Easter Festival” Overture.

Last year, Yuri Simonov of Moscow had his way with “Appalachian Spring” at the Bowl. Now Temirkanov interprets “Quiet City.” Who knows, Copland may end up being America’s greatest gift to the Soviet Union since the Big Mac.

Temirkanov was not able to enforce and sustain an ideal aura of bleak serenity in Copland’s elegy. No matter. He did honor the rugged simplicity of the piece. He also provided an orchestral framework that complemented the appreciative soloists, Carolyn Howe (English horn) and Thomas Stevens (trumpet).

The local Philharmonic, incidentally, remained in its customary configuration. Temirkanov did not shuffle the choirs to match the unconventional seating plan he favors in Leningrad.

The centerpiece of the program should have been the local premiere of Alfred Schnittke’s Cello Concerto. But a strange thing happened. Although Temirkanov had at least a year to prepare for the modernist challenge, he eventually turned his back on his countryman, pleading “inadequate time to live with this music.”

Enter Shostakovich’s Second Cello Concerto.

One must regret the cancellation of any work by Schnittke. Even Temirkanov labels this much troubled, much celebrated composer “a genius.” At the same time, one always must be grateful for an opportunity to hear a stylish performance of the dark, sparse and forbidding Shostakovich showpiece.

Karine Georgian, making her Philharmonic debut, conveyed its piquant lyricism, its grotesquerie and melodic violence with virtuosic aplomb. Unlike some colleagues--including her mentor, Mstislav Rostropovich--she did not rip into the piece with fierce theatricality. She concentrated on muted passions, yet sacrificed no expressive intensity in the process.

Temirkanov and the orchestra accompanied the authoritative soloist with remarkable sensitivity. They also made the most of Shostakovich’s brash dynamic gestures, jagged rhythmic accents and wild timbral contrasts.

After intermission, they turned to Rachmaninoff’s Symphonic Dances of 1940, eminently Russian music that happened to be written in Long Island, N.Y. Temirkanov exulted in the fervor of the introductory suite, the lush and languid rubatos of the second, not to mention the uninhibited splash of the grand finale.

His generously colored, delicately shaded performance was a model of sensuality. More surprising, perhaps, it also was model of precision.

His beat may be obscure. His intentions are not.