MUSIC REVIEW : Temirkanov’s Mannered Mahler Second

Gustav Mahler knew what he wanted in his massive, circuitous, sometimes agonizing, often uplifting and ultimately cataclysmic Second Symphony. His instructions are specific.

The opening Allegro Maestoso, he wrote, demands “durchaus ernstem und feierlichem Ausdruck”--serious and solemn expression throughout. Most conductors take the composer at his word.

Yuri Temirkanov, the genial if sometimes willful Soviet maestro appearing as guest for his second week with the Los Angeles Philharmonic, seems to follow such instructions only when they suit his temperament, his intuition and, perhaps, his whim.

He is an undoubted master of the Russian repertory that is his birthright. Although his Mahler may seem equally authoritative, it must be a lot less idiomatic.

His expression often was undeniably serious Thursday night at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, and our responsive, remarkably precise and articulate orchestra followed suit accordingly. But Temirkanov is a man of independent ideas and fleeting moods, a musician who savors unorthodox details and respects few party lines.

He found passages in the Mahler--even in the funereal first movement--that tended oddly toward whimsy. He let the music unwind virtually to a halt when he wanted to stress a portentous transition. He lost sight of the great architectural lines.

He bumped happily along phrases that usually glide smoothly. He fussed over obscure nuances. He lent new meaning to the concept of rubato . He stressed decorative accents at the expense of primary motives.

He savored vast extremes and favored brutal contrasts. The fast tended to be very fast, the slow very slow. Loud passages were often deafening, soft passages virtually inaudible. Restraint is not this conductor’s forte.

He is, of course, a compelling figure on the podium. He is fun to watch, even when he deals with profundities. He acted out Mahler’s rhetoric here with beguiling flourishes, heroic signals and fascinating secret gestures. Unfortunately, with continued repetition some of his wildly original body language began to seem self-conscious and superfluous.

Look, Ma, no baton. Look, Ma, no beat.

Punctuating the bucolic grace of the Landler in the second movement, he wiggled his neck, stuck out his chin and popped his eyes in quirky amazement that recalled Sergiu Celibidache’s celebrated chicken imitation in “Pictures at an Exhibition.” One feared that he would break into a Golliwog’s cakewalk at any moment.

Temirkanov’s mannerisms and distortions were especially frustrating because he did find moments of illumination, even glory, in this daunting symphony. The thunder crashes bore elemental terror. The ultimate lyrical flights flirted with the ethereal. The final climaxes, surprisingly, were kept within reasonable bounds of propriety. The bombast, in context, fell gratefully short of vulgarity.

The Philharmonic did Temirkanov’s seemingly obscure bidding with equal parts fervor and finesse. He must be a splendid rehearsal technician.

Christine Cairns, the mezzo-soprano soloist, sang “Urlicht” in the fourth movement with muted pathos, though without ideal amplitude or depth. Susan Patterson capped the apotheosis of “Auferstehung” with bright, limpid, soprano tones. The Los Angeles Master Chorale, trained by John Currie, added its own resonant glow to lofty finale.

Temirkanov deserves special gratitude, not incidentally, for daring to play the Second Symphony all by itself. For once, the audience was spared an inconsequential overture and a premature intermission. Mahler held the stage, uncontested, for 90 demanding minutes.

It was a short concert. It was enough.