MUSIC REVIEW : St. Clair Conducts a Fiery Finale in Orange County

Carl St. Clair, the young firebrand engaged to revitalize the Pacific Symphony, closed the local-orchestra season at the Orange County Performing Arts Center with a sure-fire Russian program on Wednesday.

It may not have been an especially good night for finesse or introspection. It was, however, a very good night for rip-snorting bravado.

The festivities began with a rough and emphatically ready race through Glinka’s “Russlan and Ludmilla” overture. This act of affectionate aggression led, quite naturally, to an extrovert dash over the romantic hurdles of the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto.

Under St. Clair’s fervent urging, the orchestra made a mighty, dense, sometimes undifferentiated noise. Miriam Fried, the soloist, mustered complementary strength and authority. One had to admire the uniform sweep and breadth of the collaboration.

One also had to regret the general absence of suavity, the paucity of subtle nuance, the stress on dramatic grandeur at the expense of lyrical grace. Tchaikovsky’s indulgent emotions, projected once-over-heavily, teetered on the brink of stodginess.

Matters improved after intermission when St. Clair and the orchestra turned to Prokofiev’s massive Fifth Symphony. This was a bold, well-timed turn.

In all the frosted fuss over the 200th anniversary of Mozart’s death (when, oh when, will it end?), many institutions have ignored another significant milestone: the 100th anniversary of Prokofiev’s birth.

Adding blight to slight, the New York Times recently celebrated the centenary with a sociopolitical attack on the hapless Soviet composer. His music, a Berkeley musicologist suggested in a lengthy essay, has now outlived its usefulness.

St. Clair and the Pacific Symphony provided a persuasive counter-argument. They splashed Prokofiev’s brash primary colors with heroic passion. They obviously savored the crashing drama and dynamic violence that make this epic instantly compelling.

Other interpreters have brought the grotesque elements of the score into sharper focus. Others have placed a greater premium on neatness.

St. Clair didn’t waste much energy over macabre melodic accents and jaunty rhythmic quirks. On this occasion, he didn’t search for much expressive subtlety.

In flashy context, it mattered little. The conductor flexed his muscles--and Prokofiev’s too--with disarming conviction.