MUSIC REVIEW : Sentimental Mood at Hollywood Bowl Opening

Another opening, another show. . . .

It was a good night, Tuesday at the Hollywood Bowl, for conspicuous, competitive picnicking. It was a good night for glitter, glamour and balloons. It was a good night for several varieties of star-gazing. It was a good night for electronic amplification. It was a good night for the airplanes and helicopters that invariably materialize when a pianissimo beckons.

It wasn’t a particularly good night for music. Luckily, the 11,776 celebrants in attendance didn’t seem to notice.

To inaugurate its 70th summer amid the alfresco glories of Cahuenga Pass, the Los Angeles Philharmonic played it safe.

In the absence of a resident music director, the management turned once again to Yuri Temirkanov of Leningrad, who had occupied the podium for two of the last three openings. Don’t blame him, incidentally, if he seems a bit distracted. He has been asked to conduct five different programs during the first 10 days of the season.

The solo duties were allotted on Tuesday to Itzhak Perlman, probably the most popular violinist in the States. The program for this so-called gala was devoted to three familiar flavors of romantic slush.

Asking for the stimulation of novelty or adventure in an 18,000-seat amphitheater that functions on a minimalist rehearsal schedule is, no doubt, asking for too much. Still, this concert seemed soporific beyond the norm.

Much of the problem could be traced to Temirkanov, whose vastly unorthodox technique sometimes impedes musical communication. He can attain brilliant results with an orchestra that really understands his interpretive quirks; anyone who has observed him with the Leningrad Philharmonic knows that. He can be confounding, however, when he confronts an ensemble that really isn’t accustomed to his eccentric body language.

This conductor doesn’t believe in conventional beats, cues or cutoffs. He doesn’t even believe in a baton. He sculpts abstract phrases in the air. He dabbles in mystical dances. He acts out emotive clues. His left hand often doesn’t seem to know what his left hand is doing.

To watch him is fascinating, to say the least. But what do Temirkanov’s attitudinous antics mean? Much of the time, our Philharmonic didn’t seem to know.

The orchestra played with plenty of expressive indulgence. It also played sloppily. Under the circumstances, that seemed reasonable.

A rather hasty performance of the colorful overture to Borodin’s “Knyaz’ Igor’ “--which followed the inevitable, unusually turgid National Anthem--focused on vigor rather than sensuality. The audience seemed pleased to recognize some tunes from “Kismet.”

Rachmaninoff’s Second Symphony took up the second half of the evening. This rambling challenge demands taut treatment if the dangerous sprawl is to be contained, and if the moments of lyrical inspiration are to be placed in perspective. Temirkanov wallowed in the perfumed sentiment, stretching slow tempos nearly to the breaking point. Despite some unexpected cuts, he made the symphony seem even longer than it is.

Sibelius’ Violin Concerto served as the centerpiece of the program. It did not provide Perlman, who has been appearing here regularly for a quarter of a century, with his finest hour in Southern California.

At this point, one can take his virtuosity for granted. His tone is still incredibly sweet, his phrasing remarkably smooth, his mastery of bravura hurdles astonishing.

He did nothing on this occasion to make one doubt his mastery. But he didn’t do much to revive interest in Sibelius’ tired platitudes, or to suggest that he wasn’t playing by the numbers.

Perhaps he has ridden this warhorse a few dozen times too often. Perhaps he was disconcerted (pun intended) by the aerial rumble that ruined his ethereal entrance in the opening allegro. Perhaps he found Temirkanov’s generalized accompaniment less than congenial.

Tonight--same time, same place--the same team will collaborate on the beloved Tchaikovsky concerto. It would be reassuring if the move from dark D-minor to bright D-major proved symbolic.