MUSIC REVIEW : A Poignant--and Worrisome--Valedictory at the Bowl

Valedictories are usually sad and often poignant. The final concert of the summer by the Los Angeles Philharmonic Institute Orchestra, at Hollywood Bowl on Sunday, would have been memorable for all the predictable reasons, even if the event had represented business as usual.

It began with Lynn Harrell, the dedicated Institute director, playing the cello in the most affecting of Leonard Bernstein’s three “Meditations” from “Mass” under the sensitive direction of student-conductor Susan Davenny Wyner. It continued with a crisply articulated performance of Stravinsky’s “Petrushka,” conducted by another talented Institute fellow, Thomas Dausgaard.

It ended with the blissful ardor of Mahler’s Fourth Symphony conducted by Simon Rattle. This was a masterly performance that could easily withstand comparison with the efforts of an illustrious ensemble populated with seasoned instrumental citizens.

But this wasn’t business as usual. Before the concert began, ushers frantically handed out a letter from the management together with a business-reply envelope. At the end of the intermission, Ernest Fleischmann, possibly the best-salaried extra-musical orchestral chieftain in the world, took the stage to deliver an impassioned fund-raising pitch.

“This,” he warned gravely, “may be the very last performance that the Institute Orchestra will ever give.” The crowd of 8,725 sighed on cue.

Dipping into public-relations hyperbole, Fleischmann cited the uniqueness of this educational organization. He didn’t say, however, what Los Angeles offered that Tanglewood--to mention just one comparable institution--could not.

He did bemoan a deficit totaling a quarter of a million dollars.

“Please help us,” he exhorted. “Your aid is vital to the future of symphonic music in the United States. . . . Write those enormous checks.”

He probably couldn’t hear the brave counter-suggestion yelled by a sophisticated patron high up in bench territory: “Take a pay cut.”

Fleischmann did not explain why--or which--reductions in Philharmonic support specifically threatened survival of the Institute. According to a prominent program credit, the concert on Sunday was “made possible” by the Getty Foundation, the Mary Pickford Foundation, the L’Ermitage Foundation and the W. Alton Jones Foundation. American Airlines was listed as “official airline of the 1991 Hollywood Bowl Summer Festival.”

The super-impresario in residence announced that all--repeat, all --Institute participants received “full scholarships.” He failed to explain why.

Ever the cultural populist, he implied in the process that only the impecunious can make beautiful music. Be that as it may, the scholarship students did make beautiful music at their 1991 farewell.

With Harrell’s sensitive solo example and Wyner’s thoughtful leadership, the orchestra turned the Bernstein “Meditation” into a fitting tribute to the late composer-conductor, who had been a founding spirit for the Institute in 1982.

Technical brilliance and unabashedly splashy colors elevated the performance of the complete “Petrushka” score. Dausgaard neatly sustained delicate balances and rhythmic clarity, not to mention cumulative coherence, in this tricky, episodic challenge. The absence of theatrical thrust and expressive irony made one wonder, however, if anyone had deemed it worthwhile to tell the enthusiastic players the story of the ballet.

If the orchestra glossed over the dramatic meaning of “Petrushka,” it certainly seemed to understand the romantic poetry of the Mahler Fourth. The youthful players defined the inherent lyricism and lush sentiment, the quirky detours and momentous climaxes with virtuosic point. They seemed inspired, not fazed, by Rattle’s extraordinarily leisurely tempos, his subtle, teasing hesitations and gentle, introspective musings.

The pervasive magic was muted a bit by Elise Ross’ rather prosaic singing of the “Wunderhorn” verses in the last movement, and the audience didn’t know when the symphony was over because a buzzing airplane obliterated the ultimate pianissimo cadences. Still, Mahler’s mellow pathos made its mark.

That mark was enhanced, not incidentally, by the most discreet amplification encountered in many a Bowl moon. The orchestra, for once, did not sound like a crazed calliope, and the voice of the soprano soloist actually seemed to emanate from a human throat.

There may be hope after all. . . .