MUSIC REVIEW : A New Profile in Old Salzburg

They came. They played. They got booed. They conquered.

They, of course, are Esa-Pekka Salonen and the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Thursday night, they made their much ballyhooed debut at the Salzburg Festival--the most prestigious, most glamorous, most expensive, most snobbish and, until recently, most conservative music festival in what we blithely call Western civilization.

Salzburg is the city of Mozart and marzipan. Beneath the walled fortress and near the Baroque castles and ancient churches, one can find a courtyard named after Arturo Toscanini and a square named after Salzburg’s self-appointed patron saint, Herbert von Karajan. A charm emporium virtually without equal, the place is either a tourist’s paradise or a visitor’s nightmare--depending on the season, one’s budget and social priorities.

Salzburg caters to the chic and the elite with stellar concerts and operas in spectacular surroundings. It also provides alternate amusement--if that is the right noun--for audiences interested in academic modernism at one extreme and show-biz kitsch at the other.

Some interesting fringe options confronted those who didn’t want to attend the Philharmonic festivities, or couldn’t afford a ticket (the best seat cost $190 at the current rate of exchange). They could swell the embarrassingly small crowds at avant-gardish events celebrating the chamber music of George Crumb, or join the kitsch enthusiasts at the “New ‘Sound of Music’ ” dinner show. They could watch some marionettes sing “Die Zauberflote” or, following the path of least resistance, catch “Batmans Ruckkehr” at the local Kino .

For the last three decades or so, Salzburg has functioned primarily as Karajan country. The spring and summer festivals reflected his aesthetic priorities--which weren’t exactly adventurous--while they flattered his colossal ego. Now the king is dead, and a controversial new regime beckons.

Gerard Mortier, the new director, comes from Belgium. Significantly, his origins are no more Germanic than his artistic inclinations. He wants to change Salzburg’s artistic profile. He wants to import new faces and new ensembles--last week Simon Rattle and his Birminghamers, now Salonen & Co. He wants to introduce very old music as well as very new music. He wants to explore modern staging techniques. He wants to democratize the audience.

Despite a relatively cautious start, his fierce defense of adventure has created an inevitable degree of ill will among traditionalists. The press--especially the Viennese press--has been somewhat antagonistic. In public statements, representatives of the august Vienna Philharmonic have protested the invasion of their turf by what they deem to be unworthy orchestras (it was unclear whether Los Angeles fell in that category). Certain city fathers are worried about the commercial impact of what they perceive as a cultural revolution.

A few big-name artists have mutinied. Riccardo Muti withdrew from a new production of Mozart’s “La Clemenza di Tito” because he disapproved of the contemporary staging scheme. Marilyn Horne huffily pulled out of Rossini’s “Tancredi” because she disagreed with the performing edition favored by the comparatively little-known conductor, Pinchas Steinberg. Her potential co-diva, Edita Gruberova, followed Horne to the door.

Holding his own, Mortier seems to have taken the problems in stride. At short notice, he engaged Gustav Kuhn to replace Muti, young Vesselina Kasarova to replace Horne, and Nelly Miricioiu to succeed Gruberova. Although he lowered the star power, he could not lower the $250 top for tickets to the concert performances of the Rossini opera.

Mortier’s brave new world will, no doubt, be dominated by iconoclastic youth. Peter Sellars’ staging of Messiaen’s “St. Francois d’Assise” is eagerly awaited. Significantly, the pit will be occupied for this complex challenge by Salonen and his Los Angeles band, which thus becomes the first American ensemble to play an opera here.

The opening Los Angeles concert, which had been previewed at Hollywood Bowl last week, was a risky affair. Bringing California coals to a musical Newcastle, Salonen chose a strangely constituted program that contrasted works of three Austrian masters. It began with the high-class schmaltz of Johann Strauss’ “Emperor Waltz”--hardly the sort of fare dictated by convention in serious Salzburg--and continued with the expressionist pathos of the Berg Violin Concerto. The evening ended with the overripe romanticism of Mahler’s Fourth Symphony.

As is local custom, the Salzburg citizenry lined the entrance to the Grosses Festspielhaus, hoping to glimpse the Beautiful People in attendance. Paparazzi dotted the lobby. The super-dressy audience, responding to breathless advance articles in the popular newspapers, buzzed about the exciting boy-conductor from Finland and his orchestra from the land of the plastic lotus. Microphones hovered above the stage, and television cameras recorded the proceedings for a doubtlessly grateful posterity.

This, clearly, was an Event. Capital E.

The 2,177-seat house that Karajan built is large by European standards, though a thousand seats smaller than the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. It seemed to be sold out.

The gentlemen of the Philharmonic looked spiffy in their new uniforms: white tie and tails. A dramatic hush (Salzburg audiences approach their concerts in a spirit of reverence) preceded Salonen’s entrance, which received polite applause. Then came the test.

The Strauss waltz sounded more polished here than it had at the Bowl. The bright Festspielhaus acoustics magnified every nuance, and Salonen toyed knowingly with dynamic extremes. Still, one felt that the lilt and hesitation had been computerized. The dance was speedy, mechanical, certainly not gemutlich . At the end, the applause was less than ecstatic, and a few booers (not to be confused with boors) registered obvious displeasure. So much for overtures.

Matters improved considerably in the Berg concerto, illuminated with agonized restraint and plaintive bravura by violinist Kyung-Wha Chung in sensitive collaboration with Salonen. The maestro was clearly in his element here.

His interpretation of the Mahler symphony, which followed intermission, seems to get more mellow and less fussy with each repetition. It still seemed a bit mannered in detail and excessive in its emotive extremes. No one could complain, however, that it lacked an individual perspective.

The Philharmonic, a few nervous glitches notwithstanding, sounded like a world-class orchestra. Barbara Hendricks sang the “Wunderhorn” verses of the finale with affecting purity and sweetness.

Salonen literally conducted the audience in 15 seconds of rapt silence after the ultimate cadence. This led, quite naturally, to a thunderous ovation.

An interesting beginning.