DANCE AND MUSIC REVIEWS : Stulberg Conducts French Rarities

The mostly French program that on Saturday concluded the 1993 summer concert series at the J. Paul Getty Museum was delivered by the kind of virtuoso pickup orchestra that would be difficult to assemble anywhere outside Los Angeles.

That was the first stroke of good fortune for conductor Neal Stulberg. The second was the presence of mezzo-soprano Kathleen Clawson as protagonist in “Mort de Socrate,” the final section of “Socrate” (1919), Erik Satie’s rarely heard setting of portions of the dialogues of Plato.

This is not one of Satie’s wise-guy sendups but a calm quasi-recitative dealing with the last hours of Socrates, where the composer, mirroring Plato, tells us that the philosopher was simply a man, and a practical one at that, who lived a full life and wasn’t a whiner.

Clawson, in subtly modulated tones and clear French enunciation, joined to a wonderful sense of just where to put some emphasis to keep the vocal line from seeming static, told the story not unemotionally, but with moving restraint, handsomely supported by Stulberg and his little band.

The remainder of the evening proved less consistently rewarding.

The delectable cacophony of Milhaud’s jazzy “Creation du Monde” was mitigated by an acoustic that blurred detail in the rear of the ensemble, where the noisemakers--percussion and trombone--were seated. But the spirit was right, and there were some stunning solo bits, notably from the clarinet and trumpet.

The bookend functions were provided by a suite from Purcell’s “The Indian Queen,” an odd imposition on what might more profitably have been an all-French evening, and Poulenc’s “The Story of Babar.”

Bereft of the author’s sweetly whimsical illustrations, Jean de Brunhoff’s tales of the elegant little elephant with a taste for human haberdashery, are at a disadvantage.

From this parent’s experience, children and adults are at least as interested in what Babar looks like as what he sounds like, although Frank Dwyer, in his charmingly low-key narration, did what he could to bridge the visual gap on this occasion.

The ultimate blame, however, falls on the composer, for failing to deliver his usual sentimental tunefulness, a dollop of which might have lifted “Babar” from the doldrums into the heart.