Digital Dream Door hosts a website that ranks everything

under the proverbial sun. On its classical-music page and its symphony-genre sub-page, it

ranks the Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 6, Op. 74 ("Pathetique"), as the fourth

greatest symphony ever written. It deems the number one greatest as

Beethoven's Ninth, which the ISO will perform this June 11-13.

I fully concur with the latter

ranking.

While I don't agree with the exact ordering of DDD's

rankings of anything (and who would?), I'm certainly in accord that the

"Pathetique" easily rates high enough to be in the top ten symphonies written

to date. And on

Friday, guest conductor Cristian Măcelaru revealed that "truth" as well

as or better than any other podium artist I've witnessed.

Every classical buff knows that the "Pathetique" has four

movements and that the third movement ends in a loud, tumultuous, victorious

paean, which invariably evokes spontaneous applause, while the Adagio lamentoso

finale concludes in the silence "of the grave." My only caveat with Măcelaru was

his childlike admonition to the audience before he began the work not to

applaud after the third movement. Telling an audience how to react

between movements in any genre should be a no-no for all conductors.

Especially after what ISO music director Krzysztof

Urbański also childishly did with Op. 74 two seasons ago, bowing after the

third movement applause and leaving the stage, only to return and yell,

"There's one more movement" after a few patrons had already left the hall. The best course for

the conductor is to accept any third-movement applause as spontaneous, nod his

head in their direction, then proceed with the fourth

movement when all is again quiet.

That issue aside, Măcelaru yielded a music drama of the

first order, creating beauty with its themes, and generating passion, joy,

tragedy, despair and resignation -- moods more succinctly realized in this

symphony than in all others. Some of his tempos were fast, especially that third movement; it

almost raced by us. But

he kept his forces pretty much in tow throughout. It was perhaps a bit more exciting than

it was completely precise. Yet it showed no signs of unraveling anywhere.And that final note by the lower

strings became "as silent as the grave."

The program's first two works were far less momentous:

Liszt's original orchestral version of his Mephisto

Waltz No. 1, and Tchaikovsky's Variations on a Rococo Theme, Op. 33, with

guest cellist Johannes Moser. Though I've seldom heard Liszt's orchestral version,

its piano transcription, written much later in the composer's life, is often

given in recital and is surely in most pianists' repertoire. I found the orchestral version too

thick-textured to get much enjoyment from it. It also seemed too "pianistic."

Moser demonstrated excellent bravura playing in the

Tchaikovsky Variations, but the composer's best creative effort resided in his

wind writing. This

apparently was the Wilhelm Fitzenhagen version, a contemporaneous cellist who

recast Tchaikovsky's solo writing into a much greater soloistic display. It became known

only in that form until the composer's original was uncovered and published in

1941. While

Moser's technical gifts should go unchallenged, his tone was less beautiful

than other touring cellists visiting these environs. In any case, Tchaikovsky was the evening's dominant figure as Moser and the ISO strings encored with his Andante cantabile, adapted and condensed from his first string quartet's slow movement. May 15; Hilbert Circle Theatre

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