By Gigi Yellen
The CD “Live in the Fiddler’s House,” played in the car as I headed for Benaroya Hall to hear “Reb Itzik” play.
That would be Itzhak Perlman, the wildly famous virtuoso violinist, whose Jan. 28 concert as soloist and conductor was the second in a two-night stand that launched this year’s Seattle Symphony Mainly Mozart Series.
an Perlman do anything wrong? He got a standing ovation before he’d even played a note. It’s a little like Barack Obama and the Nobel Peace Prize. Thankfully, the notes Perlman did play, as both soloist and conductor, really did earn the ovations that came after he’d brought the concert to its breathless finale with Mendelssohn’s “Italian” Symphony.
What’s with this “Reb Itzik” business? I’ll tell you. On that “Fiddler’s House” concert (recorded at Radio City Music Hall in 1996), he’s introduced that way, in Yiddish, by an experienced klezmer band. The “reb” thing, both an honorific and a term of endearment, is a sign of brotherhood. From what I can see, Maestro Perlman’s rock-star status fills the hall not just because he’s a great player, and not just because he’s a guy who stuck it to the naysayers long before the phrase “disability rights” was ever spoken, but because, first and always, he’s a brother in the community of people who love music.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began from the podium, opening the second half of the concert by turning to the audience with a certain concern. “During intermission I received two urgent calls.” Our breaths were held. “One from Mozart and one from Mendelssohn.”
Did I mention his gift for comedy? It turns out that he was aiming to prevent a repetition of the between-the-movements applause that had happened during the Mozart 27th Symphony. He spun out a version of the backstage argument, then shrugged:
“I said, myself, I didn’t care, but they insisted, so I’m just the messenger.” He turned back to the orchestra to the sound of audience chuckles and applause, relaxed neophytes and sophisticates alike settling into just the right mood for Mendelssohn’s sunny Symphony No. 4. Apart from a couple of stragglers following the first movement, the audience honored the messenger’s request.
The whole program was designed for relaxation, really. Perlman first conducted and soloed in three short favorites: Mozart’s Adagio in E, K. 261 and Rondo in C, K. 373, and Beethoven’s Romance No. 2 in F, his legendary sweet tone still strong, and the players’ responses easy with his bow-as-baton leadership.
Then, free of the fiddle, he mounted the podium and launched into Mozart’s little 27th symphony, scooping up the orchestra’s attention with a twist of his bowl-size left hand. That hand, accustomed to a lifetime of work with the palm up, seems naturally to gesture in a welcoming way, with special tenderness (no surprise here) towards the violins. More nuanced dynamics in the quiet second movement made me wonder whether having both hands free for conducting makes it easier to access the subtleties within the score.
The oddest unexpected drama presented itself during the final work, Mendelssohn’s Italian Symphony: the conductor’s score wouldn’t stay flat! I’m sure I wasn’t the only one holding my breath as Perlman spent much of the first movement wasting his precious left hand on holding down a page to keep from losing his place rather than communicating with the musicians. What kind of bookbinding was that? Thankfully, Perlman smoothed things out after that scary allegro vivace, and Mendelssohn, the master of fairytale grace, was well served. Particularly noteworthy: a fresh interpretation of the phrasing of the winds in the third movement trio. Perlman wisely singled out woodwinds and brass for special applause.
Here are three reasons a performer gets a standing ovation: a phenomenal piece of music is played well; a great piece of music is played phenomenally well; a performer is teaching you something you can’t learn from anyone else.
The opening standing ovation was about that last reason: the time-honored tradition of standing to demonstrate respect for a teacher. In addition to his work as at Juillard and at his Perlman Music Program, the twinkle-eyed maestro simply comes across as a great teacher. And the closing standing ovation? The fine performances, yes, and a simple brotherly love: this audience remained seated until the maestro had descended the podium and turned around, and only then leapt to its feet. Seattle wanted to honor this teacher, this brother, face to face.
