Munch Conducts the BSO

Conductors, like all musicians, are often branded with easy epithets that distort far more than they illuminate. Detractors of Toscanini claim, "He is too fast, too harsh--though great at Verdi," which ignores the intuition behind his intensity. Klemperer is overly eulogzed as "the Olympian, interpreter of the classics." And too often it is said of Charles Munch, beloved as he is, that "he does well only in French music." Friday's contert clearly belied this cruel simplification. Choosing three of his favorite works--by Elgar, Martinu, and Saint-Saens, Munch displayed powers of drama and orchestral coloring over a wide variety of material. The Boston Symphony responded to his return like a faithful wife, recovering a zeal and devotion long thought destroyed.

The Introduction and Allegro for strings, which opened the program, is typically eupbonious and harmless Elgar, but lacking the distinction of his masterly character studies. Considering the short spans and redundancy of the thematic material, the excitement and coherence which Munch created was especially impressive.

Munch also found the concert an irresistible opportunity for resuscitating Symphony Hall's gilded plumbingvia the Symphony No.3 of Saint-Saens, the so-called Organ Symphony. Politely termed "eclectic" in content, the symphony's overall level of subtlety and sophistication is best revealed by the descending C-major scale, played ff by the organ, which brings the work to an appropriate close. The listener is always guaranteed a few nervous thrills; but Friday's performance offered far more. Munch focused the overextended first movement into several overwhelming climaxes, emphasized its contrasts, and even created, amazingly, a genuine air of tragedy. While totally different in approach, this interpretation equalled in impact the famous Toscanini broadcast recording. The final movement seemed somewhat less successful, probably due less to Munch's varied tempo than to the limitations of the hall's Skinner organ, which lacks clarity and brilliance.

Yet the real triumph of the afternoon came with the Fantaisies Symphoniques, the Sixth Symphony, of the late Czech composer Bohuslav Martinu. It is unsurprising that the performance appeared beyond reproach, for the symphony was composed for Munch himself, with his conducting talents explicitly in mind. Munch united all the conflicting episods (ranging from ominous ostinate passages to hymnlike chords) into a thoroughly convincing whole. This was a difficult achievement, for the work is diffuse in form and ambiguous in meaning. It is suggested that Martinu was here meditating about his imminent death.

Orchestral playing throughout the concert was of rare spirit and accomplishment. The Elgar, however, made clear that these aren't the Cleveland Orchestra strings in precision or tone. Munch's gestures were both beautiful and highly effective, though almost casual and spontaneous. It is a great pleasure to find dignity, grace, and conviction once again on the podium at Symphony Hall.