Yuri Temirkanov, one of the most unfairly undervalued great conductor
from post-Soviet Russia, is already making the Baltimore Symphony famous
-- by association -- even before becoming its music director in the fall.

The man whose "Onegin" stands as *the* standard, conducted the San
Francisco Symphony in an all-Tchaikovsky concert tonight in Davies Hall,
and he turned "summer music" into a memorable artistic event.

Temirkanov's opening of the Fifth Symphony was strange, unusual, *right*:
very slow and quiet, hesitating, "Wagnerian" in its pain, "Mahlerian" in
its disturbed, unhappy romanticism.

The conductor provided no relief from the tension and sadness in the bridge
into the first great theme, and when it arrived, that music-from-the-heart
had no resemblance to the usual soundtrack for personal-care commercials,
but rather it showed effort and determination.  It was whistling in the
dark, in a menacing dark, showing fear and courage, not even the
Romantic-heroic amplification of "Winter Dreams" some interpreters favor.
The movement-ending cutoff was dazzling: the music stopped, the musicians
in complete unison, and yet with a sense of incompletion hanging in the
air.

Temirkanov's technique is as unshowy, undramatic as the man himself.  At
times, he stands still; using no baton, his movements are small, clear,
effortless.  Every single orchestra I have seen him conduct appears to
follow him with attention, respect, and dedication.  This was certainly
true of the San Franciscans tonight: they sounded as brilliant as they
are these days under Michael Tilson Thomas, meaning that they were playing
at their best.

The second-movement Andante Cantabile was fast, singing but not
sentimental.  Even Robert Ward's solid, reliable horn solo sounded
reined-in, at least in comparison with the usual "Moon Love" treatment.
Temirkanov surprised with a changeup in the third movement, allowing the
"Valse" an uncomplicated, untroubled sweetness, in contrast with the
reading of the rest of the symphony.  Each movement ended with Temirkanov's
fantastic way of stopping the music so that it ends in reality, but not in
perception.

Time and again, Temirkanov shaped pauses as more pregnant, meaningful than
you'd hear them in a "normal" performance; he is making every note count,
even the spaces between notes.

And then the Finale -- very big, deep, "maestoso" as it should be, but not
a celebration, not providing relief from this rarely-exposed "heavy" side
of Tchaikovsky.  It was a Russian Orthodox service, not the usual Italian
carnival, something much, much more meaningful and authentic.

After the Fifth -- *this* Fifth -- the great crowd-pleaser Violin Concerto
was almost an anticlimax, even though Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg gave a
brilliant (if often nervous-sounding) performance.  As far as the orchestra
was concerned, it was clear that most of the rehearsal time was taken up by
the symphony, not the concerto.

And then came -- this is summer, remember? -- the "1812 Overture," with the
following delightful exchange in the program:

   "The (1812) Overture will be very loud, noisy, but I wrote it without
   any warm feelings of love, and so it will probably be of no artistic
   worth." -- Tchaikovsky

   "We need not agree with Tchaikovsky's own harsh before-the-event
   assessment of `1812,' but we do have to concede that it is loud." --
   Michael Steinberg

Janos Gereben/SF
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