San Francisco Classical Voice

And there were some quirky aspects to the setup. The violins were divided left and right, with the cellos behind the firsts (and basses further back), and the violas between cellos and seconds. In the G-minor Symphony, No. 40, the two horns sat antiphonally, in far corners behind the respective violin sections, in the outer movements, but moved to the center for the inner movements. The horns play in two different keys in the outer movements, and in the same one for the inner ones, so perhaps this has something to do with giving them time to change crooks. But I don't think so. The moment they had taken their new seats, the next movement was off and running. From where I was sitting the antiphonal effect wasn't huge.

Then for the "Jupiter" (Symphony No. 41) all chairs were taken away, except of course the cellos', and a special mini-podium was installed for Bury, carefully taped to the floor so that it wouldn't skid. The second half of the concert therefore took place with most of the orchestra in a fully upright position. This wasn't explained anywhere, and though playing while standing has been an early-music vogue for at least 20 years, it certainly made no discernible change to the sound Sunday night. It was just the same terrific band, doing what I'd call "the same terrific stuff" were it not so mercurial and interesting.

So much for the presentation — what about the music? Well, the music was frankly marvelous, and marvelous for its wit above all. I don't know exactly whether Gardiner has built a great orchestra around his own musical ideals, or whether the orchestra he's built has turned him into a great conductor, but the result is essentially the same. I could certainly quibble with things. (A few phrases had limp, weak endings. The horns in the "Jupiter" finale coda almost drowned out the other four things happening at the same time.) But what I heard this evening was great music-making, and I don't particularly care who gets the credit so long as they keep doing it, as I gather they will do.

Gardiner was at his best in dramatic moments. It remains true that no one but people steeped in 18th century music take Mozart sufficiently seriously. Gardiner takes him exceedingly seriously, and has the wit to understand that taking a composer seriously means understanding his humor as well as his seriousness. I don't remember anyone tackling passages like the famous "quasi-twelve-tone" one at the start of the G-Minor finale's second half with such fury. But then I don't remember anyone ripping into No. 39's finale with such delight, either. Or emerging from that terrible, cataclysmic passage in the finale of the "Jupiter," where intervals seem to fall into chaos, with such a shout of instrumental joy. There was more than a hint of pomp, too — much slowing of tempo at dramatic moments and especially ends of movements. We must be well and truly over old "play it at the same tempo until the double bar" business if even Early-Music Brits are going with what some of us once called the Bath Festival Orchestra ritardando. Different world here, I think.

Gardiner used his resources well. I've seldom heard anyone get so much so easily from a "period" orchestra — not just the memorable strange sounds but the memorable half-familiar ones. Never mind the historicity: This was just a guy with a very good orchestra to conduct, and one who knew it intimately. The encore was a classic example. After the finale of the "Jupiter," with everyone (and especially the conductor) looking beat, there was the slow movement of Mozart's first symphony, the movement that more or less provides the raw material for the "Jupiter" finale.

It wasn't the most obvious encore in history. It isn't fast, and it isn't dashing. And if you've just played three Mozart symphonies in a row, your attention span may already be too exhausted for any more Mozart, let alone something he wrote at age eight. But in fact, the doubtless-fatigued ORR played it with a sensitivity to touch the heart.