San Francisco Classical Voice

Mozart's little Divertimento has three movements, typical of his Salzburg period. The later Viennese divertimentos offer four, five, or, most often, six-movement formats. That noted, this piece is as charming as the more famous Eine kleine Nachtmusik Serenade. Bell, standing at center stage and surrounded by the orchestral musicians, played along with the first violin music, bobbing and nodding a bit to cue entrances. Leading from the violin in this way follows the 18th century fashion perfectly. Bell's tempos managed to be vivacious while never exaggerated. He brought a particularly lovely and memorable elegance to the central movement.

The "Turkish" nickname of the A-Major Concerto is, like the Italian title of Tchaikovsky's Sextet, based only on the mildest incident: a bit of Turkish march in Mozart's otherwise European rondo in minuet style. But the whole of the concerto is as central European as can be, except for its breaking away from a number of concerto traditions. Following the expected orchestral opening in a broad allegro, the soloist enters with an expressive — and fairly extensive — adagio before getting into the main body of the allegro. That, and throwing a march section into the finale, likely raise a few conservative eyebrows in today's audiences. It's not often noted, but Mozart's concertos frequently offer innovations in form and style. (The piano concertos brim with them).

Bell's playing was not purely within the expected 18th century classicism. He emphasized the sweetness in Mozart's lyrical writing and the bravura in the showy passages. This was true of both works, but he never carried this to tasteless extremes. And there is, after all, a rich tradition for this approach, represented by such leading virtuoso soloists of the past as Menuhin, Stern, and Oistrakh.

The oddest surprises came in Bell's own cadenzas, wonderfully put together but with many of the technical advances one associates with Paganini, Sarasate, and the like: racing about scales at utmost speed, extremes of register, double stops, and multiple high harmonics. It was all very flashy, although Mozart and his contemporaries didn't yet have such techniques. Bell's shenanigans were not, however, beyond reality. The cadenzas are there to serve as the soloist's meat, and indulgence is allowable — so long as it doesn't go too far.

Tchaikovsky was essentially an orchestral composer. For me, all his chamber music sounds like orchestral music with a bad case of anorexia. His Souvenir de Florence is laid out in the four traditional movements of most 19th century chamber music. The melodic material sounds as Russian as folk music, with some strong hints of Tchaikovsky's late ballet scores along the way. The exception is his aria-like slow movement, all melting romanza in operatic style, sketched while Tchaikovsky was in Florence finishing work on his opera The Queen of Spades. It's the only section that backs up the title; otherwise, there's nothing remotely Italian in Souvenir de Florence.

It's all mildly nutty: A very Russian-sounding score with a title in French, grown from a scrap of sketch made while in Italy. But no matter, Souvenir was played to the tens, featuring an amazing strength in the warm resonance that filled Davies Symphony Hall. That 19 musicians, an 18-piece string orchestra plus Bell, could achieve that sound was remarkable. At times, you would have thought that the full symphony was on stage. Of course, the skillful transcription of Tchaikovsky's original helped. Adding only one string bass and a sole cello in octaves to the bass line offered a fine solution to the innate problem posed by the expansion of forces. Making such adaptations can be tricky, and Lucas Drew's arrangement was as artistically valid as any I have encountered. This was the local premiere at S.F. Symphony concerts.

The performances showed excellent balance, intonation, and verve all evening. The musicians seemed to glow with pleasure and obvious respect for Bell. It looked like nothing so much as a mutual admiration society meeting on stage. The audience kept calling Bell back for bows again and again, while hardly anyone made for the exits. The audience seemed to be expecting — apparently demanding — an encore; but alas, this desire went unrequited. Bell simply motioned the musicians to level, which they did with no sign of relish.

In an evening of curiosities, one more merits mention. A man walked onto the stage between the concerto's second and third movements to make an announcement. He apologized and then noted that although the audience might notice the smell of smoke, the hall was not on fire. A building a few blocks west of Davies was, and the ventilation system had sucked in bits of the odor. That, too, was an S.F. Symphony premiere.