Masur conducts the Philadelphia Orchestra

Kurt Masur challenged the established order of things when he filled his guest slot with the Philadelphia Orchestra. Most Philadelphia Orchestra concerts begin with a short, lively piece, follow that with a concerto, break for intermission, and present a symphony as the grand finale. Masur conducted a standard three-act program, but he did it backwards.

I've occasionally argued that concerts should begin with a symphony and end with a concerto. Symphonies may be grand and monumental, but they're also abstract and complex. We need to listen to them when we're fresh and alert. The concerto, on the other hand, has all the attractions of a star turn, with dramatic displays of skill and a built-in contrast between the soloist and the orchestra.

Masur didn't follow all my advice (few musicians do). But he did begin with the symphony and end with the kind of piece that opens most concerts.

The symphony was actually one of the more accessible and well-loved works in the repertoire. There was a time, in fact, when the Orchestra seemed to play the Brahms Second at least once every season.

Ormandy's overplayed warhorses

Critics usually point to Beethoven's Fifth when they complain about overplayed warhorses, but the real tried-and-true mounts of the Ormandy era (1936-80) were Brahms's first two symphonies. Nowadays the Orchestra tends to play Brahms's third and fourth contributions to the form. This was the first time I'd heard the Orchestra play the Second in several years.

The Second is generally described as "sunny," but you can't sum up any piece by Brahms with a single adjective. It's also majestic and solemn. Its best-known theme may indeed be lyrical and charming, but it winds through a darker, craggier landscape. Masur brought all that out.

What did Shostakovich want?

The concerto was the most profound work on the program— as any piece by Shostakovich tends to be. The best sections in Shostakovich's First Violin Concerto are the first and third movements, and the young Armenian violinist Sergey Khachatryan turned them into the long, dark songs they should be.

Shostakovich's two fast movements are a challenge to the violinist and a conundrum for the listener. How did the composer intend them? The final movement is just as flashy and rousing as a finale is supposed to be, but Shostakovich labeled it a burlesque.

To me, the fast movements are the creations of a self-mocking modern who disparages his fondness for hectic music even as he indulges it. You may feel you're yielding to a childish impulse when you hop up at the end and give the soloist all the applause he deserves, but it's a natural response to one of the most driving, exciting climaxes any composer has dreamed up.

What's so merry about Till?

The light piece in this case was a little longer than most openers and a bit more elaborate. Richard Strauss's Till Eulenspiegel's Merry Pranks sometimes comes with a program that relates each section to a particular event, but the composer himself seems to have rejected that approach.

I've never felt Till Eulenspiegel's pranks sounded particularly merry, either. For me, Strauss's tone poem is essentially a series of marches, dances, funny effects and other enjoyable musical episodes. It made a nice way to end an evening, after the passions and excitements of the Shostakovich. Masur even came back and played the ending for an encore— a rare event and a perfect final touch. Music is a noble art but a dash of audience savvy is always appreciated.