On sitting in Verizon's "conductor's circle'

The "conductor's circle" at Verizon Hall— that tier of seats located behind the stage— has intrigued me ever since I looked at the architects' model, back in the days when we were still wondering if the city really needed a new concert hall at all. To me, those seats were the most striking innovation of the proposed hall. They evoked some of the informality of the palaces and ducal halls where musicians like Bach and Haydn inaugurated the modern orchestral tradition.

Despite that fascination, I've never actually taken advantage of this opportunity to observe the Philadelphia Orchestra from a different perspective. I took the plunge, after eight years of procrastination, because a friend happened to have an extra ticket to a Friday afternoon concert earlier this month.

My friend's tickets are located in the center of the fourth row of the conductor's circle. I presumed we'd be looking down on the orchestra, but I realized that was a misconception as soon as we started maneuvering toward our seats. You're a little bit above the musicians but you basically feel like you're behind them. You can practically read their scores.

If the sound flows away

The sound is the first thing you wonder about when you look at these seats. Orchestras are set up so the sound flows forward, toward the bulk of the audience. The front ends of the winds all point forward. Most of the string players sit with their instruments tilted in the same direction.

But none of that matters, I discovered. The customers in the conductor's circle sit so close to the orchestra that they're hit with the biggest blast of sound an unamplified orchestra can deliver.

The concert I attended ended with two of Respighi's Roman celebrations: The Fountains of Rome and Roman Festivals. The fourth row in the conductor's circle felt like a box seat at a Technicolor parade of carnivals and processions.

If you're primarily interested in subtle nuances and formal structure, you probably won't like the conductor's circle. If you're mostly looking for intensity and passion, you'll probably love it.

Up close to the harpist

The location can also produce surprisingly intimate moments. When the harp launched into a solo during Smetana's Hakon Jarl, I felt as if I was listening to a chamber music concert. Elizabeth Hainen was strumming her instrument just a few steps to my right, about where the bard might have sat if I'd been sitting in a Norwegian hall listening to the epic portrayed in Smetana's tone poem.

But how does the reversed viewpoint affect concertos? Prokofiev's Fifth Piano Concerto occupied the second slot on the program, with Garrick Ohlsson as soloist, and the piano lid was tipped, as usual, so as to bounce the sound forward. The piano may not have sounded quite as loud from the conductor's circle, but I didn't feel the difference was significant.

More noticeable was the change in the relationship between the piano and the orchestra. The sound from the piano had to cross the orchestra before it reached us, and consequently it seemed less dominating. The piano blended with the orchestra instead of seizing the spotlight.

I enjoyed the concerto nevertheless. It possesses the same grace and vigor that Prokofiev poured into his marvelous Romeo and Juliet ballet music, and Garrick Ohlsson is one of the most accomplished and intelligent pianists on the international circuit. But I'm not sure I'd want to hear a violin concerto from the conductor's circle.

Conductors from nowhere

I recently noted that the new conductor of the Chamber Orchestra of Philadelphia, Dirk Brossé, seems determined to get the best out of everything he conducts. The guest conductor for this program, Gianandrea Noseda, belongs to the same school. The Respighi pieces may be the musical equivalent of CinemaScope, but Noseda turned them into first-class, totally enjoyable CinemaScope.

Brossé and the Philadelphia Orchestra's conductor-designate, Yannick Nézet-Séguin, seem to have come out of nowhere. If you peruse their bios, however, you discover that they've accumulated impressive credit lists without establishing themselves as major names. Noseda's bio looks just as noteworthy.

The world seems to be full of youngish conductors competing for star status. That's surely good news for music aficionados worried about leadership transitions. It may mean that our local selection committees have so many good choices that they can't go wrong. It's a situation we ought to relax and enjoy.♦


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