TCHAIKOVSKY, AND DRUCKMAN TOO : ANDRE PREVIN FINALLY ROASTS A CHESTNUT

Andre Previn ends the first installment of his tenure as music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic this week with a little modernism, a lot of impressionism, and a much-awaited boon for local lovers of roast chestnuts: the Tchaikovsky Fourth Symphony.

The inevitable parade of guest conductors begins next week, with the resident maestro scheduled to come home only for two weeks in January and two more in March. It will take time, no doubt, for our Philharmonic to become his Philharmonic. Meanwhile, we can count some blessings and indulge in some precarious speculation.

After three weeks at the Music Center, Previn has made certain things clear. Despite all the brouhaha about his deep, dark show-bizzy past, he is a very serious, very subdued musician. He seems to go in for piquant programming. He dares explore the music of the present and makes few concessions to those who favor theatrics on the podium and Pablum on the menu.

He obviously is a strong technician. Already he is doing his considerable best to make the sometimes wayward Philharmonic play with consistent clarity and precision.

He is not altogether happy with the quirky acoustics of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion--acoustics publicly admired by Zubin Mehta but often quietly deplored by others. Some structural changes involving the stage floor and shell are being considered, and Previn is experimenting with new seating arrangements and choir placements.

The winds have been moved forward, for instance, and the violas have switched places with the cellos.

So far, he has impressed with his sane, civil, careful approach to making music. He has suggested that the day of the tempestuous matinee idol on the podium may be reaching its twilight. He has stressed the virtues of a cool head and an analytical mind.

In the process, he has engendered admiration and a welcome sense of security. It is nice knowing that there’s a solid professional in charge. Whether he’ll sustain a crescendo of excitement, however, remains to be heard. His debut performances reflect competence and confidence at virtually every turn. Still, the flashes of inspiration have been somewhat dim.

Previn braved the possible wrath of his ultraconservative flock Thursday by opening with the Los Angeles premiere of Jacob Druckman’s “Aureole.” Written for the New York Philharmonic in 1979, it is a sensitively calculated exploration of orchestral tension and dynamic extension. Druckman is a masterful colorist who illuminates a vast expanse of shimmer and splash in 10 compelling, coherent minutes. The wary subscribers listened quietly and applauded politely.

In Debussy’s “Images pour Orchestre,” allegedly performed complete for the first time by the Philharmonic, Previn stressed transparent textures, soft expressive accents and tidy rhythmic articulation. There was little mist and magic here, but much taste, restraint and instrumental bravado.

The same attributes marked Previn’s unorthodox Tchaikovsky. This conductor obviously does not wear his heart on his sleeve. Perhaps he hides it somewhere deep in a pocket of his penguin suit.

He avoids easy sentimentality as if it were a social disease. He approaches the gushing and swelling rhetoric as if it really were a challenge for elegant introspection. He actually plays Tchaikovsky as if it were Mozart.

Previn inhibits the romantic affect, to a degree, but by understating that affect he also ennobles it--to a degree. It is an interesting if not altogether convincing approach.

In the first three movements, one heard ravishing, whispering pianissimos, subtly manicured and intimately detailed melodic lines, perfect pizzicatos, minutely gauged balances and pervasively suave and mellow sonorities. There was no dawdling, no breast-beating, no noodling, no sighing, no sniffling. There also was no heroic pathos.

Then, in an impeccably executed Allegro con fuoco, Previn let rip with breathless speed that caused his players little apparent discomfort, and with fortissimo outbursts that caused his listeners considerable pain.

The razzle-dazzle finale may have been something of a sonic miscalculation, but it certainly roused the crowd. Noise, speed and crashing climaxes will do it every time.