MUSIC REVIEW : From Israel With the Mighty Mehta

Lots of symphony orchestras sound the same in this homogenized, impersonal age. Lots of orchestras play with ample brilliance yet precious little character.

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There’s no mistaking the tone of the Israel Philharmonic, however, under its longtime boss, Zubin Mehta. Even when blanketed by the mushy electronic acoustics at Hollywood Bowl, this ensemble declares--no, blares--its unique identity.

Listen to those hearty strings throbbing in unison. Listen to that brash brass section. Listen to the plangent twang of those winds. Listen to that thick, warm, robust blend of disparate elements.

Some call it opulent. Others call it tubby.

In either case, the orchestra that held forth at Cahuenga Pass on Tuesday sounded nothing at all like our relatively lean and mean Philharmonic--the Salonen Philharmonic--which was taking a well-earned week off. For better or worse, the Israel Philharmonic is Mehta’s orchestra, and, as such, an organization that savors the heroic gesture as well as the indulgent affect.

Not much seems to have changed in the four years since the Israelis last visited the Music Center or, for that matter, in the six since they last invaded the wide open spaces of the Bowl. This remains an old-fashioned, old-world orchestra that plays with grandiose authority most of the time and with meticulous precision some of the time.

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The beginning of Tuesday’s program, the first of three in a row, was not particularly promising. After the obligatory “Star-Spangled Banner” (replete with imaginative brass-fanfares) and “Hatikva,” Mehta chose Weber’s “Euryanthe” overture as a warm-up exercise. It isn’t a long or especially demanding piece, but it can be revealing. On this occasion, the romantic rhetoric emerged tough and harsh, the phrasing neither supple nor subtle.

Matters improved considerably in Prokofiev’s still-daunting Piano Concerto No. 2, first performed in 1913 and revised a decade later. Yefim Bronfman thundered with unflagging stamina and astonishing dexterity through the soloist’s diabolical obstacle course. Mehta provided brisk, taut, eminently sympathetic collaboration on the podium. The Israel Philharmonic didn’t exude the cool objectivity one may expect in this music, but the players reinforced the percussive rhetoric with their own brand of gutsy conviction.

With Mehta’s propulsive guidance, they turned after intermission to the expressive flights of Sibelius’ Second Symphony. The maestro luxuriated, quite effectively, in the contrasts between swooning lyricism and bigger-than-life drama. He succumbed to the dangers of overstatement only in the bombastic climaxes of a final allegretto moderato that really wasn’t moderate at all.

This turned out to be a great night for surface passion. It wasn’t a great night for introspection.

An audience officially tabulated at 10,216 applauded at every Luftpause despite the lack of encouragement from the stage. The unfriendly skies yielded at least four aeronautical intrusions.