The Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra doesn’t need a star conductor

When the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra in 2009 launched the Digital Concert Hall, a live video streaming platform for its concerts, the orchestra had no particular need to boost its reputation. For decades, the Philharmonic has been the heavyweight champion of the musical world. Founded in 1882, it was led by a procession of prominent figures: Hans von Bülow, Arthur Nikisch, Wilhelm Furtwängler, Herbert von Karajan, Claudio Abbado, Simon Rattle. However, the distinctively Berlin sound—I’ve compared it, over the years, to Rembrandt’s interiors, the Russian men’s chorus, and the deep-focus cinematography—never relied on the soaring powers of any one maestro. In fact, Philharmonic members are likely to wonder whether their conductors have lived up to their level. Rattle, who left in 2018, described them as a company made up of outstanding actors. They are intelligent, argumentative and self-aware. When they are of one mind, the stage knows nothing more powerful.

However, the digital concert hall has had a clear impact: it has humanized an ensemble that can intimidate audiences as much as its conductors. Olaf Manninger, a member of the cello section, came up with the initial idea for the rig, and over the years the setup became increasingly complex, with eight fixed cameras, two control rooms and an array of monitors. During the Philharmonic’s recent American tour, in November, I could tell that some of the spectators around me were regulars in the digital concert hall. “There’s Sarah Willis,” someone might say as the French horns took their seats. “There’s Stefan Durr.” The cameras often focus on the underlying principles, but they also show the collective character of the different sections: the double basses, with their eerily combined pizzicato notes, or the violins, with their blazing tremolos. What sets the Berliners apart from other orchestras is that they seem to delve into each phrase a little more. You can see this as easily as you can hear it.

On the November tour, the Philharmonic gave eight concerts in five cities. One program consists of Rachmaninoff’s Isle of the Dead, Korngold’s Violin Concerto, and Dvošák’s Seventh Symphony; The other was given over to Bruckner’s massive Fifth Symphony. I saw both programs at Carnegie Hall and Bruckner again at Symphony Hall in Boston. The tour took place under turbulent financial circumstances: in Germany, the Berlin Senate announced a cultural budget cut of approximately 12%, affecting the Philharmonic along with many other institutions.

The orchestra deserves to be protected at all costs, because it preserves a unique performing style dating back to the Romantic era. According to this philosophy, perpetuated by Furtwängler, the orchestra should avoid elaborate precision. Instead, it should function as an organic bloc, a crowd of like-minded but not identical voices. This impression of calculated imprecision creates the captivating “Isle of the Dead.” At first, cello, double bass, timpani (Wieland Velzel), and harp (Marie-Pierre Langlamet) established an oar-stroke rhythm that slowed slightly as other instruments joined in and advanced. Yun Tseng, the brilliant young trumpeter who this year took over as co-principal alongside Dohr, delivered a spectral solo that glowed through the mist and then was swallowed up in it. What emerges from such playing is a three-dimensional sound. Sounds are seen in perspective, reach height and depth, and cast shadows.

The cast’s sombre music seems to suit Berliners better. The wandering violin and cello figures at the beginning of Dvořák’s Seventh became a profound and coherent gesture. The downside is the awkwardness intermittent with the carefree dance music. There was a bit of simultaneous swing in the Scherzo and the finale by Dvořák. However, the Korngold Concerto, with Feldfrang as soloist, showed lightness and effectiveness. Frang avoided the sweet tone that had dominated this concerto since Jascha Heifetz gave its premiere in 1947. The orchestra foregrounded the shimmering bells of the harpsichord, celesta, and vibraphone. Clarinetist Mattek Koder, another recent addition to the ranks, enlivened both the symphony and concerto with limpid, bold solos.

As for Bruckner, the Berliner has successfully animated a character often treated as an unsentimental statue. This year, the bicentenary of the composer’s birth, the Philharmonic is holding an expanded Bruckner symposium. By the end of the year, the orchestra will have performed all nine of his numbered symphonies, as well as two of his apprentice works. The fifth, which lasts over seventy minutes, is perhaps the most difficult to execute. It is rigorous and uncompromising, culminating in a finale that piles subject upon subject in towering, sublime sequences. Although the climax always elicits goosebumps, the symphony also contains several menacing stretches of exposed solo writing. The trumpets constantly exchange shapes with the wind with soft dynamics. At Carnegie, Dohr, a legend in the craft, dropped a note or two, and the veteran oboe and clarinet team of Albrecht Mayer and Wenzel Fuchs got momentarily out of sync in the Adagio. Two nights later, in Boston, everything fell into place as the orchestra enjoyed the bright, lush sound of Symphony Hall.

During that second outing, I realized that the Berliners were treating this symphony as a kind of conceptual comedy—not funny per se, but intellectually playful. At the Beginning of the End, Bruckner sets out subjects like pieces of a collection to be assembled. Fox put a sly touch to the descending octaves that oscillate above the repetition of the symphony’s solemn opening. The cello and bass then took up this number with lively force, like a rugby crowd rushing down the field. When the full brass kicked in, they had a glimpse of the liveliness of the band. Adding to the festive atmosphere was the bravura playing of Vincent Vogel, who joined in 2022. Vogel has a way of unleashing Bruckner’s climactic movements at apparent maximum volume and then crescendoing in the final seconds. This go-to-eleven effect isn’t there in the score, but it pays off.

The conductor was Kirill Petrenko, who took over from Rattle in 2019. It may seem like I’ve waited too long to mention something simple to him. In fact, it’s the highest compliment I can think of. Petrenko made crucial decisions in an unobtrusive manner, guiding the orchestra to its best instincts. It seemed to me that his first outings as artistic director were difficult to explain, and his tastes seemed conservative. But Petrenko integrated himself with the Philharmonic to a remarkable degree, and although he was not an expert on new music in the same way as Rattle, he delved into neglected twentieth-century repertoire, focusing on the music of German Jewish immigrants. (Petrenko, who is of Russian and Ukrainian Jewish descent, immigrated to Austria when he was 18.) Watching the digital concert hall, I noticed a playful glint in his eyes. Bruckner’s unexpectedly swinging V bore his signature.

Three days after the Berliners evacuated the Carnegie, the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, another undisputed world-class ensemble, arrived to play two concerts under Klaus Makela, the orchestra’s twenty-eight-year-old appointed principal conductor. One program paired Mahler’s First Symphony with Schoenberg’s “Verklärte Nacht.” The other consists of Ellen Reid’s new poem, “The Cosmic Body,” a richly evocative poem about pregnancy and childbirth; Prokofiev’s Second Violin Concerto, with Lisa Batiashvili as soloist; Rachmaninov’s Second Symphony.

If Petrenko is inconspicuous, there is no escape from Makela. He currently conducts the Oslo Philharmonic Orchestra and the Paris Philharmonic Orchestra. In 2027, he will move to the Concertgebouw and the Chicago Symphony. He has great talent, but his confidence outweighs his experience. He commands the stage with an often unnecessary musical ballet of poking, pointing, bouncing and bending. Although his basic rhythm is lively and clear, he tends to get distracted by side matters, allowing tension to drain away as he dissects some of the woodsy details: prominent harpsichord notes here, artificially pampered string pianos there. Rachmaninoff ran for sixty-four minutes, almost never ending. Mahler had poignant moments as well as groggy moments. The dance sections lack charm. The lyrical passages were soulless. The klezmer loops in the third movement were quite goyish. Makela had a tendency to mishandle balances, resulting in muddled textures and raw climaxes. The Concertgebouw is a historically great Mahler orchestra, yet its playing here sounded strangely monophonic.

Loud applause greeted Carnegie’s performances, and the musicians themselves paid tribute to their future leader. We shouldn’t deny Makela’s arrogant charisma, even if it leaves some of us cold. But what purpose does this kind of maestro worship still serve? Petrenko is following a different path, one that young conductors should emulate. Its appeal is indistinguishable from the appeal of the orchestra itself. His musical profile has not been clouded by taking on countless commitments. This season, he has one opera engagement – ​​a performance of “Der Rosenkavalier” at La Scala – and two weeks of guest performances at the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra and at the National Accademia di Santa Cecilia. Otherwise, he focused his energies on Berlin’s only orchestra. Presumably, this restless monster on the edge of the Tiergarten did not expect anything else. ♦