Moving from the fairy dust rising through the mists of Mendelssohn’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream to the furious darkness of Bartók’s Violin Concerto no. 2 feels abrupt. But the pairing of the two works in the first half of Houston Symphony’s program served to enrich and embolden the already bold Bartók. Mozart’s Symphony no. 39 in E flat major, which followed after intermission, could hardly compete.
But this is perhaps because Gilbert Varga held the baton. A British conductor and son of celebrated Hungarian violinist Tibor Varga, he is a perplexing leader to watch – a conductor of some contradiction. He walked out to conduct the Mendelssohn with a warm grin, but he took on a serious gaze as he cast the downbeat for the flutes, his unusually long jacket floating around his hips. One moment he embodied a stricter, more conservative style; the next, his baton would be pointed at the floorboards, circling the air, while his left hand twinkled above over his head. Sometimes during the Mozart, he looked like he was about to waltz, while at other times his feet would be planted firmly with no promise of movement. His distinctive style was difficult to pinpoint: is he carelessly precise, or simply careless, which is another thing altogether? I wonder if the musicians might have struggled to read his vision as well.
It is not that the Mendelssohn was not delightful, as the piece reliably lends itself to be. The skittering strings that come on the heels of the winds captured an ethereal piano dynamic, and the air seemed to jump with the flap of fairies’ wings at dusk. The opening wind motif could have been a little tighter in terms of intonation, but it was still a magical ushering into the forested grove of Shakespearean imagination.
The Mozart was also reliably enjoyable. Much like his grin, Varga pulled a warm sound from the orchestra. The scales running down in the first movement were clean and showed off the skill of each string section as a whole. The thing about Mozart though, is that he is never as innocent as he seems. Under a disguise of unmitigated phrasing, there is a latent cheekiness. Not every performance finds this under layer. The Finale: Allegro broached Mozartian mischief, if only in the flying tempo Varga struck.