Riccardo Muti and the CSO thrill a sold-out crowd in Costa Mesa

It seems just like last week that we were all huddled in our homes, double-masked, wiping down our groceries, learning how to make sourdough starter, drenching everything in Purell. And now look at us. Outdoors. Shaking hands. Making our first tentative steps toward the new abnormal. Hats off.

For some of us, those steps are taking us back into the concert hall. No more forcing the majesty of the Western canon into a Zoom meeting and a tinny computer amplifier. Actual people, real instruments.

Just in time, sadly, to bid adieu to Riccardo Muti as music director of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. After 13 years at its helm, he’s stepping down, and as part of his valedictory season, he’s taking the CSO on a seven-city, eight-concert North American tour, with dates in Missouri and Florida to follow.

There’s a very small handful of conductors with his gravitas and international profile. If this truly is his last sweep through the States at the head of the CSO, it was the last opportunity for many of us to hear one of the most successful marriages of conductor and orchestra in our time.

On Jan. 24, the CSO and Muti stopped in Costa Mesa, California — deepest, darkest Orange County — and they brought the Segerstrom Hall audience Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony, Mussorgsky’s Pictures from an Exhibition (the Ravel orchestration, natch) and Liadov’s The Enchanted Lake. The sold-out concert — the first visit from the CSO since 2017 — was presented by the Philharmonic Society of Orange County.

There was plenty of lobby buzz, photographers, animated talk, with more than a few conductors and more than a few critics in attendance. The concert had the feel of an event. It was initially scheduled for 2020, but the pandemic put a stop to that. A few years later, after much heavy lifting, here they were, on that radiant stage. The delay, plus the urgency of seeing Muti and the CSO for one of the last times together on tour, created a real hunger on the part of the region’s most ardent listeners to hear this orchestra in this hall, now.

The concert had the feel of an event. It created a real hunger on the part of the region’s most ardent listeners to hear this orchestra in this hall, now.

Muti began the evening in somber fashion, first taking the microphone and framing the music within the context of the mass shooting that had occurred just days earlier a short drive north: “Every concert should be an enrichment,” he said. “We come with great joy, but we cannot forget the innocent victims of the recent violence. We dedicate this concert to the victims and their families and ask for a moment of silence and meditation. One thought: if the governments around the world forget the importance of culture, violence will increase more and more.”

With that, the audience stood quietly for a minute, and the moment seats were taken, Muti launched into the explosive chord that begins Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony (1812).
 
It’s an awkward aphorism, but I personally stand by it: as far as Beethoven’s symphonies are concerned, nine is fine, eight is great, but seven is heaven. No symphony has given me greater joy, and I will not be taking questions at this time.
 
The Seventh is very familiar territory for all concerned. Muti’s recorded the work at least three times and led the CSO through the complete Beethoven cycle as recently as 2019. That said, the performance didn’t sound routine to these ears. Throughout, it was balanced, crystal-clear, delineated, refined, urgent. The Allegretto moved along at a crisp pace. Too slow, and it can get sludgy and funereal. Not here. The final movement started with a gut punch and never let up. A real thrill ride. Some audience members applauded after each movement; not a cardinal sin, from my perspective, but I thought if they kept it up all night, it was going to get pretty tiring later in the evening during the 10 movements of Pictures.
 
Segerstrom Hall has notorious sightline issues. From the side boxes, the wavy-faced balconies and safety railings obscure much of the stage. Certain seating areas are cramped. Still, there’s no question it has the best acoustics in the region: sensitive, bright, vivid and present. The CSO used the hall with finesse — no stepping on its own toes. Reverberant but not muddy, whispers that drew one in, shouts that rattled the spine. Close your eyes and think of Bonn.
 
Muti has talked about the spirit of gratitude that is ever-present in Beethoven. Certainly, that was present. Gratitude to be back in the hall, gratitude for the CSO’s visit, gratitude for the healing power of music itself.
 
After the intermission, we heard the Liadov. In terms of his placement in the canon, Liadov is much like Paul Dukas; a highly regarded composer with comparatively little output, whose continued popularity rests on a single work. With Dukas, it’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, with Liadov, it’s this beautiful work here, The Enchanted Lake (1909). Serene, full of solitude and mystery, it fixed Liadov’s place in the repertoire absent any other contributions. It was a placid and occasionally unsettling preparation for the Mussorgsky.
 
Pictures received a thrilling performance. It’s a comprehensive, lustrous essay in color, providing plenty of stylistic variety, and the CSO pulled everything out of it. There was crashing, thunderous ensemble work (The Great Gate of Kiev, and I don’t remember hearing it played with more splendor and nobility), and plenty of opportunities for virtuosic solo work (it’s unfair to single out anyone, but at the risk of not acknowledging everyone by name, guest musician James Romain deserves a nod for his haunting saxophone work in The Old Castle).

Following the extended standing ovation, Muti returned to the stage to lead the CSO in an encore, the Intermezzo from Puccini’s Manon Lescaut, prefaced with a brief comment: “This is a small piece, but full of pain, and will help us to be more at peace.”

Mindful of the dedication, it was a mournful but moving benediction to send the audience home.