BeforeMichael Tilson Thomas, and long beforeEsa-Pekka Salonen, there wasHerbert Blomstedt.
Memories of the Swedish conductor's decade as music director of the San Francisco Symphony, which came to a close in 1995, are increasingly the province of longtime observers of this orchestra. But his influence is still felt in the technical power and artistic seriousness with which these players approach the core orchestral repertoire.
Not only that, but Blomstedt himself, at the age of 95, continues to work his magic with the orchestra where he holds the title of Conductor Laureate. He did it again in Davies Symphony Hall on Thursday, Feb. 9, in a superb matinee concert that showed just how much a great conductor can accomplish with only a modicum of physical exertion.
Blomstedt came onstage slowly, supported on the arm of assistant concertmaster Wyatt Underhill (and greeted by a warm standing ovation from his many local admirers). He conducted while seated on a piano bench. His bows were gingerly and minimal.
But once the music began, there was no denying the fervor or forthrightness of Blomstedt's interpretive prowess. When you've spent this many decades immersed in music, studying not only the nature of its secrets but how to convey that understanding to others, the results can be revelatory.
San Francisco Symphony:7:30 p.m. Friday, Feb. 10; 2 p.m. Sunday, Feb. 12. $40-$170. Davies Symphony Hall, 201 Van Ness Ave., S.F. 415-864-6000.www.sfsymphony.org
In Dvorák's Eighth Symphony, which occupied the second half of the program, Blomstedt seemed to pick apart the score's intricacies and then reassemble them in real time into a cohesive and arresting whole. The opening movement offered a perfect balance between muscular boldness and delicate filigree, and the scherzo — a slippery blend of levity and glowering attitude — moved swiftly through its paces.
Most striking of all was the slow movement, graced by Underhill's eloquent violin solos and a powerfully nuanced range of dynamic shadings. In Blomstedt's hands, the finest gradations between soft and loud became a detailed expressive vocabulary.
And all of this was achieved with an array of economical podium gestures — a cue here, a terse wave of the arms there. Even in his younger years, Blomstedt was never a very physically demonstrative conductor; but nowadays he seems to be operating through some kind of mind meld built of sheer experience and authority.
For the first half, Blomstedt brought out the Symphony in D Major, an 1823 work by the little-known Czech composer Jan Václav Vorísek. (This was billed as a Symphony premiere, but it turns out the piece was performed here once before, in 1984.)
Vorisek的寿命几乎是一模一样的Schubert's, even down to his premature death at 34 (in Vorísek's case, from tuberculosis). This symphony, his only major orchestral work, is full of fascinating turns of phrase and harmonic switches; it can often sound like a Czech take on Schubertian ideas.
That's most apparent in the wonderful slow movement, which starts out shrouded in funereal darkness but emerges by the end into a radiant major key. The scherzo, too, darts around harmonically in ways that make this a natural companion piece for the Dvorák.
Unearthing and championing these pieces from the outposts of the 19th century repertoire was always one of Blomstedt's trademark interests, and it's good to see him still at it. It's even more heartening to witness the depth and fortitude he brings to everything he touches. Long may he thrive.
Reach Joshua Kosman:jkosman@sfchronicle.com. Twitter:@JoshuaKosman