Auckland Philharmonia at the Aotea Centre

By WILLIAM DART

Despite the ad-agency silliness of its title, the Auckland Philharmonia's Beethoven Rules concert rewarded us with an evening of sublime music.

For many, this was the chance to hear Joseph Lin, who carried off Michael Hill's big prize last year, and the young American obliged with a generally gripping take on the Violin Concerto.

Lin has a lean, silvery tone which, when it is totally focused, gives full voice to the poetry of the score, especially when the solo violin winds its way around the transparent textures of the second movement.

It was here, in particular, that one appreciated the chamber-music-like finesse that conductor Miguel Harth-Bedoya coaxed from the players.

The other high point for me was the unbridled joyousness which soloist and orchestra brought to the Finale, and the spirited final cadenza seemed to find an echo in the shapely Bach Gavotte which Lin offered us as an encore.

After interval, Harth-Bedoya spoke of the soulfulness of Beethoven, following this up with a searing account of the Egmont Overture with vibrant strings, sharply etched woodwind lines and the sturdiest of horn calls.

The tempi in the composer's Eighth Symphony were scrupulously moderated, which made the tricky twists and turns of the first movement hang together, as they sometimes don't. Maelzel's metronome ticked graciously in the Allegretto and the Minuet revealed a conductor who knows that crucial difference between forte and sforzando.

Two nights later, we were treated to a re-creation of the Latin Spectacular, which won Harth-Bedoya his Emmy a few years back.

Marketed as part of the orchestra's Telecom Pops series, there was a distinctly serious side to much of the programme - Piazzolla's nervy fugato in La muerta del angel and Marquez' mysterious and moody Danzon being just two instances. On the lighter side, we had a ditzy symphonic take on La Cucuracha and the visceral thrill of Francesco Petrozzi serenading us with such Latin chestnuts as O Sole Mio and Granada.

Listening to the Auckland Philharmonia strings revelling in their melodramatic cascades and the brass having great fun punching out what sounded like riffs from every 60s TV theme in existence, I couldn't help but wish that the programme had been a little more adventurous on the pop side. Perhaps Harth-Bedoya could have allowed us to enter the lounge itself, and taste the frisson that only Mr Bachelor-Pad himself, the late Esquivel, can give, instead of just letting us peep in the door while the television was playing and cocktails were being served.