Middle and late romanticism blossoms under ISO guest conductor Harada, IVCI laureate Lin

I don't often embed conductors' names in my memory if there's no clear evidence I will see

Keitaro Harada displays a splashy style on the podium.

them in action again, but I made an exception years ago when Keitaro Harada led the Cincinnati Opera production of Missy Mazzoli's "Song from the Uproar."   A striking chamber opera with a theme that's become even more pertinent in the years since  — free choice of individual  identity— the 2017 Cincinnati production was conducted by Harada, a task that he executed faithfully given a piece that must have been difficult to put together. 

Going back to my review (linked above), I was hoping to find blurbable language about Harada, but  I was impressed with him in the context of the production's success, especially the composition and the star's show, mezzo-soprano Abigail Fisher.

So I was prepared to be impressed Friday night by Harada's debut at the Hilbert Circle Theatre, where he conducted the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra in a program of just two works: Dvorak's Violin Concerto in A minor and Rachmaninoff's Symphony No. 2 in E minor.

Richard Lin confirmed his prize-winning stature.

T'he guest soloist was Richard Lin, gold medalist in  the 2018 International Violin Competition of Indianapolis. His return to the Hilbert C'ircle Theatre stage was welcome. And in this concerto he  stood out not only for his technical command, but for his carefully enunciated, rounded phrasing and, in the second movement, emotional commitment that was not just about sounding pretty. 

He was fully supported all along the way by Harada and the orchestra: a repeated phrase in the first movement theme was interpretively matched in the accompaniment, and all tempo adjustments proceeded in perfect coordination.  Demonstrative as his podium manner was, Harada didn't seem to be signaling that the performance was all about him and the orchestra, but rather that no accompaniment detail should just be glided over. In the rondo finale, Lin and Harada displayed the special character of each episode as well as the main theme. In the coda, the soloist's virtuosity shone in firm octave passagework. The audience's response at the end elicited an encore, the cheeky, take-no-prisoners "Funk the String" by Aleksey Igudesman.

In the Rachmaninoff, Harada stirred the orchestra to great heights at every available turn. He showed apt fascination for the dark colors the Russian composer favored; pumping gestures toward the lower strings were frequent. The omission of the first movement in the printed program may have  thrown off some concertgoers, but it was fully evident in Friday's performance. The plethora of melody throughout received wholehearted endorsement, no place more evident than where Rachmaninoff puts one of his most gorgeous melodies in the Trio section of the Scherzo.

The Adagio movement tops that, breathing a quite swoon-worthy atmosphere. It's keyed to a clarinet solo, which was perfect for the honey-smooth playing of the ISO principal clarinetist, David Bellman, the last time the orchestra played the Rachmaninoff Second in 2018. Nowadays that chair is occupied by acting principal Samuel Rothstein. On  Friday he had the requisite tenderness of tone, but with a slightly astringent quality quite suited to the ever-present Russian melancholy and nostalgia that pervades the composition. It can explain the greater prominence given to the English horn, superbly played by Roger Roe, the deeper voiced relative of the oboe, which typically gets a larger share of fine tunes. 

The finale, however, presents Rachmaninoff in a convincing display of high spirits. The ISO performance, guided by Harada's snappy way with rhythm, sounded that unerring note of triumph. One detail in the score always gets to me. Last time it was played here, I found joy, seconding peerless program annotator Michael Steinberg's enthusiasm, in how the mounting excitement is flecked with descending scale patterns, distributed in whole or part, differently colored and paced, around the orchestra. 

What makes that detail so exciting is not just how Rachmaninoff cleverly deploys a commonplace series of notes, but what it all means in context. A descending scale is conventionally a cautionary musical reminder that life has its inevitable disappointments and spates of loss amid the cherished exhilaration. But here the triumph rules the scene, and those downward scale fragments and iterations are inevitably swept along in positive energy. This music now reminds me of the moving reflection of Ralph Waldo Emerson on the death of his favorite son in childhood. "I am defeated every day," the Sage of Concord wrote, "but to victory I am born." Rachmaninoff could hang crepe as well as anyone, but in this symphony he convincingly asserts the value of winning out.