Sarah Chang with the Philadelphia Orchestra

I would be the first person to advocate for musical values over the superficial appearance of celebrity performers, but when Sarah Chang walked out onto the stage in that slinky crimson strapless evening gown, with its taunting little train imbued with glitter, and poutily stationed herself to the left of drop-dead handsome Cristian Măcelaru, it was a moment that augured well for a touch of operatic glam on the concert stage.

The theatrics of the moment were sustained during the entire half-hour during which Dvořák’s brilliant concerto — a concert staple since its premiere in 1883 — flooded the hall with erotic Bohemian harmonies, pulsations, and innuendos. Well, not exactly Bohemian, since the theme of the concert was Romanian with a pinch of Hungarian élan. But close enough.

Under Măcelaru’s energetic baton, the orchestra hurled itself with abandon into Dvořák’s seamless song, shimmering and powerful, as Chang unleashed all the technical wizardry at her command. She has a marvelous range of low, throaty tones that, in the first movement, flew up the fingerboard into pitches so high as to be barely audible. In fact, there was a fleeting moment when violin and French horn blended in a wisp of a melodic line that melted into silence. What grace, what understanding, what complete mastery.

Chang and the conductor seemed to be engaged in a kind of balletic duet, his broad gestures to the musicians complemented by her aggressive bowing, which would suddenly turn lyrical as she swayed backward, her long hair loose. The visual effects were never over the top, but seemed to help the two principals, and indeed the entire orchestra, tap into the special electricity of a work in danger of being overplayed, here freshened and renewed.

Accessible avant-garde

No doubt many in the audience dreaded the next work, a concerto by 20th-century composer György Ligeti. Surprise, surprise: Like Schönberg and others before him, Ligeti had traditionalist roots. The Romanian Concerto (for orchestra) was a delightful four-movement, 12-minute work based on Hungarian folk melodies. The work does have certain signature Ligeti moments, such as mysterious modal — even medieval — progressions, and the sleepy, hollow march of forbidden parallel intervals. The sound was more like Bartók or Kodály than Ligeti, though. (The father of micropolyphony is probably best known to a mass audience for his soundtracks, with eerie sheets of sound, for films by Kubrick [2001], Scorsese [Shutter Island], and others.) The concerto even contains a touch of klezmer from solo violin and clarinet — an homage, no doubt, to Ligeti’s Jewish heritage.

The inclusion of accessible Ligeti had to be a calculated move on the part of the programming committee. Once a listener has been convinced that Ligeti can compose hummable tunes, then it’s only a step over to YouTube to check out his music in film scores. Before you know it, the listener is listening to the master’s more notable compositions, such as the Requiem, Apparitions, and Atmosphères. Just because a composer hails from Transylvania, it doesn’t mean he bites.

Hungarian summer

After intermission came a fresh performance of a work by another composer considered avant garde in his day: Beethoven. The connection of the First Symphony to the concert’s Eastern European theme is tenuous but not nonexistent: Beethoven may have summered with the Brunsvik family in Hungary in 1800, often given as the year of the symphony’s composition.

It’s impossible to say whether the fiery Hungarian spirit influenced Beethoven as he put the finishing touches on the first great symphony since Mozart and Haydn (Haydn’s last symphony dates to 1795). The First was revolutionary in its own time, opening in a foreign key, granting more creative expression to the second violins, pushing the envelope on classical style. Măcelaru led the orchestra with style, wit, and, yes, even more energy in a work of great significance that sadly can fall prey to narcoleptic conductors.

The concert ended with a spirited rendition of the almost lethally familiar Romanian Rhapsody #1 by Enescu, who was one of the great prodigies of Eastern European music. Splendid ensemble playing, brilliant orchestration (three trombones, four trumpets, four French horns, lots of snappy percussion, and two harps, like swans, floating in medias res), and roars of appreciation from the audience. Well played, Philadelphians.