A fill-in shines in the Phil limelight

A winter of cancellations continues. Thursday night, Martha Argerich, recovering from surgery, was out of the Los Angeles Philharmonic’s line-up at Walt Disney Concert Hall. Ingrid Fliter filled in.

The former is perhaps the most exciting pianist before the public. The latter was little known before winning the Gilmore Artist Award in January but now has the most buzz in the business. The Gilmore, given every four years by judges who scour the world checking out pianists who don’t even know they are in the running, hasn’t failed us yet. It discovered the likes of Leif Ove Andsnes and Piotr Anderszewski.

It may not be entirely fair to think of Fliter, who played the originally scheduled First Piano Concerto of Beethoven on Thursday and who has her own distinctive voice, as a younger Argerich. But there are some obvious connections. Like Argerich, Fliter, born in 1973, is from Buenos Aires. Her teachers cited in the program are from the Argerich circle. And Thursday’s conductor, Charles Dutoit, was once married to Argerich and remains one of her most frequent accompanists.

But the most relevant resemblance is that, like Argerich, Fliter appears to be a pianistic force of nature. That evidence comes primarily from two recital recordings made in Amsterdam’s Concertgebouw. One, from 2003, contains incandescent Chopin. The other recital, given last year, includes a performance of Beethoven’s Sonata No. 18, Opus 31, No. 3 that leaps off the page, so exhilarating is her energy and her individual way of accenting syncopations.

The Beethoven concerto in Disney was slightly tamer but nevertheless riveting. It is hard to know whether or not Fliter was comfortable with Dutoit’s taut accompaniment. Argerich gets around it well enough, but Fliter seemed for the most part to be toeing the line. Still, there could be no mistaking her glowing tone or her joyous digging into fast passages. The depth to her lyricism made the slow movement magical. In the Finale, she seemed more at ease, more fluid, able to take pleasure and share it, with each note.

On Aug. 31, she plays the same concerto with Alexander Mickelthwate, the Philharmonic’s assistant conductor, at the Hollywood Bowl. Stay tuned. A wonderful pianist has arrived.

Dutoit surrounded the Beethoven concerto with Mozart’s “Marriage of Figaro” Overture and Prokofiev’s Symphony No. 6, two interesting and curious choices from a curious conductor.

In his 25 years as music director of the Montreal Symphony, he turned a provincial ensemble into a sterling, French-sounding orchestra, better than any in Paris. But he resigned suddenly in rancor, leaving questions about both his future and the health of the ensemble. Montreal moves on with Kent Nagano taking over in the fall, but the prickly musicians continue to strike every chance they get. Dutoit continues to conduct around the world.

Whether intentionally or inadvertently, Dutoit set up a bit of amusing competition with Nagano by programming the “Figaro” Overture. Nagano conducts Mozart’s opera across the street next week. Dutoit’s opening gambit was Mozart played fast, tight and crisp.

Prokofiev’s Sixth also comes with baggage. Although far less popular and more problematic than the composer’s Fifth Symphony, the Sixth was the work Andre Previn chose for his first concert as music director of the Philharmonic in 1985 and then subsequently recorded with the orchestra.

Written in 1947, the Sixth is the most troubling of Prokofiev’s seven symphonies. Prokofiev tried to keep his spirits up, to maintain the mood of peacetime elation, but the times were more bitter than sweet. Angry brass and percussion keep the composer’s lyrical voice in check, and Previn’s manic-depressive performance acutely probed this music’s ambivalence.

There was nothing ambivalent or deeply probing about Dutoit’s brilliant, acidic performance. He simply slapped Prokofiev around. Or maybe he gave Prokofiev the opportunity to do what he didn’t dare, which was slap Stalin around.

At any rate, gloves were off, brass knuckles on, for the brass and percussion punches. If the glistening strings or pungent winds didn’t like it, too bad. The slow movement had an icy chill that all but froze a listener’s bones. Some might call such playing French, but whatever it is, the Philharmonic sounded like it had been given an extraordinary personality remake overnight.

For that, one had to admire Dutoit’s remarkable command of sound. He may have blasted the Disney acoustic a little too hard at the loudest moments, but he also achieved razor-sharp playing that felt as though it were cutting through the air like a dangerously sharp knife.

If Fliter was maybe nervous playing for a conductor like that, who could blame her?