It’s hard to believe that Riccardo Muti is 76 years-old. It seems like only yesterday that Philadelphians were more interested in talking about his hair than his music-making.

Yes, yes, Muti is the villain that destroyed the “Philadelphia sound.” He believed that Beethoven maybe shouldn’t sound like Mahler. A lot of the old-timers couldn’t handle that.

Also, he wasn’t shy about dressing down the audience if he felt someone had crossed a line, as in applauding after the rousing third movement of Tchaikovsky’s “Pathètique” Symphony. I shudder to think what he would have done had there been cell phones then.

Oddly, the one time an audience member was deliberately confrontational (after a scheduled piece by Varèse was replaced by Prokofiev’s “Classical” Symphony), he merely dropped his arms and waited for the agitator to be carried out.

What I remember most about the Muti era in Philadelphia was concert after concert of amazing Bruckner, Shostakovich and Scriabin, with the shockwaves being sent straight up to the top of the two-dollar-a-ticket amphitheatre at the old, “dry” Academy of Music.

Okay, so he wasn’t a magician like Stokowski, and he wasn’t as user-friendly as Ormandy. Muti had passion wrapped up in the veneer of “authenticity.” He gave lip-service to worshipping at the altar of Toscanini, who claimed deference to “the score.” But in performance, a lot of things can happen, and very few of Muti’s performances were museum pieces.

I confess I haven’t really followed his career in Chicago. They seem to love him there. During important sports milestones, he even leads the symphony while wearing a Blackhawks jersey. I couldn’t imagine him doing something like that during his Philadelphia years, even though there isn’t a city that’s crazier about its teams than Philadelphia.

The overall impression of his departure was one of contentiousness. He didn’t get his new concert hall, though he did begin the push that resulted in the Kimmel Center for the Performing Arts. He wouldn’t have been caught dead going the populist route of “Yannick,” the maestro in our midst, who is all smiles as he gets tattooed in a t-shirt.

There was also some broken china when Muti left La Scala. He made waves when he refused to allow star singers to reprise arias, which had been an ingrained custom following a rapturous reception from the audience. More damagingly, he clashed with the general manager and eventually the musicians. Hey, he’s Italian. They’re all Italian, just about. Grant him some temperament.

And now, suddenly, Riccardo Muti is one of classical music’s old lions. Join me today as we celebrate his birthday with some of his recordings, from 4 to 6 p.m. EDT. “Picture Perfect” will follow at 6 (more on that in a bit), on WWFM – The Classical Network and wwfm.org.

In case you think Muti doesn’t have a sense of humor, check out this fabulous speech as he accepts an honor (Musician of the Year) from Musical America: