SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Chávez, Dvořák and Prokofiev: Gil Shaham (violin), Gustavo Dudamel (conductor), New York Philharmonic, Avery Fisher Hall, New York, 29.11.2007 (BH)

Chávez: Sinfonía india for Large Orchestra (Symphony No. 2; 1935)
Dvořák: Violin Concerto in A minor, Op. 53 (1879; rev. 1880-82)
Prokofiev: Symphony No. 5 in B-flat major, Op. 100 (1944)


So Gustavo Dudamel is human, after all.  Following two knockout concerts with his Simón Bolívar Youth Orchestra of Venezuela two weeks ago, his debut with the New York Philharmonic was one of the hottest tickets in town, and perhaps saddled with almost impossible expectations.  The first night of four was a fascinating evening, if shy of the transcendence and sheer joy that he brought with his young colleagues. 

Comparisons with Bernstein abound, including (I discovered later) the fact that the orchestra had lent Dudamel one of Bernstein’s batons for his stay.  (I wouldn’t be surprised if such a stick had supernatural powers.)  And coincidentally the first work on the program, Chávez’s Sinfonía india, was last performed by the Philharmonic by Bernstein, in 1961.  From the mid-20th century, it is a relentless exploration of Latin folk rhythms, alternately sounding like Stravinsky and Copland, but also with what contemporary ears might hear as a minimal bent, using what the composer called a “musical spiral.”  Unusual for the time, Chávez included indigenous instruments such as the tenabari (a string of butterfly cocoons), grijutian (deer hoofs), and a tlapanhuehuetl (similar to a bass drum).

While it was a perfectly fine performance, ultimately it had an ever-so-slight tentative quality—whether due to opening night jitters (which would be completely understandable) or some other factor, I don’t know.  The good news is that within just a few measures Bernstein’s ghost seemed to be hovering nearby, and the orchestra seemed to be enjoying the pummeling score.  In particular, Dudamel had clearly given much thought to the huge percussion contingent.  By the end, I’m not sure he completely dispelled the feeling that the relentless themes may be too much of a good thing, but never mind, at 13 minutes it doesn’t last too long.

Gil Shaham needs a lot of walking around room, and had a good ten feet or so carved out to the left of the podium, between Dudamel and the first desk of violins.  Perhaps the genial mood of Dvořák's Violin Concerto encouraged him to be more mobile.  It certainly caused Shaham to move right up near the front of the podium, grinning at Dudamel as if to say, “Having a good time, are we?”  Yet for all the good-natured antics, the meandering first movement, the plaintive second and the folkish finale didn’t seem to quite take off.  I heard that later nights fared better.

Conducting without a score, Dudamel had the most success with Prokofiev’s Fifth Symphony, which burst into flame with his youthful urging and fluid hands.  In the opening bars he immediately seemed more in his element, and climaxes had surprising bite.  If sometimes balances were a tad off, hey, he’s twenty-six.  At least two or three people murmured, “He’s got plenty of time to learn about soft parts.”  He found dry humor in the brittle second movement, darting back and forth, and more menace in the slow one, which heaved and lurched between a galumphing brutishness and the many small solos eager for their turns.  The final allegro giocoso was insouciant, filled with acidic moments.  Perhaps primed from the news of the last few months, the audience responded with hoots and bravos.  As long as Dudamel is not sandbagged as classical music’s savior, I think we can expect decades of great music from this audacious young talent, and what could possibly be better news than that?


Bruce Hodges