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Knussen and Mahler: Pinchas Zuckerman (violin), Gustavo Dudamel (conductor), New York Philharmonic, Avery Fisher Hall, New York City, 16.1.2009 (BH)

Knussen: Violin Concerto, Op. 30 (2001-02)
Mahler: Symphony No. 5 (1901-02)


To set the scene: it's 11:00 a.m. on a wintry Friday morning, and the temperature outside is 11 degrees.  Inside a sold-out Avery Fisher Hall the energy is crackling like a fire that has been burning for hours.  What's a bit surprising is the variety of listeners: New York Philharmonic subscribers, eager students, post-holiday tourists who got lucky—all of whom witnessed yet another experience with Gustavo Dudamel, who today chalked up another triumph.

Oliver Knussen's Violin Concerto (from 2002) was written for Pinchas Zuckerman, who first played it in Pittsburgh (a joint commission from the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra and the Philadelphia Orchestra).  Its three sections total 17 minutes.  A single chime stroke introduces the solo violin in high harmonics, before it drifts back to earth and the orchestra enters.  The first two sections are resolutely lyrical, and the final movement is (mostly) in a typical 6/8 "gigue" meter, albeit with a few extra beats here and there, and much of the writing is tonal.  The ending winds down to return with the single chime tone, leaving the solo violin to have the last word, returning to its ghostly harmonic.

Zuckerman played as if it were Brahms, emphasizing the warmth and broad phrasing.  And although I haven't heard Dudamel in much contemporary repertoire, he seemed empathetic with Knussen's romanticism, and the orchestra couldn't have summoned up more finesse.

Dudamel knows Mahler's Fifth Symphony well enough to eschew the score, which he did this morning.  This performance, which had my eyes watering at the end, showed decisively that this magnetic young man is undoubtedly on his way to becoming one of the 21st century's great conductors.  He chose tempi on the slow side, but "slow" never equated to "slack" or, even worse, "boring."  He seemed completely in love with Mahler's orchestration (who can blame him?) and didn't push, but allowed the score to breathe.  In the opening three movements I heard scurrying lines here and there that had somehow never emerged in other readings.  Sure, it's a tribute to the complexity of the piece, but it also points to Dudamel's ability to underline anew with his mental pen.  The great Adagietto was taken more Andante—fine, since drawn out it can seem weepy and self-indulgent.  (A friend of mine once joked about Mahler in general, "Why not swallow a bottle of pills and be done with it?")

The joyous final movement had further revelations, and if here and there the tight fugue seemed to get slightly muddy, there was no doubt that Dudamel had carefully reviewed the score.  His highlights never seemed contrived or unconsidered, and the focus always seemed to be the work itself and how to best make it spring to life for an audience that may have heard it many times over the years. 

During the ecstatic curtain call, with waves of cheering and applause rippling through the house, I couldn't help but notice the reaction from the musicians themselves, many smiling and tapping bows on music stands in the traditional string instrument version of applause. On the way out, I chatted with a young man who had also heard the same program on Wednesday and Thursday nights.  He grinned, "It's gotten better each time."

Bruce Hodges


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