SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

Rossini, Orbón, Bernstein and Ravel: Gustavo Dudamel (conductor), Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Carnegie Hall, 2.10.2010 (BH)

Rossini: Overture to La gazza ladra (1817)

Orbón: Tres versiones sinfónicas (1953)

Bernstein: Divertimento for Orchestra (1980)

Ravel: Pavane pour une infant défunte (1899)

Ravel: Boléro (1928)

At intermission in this memorable evening with Gustavo Dudamel and the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, my Viennese friend turned and exclaimed, “What has happened to them? I can’t believe it!” That reaction was no doubt echoed throughout Carnegie Hall last night, where this extraordinary conductor and musicians made an extravagantly entertaining evening out of what some might consider relatively lightweight fare. But from the opening Rossini, the evergreen Overture to La gazza ladra, it was clear that something special was happening. With the ensemble’s precision coupled with a huge dynamic range, Dudamel brought out all of Rossini’s sly humor; this was exactly the kind of delicious reading one wants. And the evening only grew more confident from there.

Perhaps most fascinating was the chance to hear Julián Orbón’s Tres versiones sinfónicas, a percussion-infused orchestral showcase not often heard, at least in New York. Spanish-born, Cuban-raised, Orbón studied with Aaron Copland, and the latter’s influence can be felt in the harmonic choices, the rhythmic gallops that evoked El Salón Mexico, and the genial atmosphere. And let me assure any skeptics that with Dudamel’s coaxing, the Viennese players had no trouble transforming themselves into a Latin dance band of the highest order.

But after intermission came for some perhaps the pinnacle of the evening: another rarity, Bernstein’s Divertimento for Orchestra, written in 1980 for the Boston Symphony Orchestra’s 100^th anniversary. The work’s eight sections contain the repeated notes B and C, for “Boston Centenary,” the axis of a smorgasbord of moods and sparkling orchestration. There were smiles onstage when this orchestra transformed itself into a jazz band in “Blues,” with some burnt ochre passages for muted trumpet. And the final movement march offered more merriment, when the piccolo player stood up to offer a solo that would have made Sousa proud.

Ravel’s Pavane pour une infant défunte can sound like treacle in the wrong hands, but as my Viennese pal commented, there wasn’t a single work here that Dudamel did not take seriously. He has a rare ability to find the essence of a score—i.e. what made it exciting in the first place before multiple exposures on television and in cinema—and to transmit this love to listeners with the immediacy of a television evangelist. And that’s exactly what happened in Boléro, which gave us goosebumps. Its implacable tread anchored some of the most gorgeous solos I’ve heard in a long time. The trombonist (again) gave energy to every single note in his phrase, with minute crescendos and decrescendos, and just a whiff of a rakish slide from one note to the next. I wanted to thank him, the flute, oboe, saxophone, clarinet, the harpist chiming in with a two-note pattern—everyone seemed to be playing at full bore with an ease that comes when the ensemble trusts the conductor to let them do what they do best.

As an encore came Johann and Josef Strauss’s Pizzicato Polka—whisper-quiet, demure, slightly silly—with the Vienna strings accompanied by a glockenspiel that sounds like a drunken guest speaking too loudly. It was divine. I was rooting for one more, solely to involve the huge numbers of non-string, non-glockenspiel players in the ensemble, but alas, with a whirl of the concertmaster’s hand, the ensemble got up to leave.

PS. Did I mention that Dudamel conducted the entire program, including the encore, from memory?

Bruce Hodges