New York's Dudamel Fever

New York has a touch of Dudamel fever. Three weeks ago, Gustavo Dudamel, the 26-year-old Venezuelan conducting phenom, made his Carnegie Hall debut. That was with his Simón Bolívar Youth Orchestra. And last week, he made his New York Philharmonic debut, making Lincoln Center giddy. He conducted a program of Chávez, Dvořák, and Prokofiev.

Chávez? This was Carlos Chávez, a Mexican composer who lived from 1899 to 1978. Mr. Dudamel and the Philharmonic performed his "Sinfonía india," otherwise known as the Symphony No. 2. Chávez wrote it in 1935, in New York. The Philharmonic had not performed it since 1961, when Leonard Bernstein gave it a go.

The work is pleasant, competent, folkloric. It may remind you of a western's soundtrack. But, in my view, the music soon becomes tedious, and, even though the work takes less than 15 minutes, it feels long. Where Latin American music of this type is concerned, you may prefer two composers who also wrote in New York: Copland ("El Salón México") and Gershwin (the "Cuban Overture").

In any event, on Saturday night, Mr. Dudamel and the Philharmonic did all they could for the Chávez piece. The music benefited from the conductor's exuberance and the orchestra's brilliance. Mr. Dudamel was snappy, alert, kinetic — just as we can expect him to be. And, though the orchestra was brilliant, its sound was not hard, which can be a problem for this group.

Next came a concerto: the Dvořák Violin Concerto, in which the soloist was Gil Shaham. This is not Dvořák's best work, certainly no rival to his Cello Concerto. The first movement is almost shockingly mediocre, and the slow movement's okay. The payoff comes with the third and final movement, a real delight, and, indeed, one of the most popular things in the violin-and-orchestra literature.

Mr. Shaham played the concerto well, with a combination of head and heart. He made beautiful sounds, and demonstrated lyricism. He allowed for Bohemian flavor, but did not lay it on too thick. He had some technical problems, including some poor intonation, but these were hardly worth writing about: This was a live performance, not a studio product.

Musically, you could do a little quarreling: The beginning of the third movement was biggish, when it might have been on tiptoe. But Mr. Shaham gave a fine, committed account of this work. And so did the conductor and orchestra. Mr. Dudamel contributed his energy, particularly to the opening measures, and he was emphatic in his rhythm — a trademark of his.

A word about Mr. Shaham and his physical movements: As usual, he slid around the stage, occasionally looking like Michael Jackson. (And I believe Mr. Shaham is just as smooth.) No player needs a wider berth onstage. Never will you see more yardage between the concertmaster and the podium. You could fit four double basses in there. And Mr. Shaham uses all that space, with his dancing.

Does this serve a violinistic or musical purpose? Or is it just showing off? Whatever the case, it looks cool. And showmanship has its place.

On the second half of the program was a symphony that should be right up Gustavo Dudamel's alley: the Prokofiev Fifth. It is exciting, surprising, hot. And Mr. Dudamel did all right with it.

The first movement was more than all right: It was bracing, involving, riveting — thrilling. The entire movement was superbly judged, and superbly executed. A Venezuelan was leading a New York orchestra, but forget nationality: This was real, real Prokofiev. You could not hear this music better from Kaliningrad to Vladivostok.

The second movement is marked Allegro moderato. And, under Mr. Dudamel, it was Allegro, if not Presto. I believe this music is more effective when more marcato — and more moderato. It does not depend on speed; indeed, speed can rob it of its power. But there is no denying that Mr. Dudamel had an electricity of his own. And he was measured when he most needed to be — bringing off a cuckoo Prokofiev march.

Trouble started in the third movement, marked Adagio. There was nothing wrong with it, except that it was monotonous — unvaried, in a rut. And the finale, though high-energy, and brilliantly played, was ... well, also a little monotonous, spent.

Mr. Dudamel had had this same trouble in Carnegie Hall, conducting Beethoven's Fifth. There seems to be a question of pacing, of structure, of interpretive staying power. But there is no question that Mr. Dudamel has given New York fever, and it is a fine ailment to have.