New York
Before Gustavo Dudamel's arrival this week, members of the New York Philharmonic -- the orchestra known as the "conductor eater" -- e-mailed one another that YouTube video clip of the young maestro, the rollicking one in which he leads his Venezuelan youth orchestra in some of Leonard Bernstein's "West Side Story" score, with the musicians rising from their seats to shout "Mambo!" twirling their horns and finally dancing with their instruments in hand.
"That made the rounds," said Carter Brey, the Philharmonic's ever-elegant principal cello player, who quickly added, "I would love to get up and dance. I'd love to mambo."
Brey was carrying a takeout cup of coffee through the employee entrance of Lincoln Center's Avery Fisher Hall during a break in rehearsal Wednesday morning, a day before the 26-year-old Dudamel's official debut as guest conductor of the 165-year-old orchestra.
This was the players' second rehearsal with the future music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic; on Tuesday, he had been introduced to the New York musicians by their usual leader, a man who knows something about conducting prodigies, 76-year-old Lorin Maazel, who first took the podium at 8 and was holding forth in the Hollywood Bowl a year later. Then Dudamel told them how honored he was to be here and suggested they basically ignore his behavior for the first few minutes, "because my hands will be shaking," as one player recalled the remark.
Perhaps he was nervous, or perhaps merely disarming his elders. By Wednesday, there certainly was no quiver in Dudamel's hand or voice as he took the New York Phil through the final movement of Prokofiev's Symphony No. 5, the culminating piece of the concerts scheduled through the weekend, then Tuesday night. Sometimes his instructions were broad ("More dramatic, put all your soul in this place") but other times micro, as when he used his baton to demonstrate the bowing he wanted from the strings. He showed them his Whirling Dervish conducting style too -- he didn't hold that back for lack of an audience. At one point, his left hand became a blur, thrusting toward the violins like a Vegas blackjack dealer dishing out cards in hyper-speed. A couple of times he leaned far back on the podium, as if about to do the limbo under the bar keeping him from tumbling into the orchestra section of the Philharmonic's home auditorium.
