Unlucky are the few who are immune to the infectious magic of this music. To my mind, the only reason not to love the Strauss family’s waltzes is their accidental complicity in catapulting the buffoonish André Rieu to fame. 

The Los Angeles Philharmonic – with Gustavo Dudamel at the helm for the final time this summer – gave Johann Strauss, Jr. just the showing he deserves, first with the Overture to Die Fledermaus, and later in the obligatory On the Beautiful Blue Danube. 

These pieces aren’t just notes and rhythms on a page. They’re an attitude – the wink and a smile that accompany an invitation to dance – the slight hiccup on beat three that many presume only the Viennese can do properly, but that, truthfully, is one of the most natural-feeling things on earth. 

Dudamel was just the man for the job. He winked and smiled and hiccupped away, carrying the Overture to Die Fledermaus with a lavishness that would have been overindulgent on any other evening, but that, last night, couldn’t have felt more right. 

Between the two ample helpings of waltz, the Phil served up some decidedly less danceable, but equally decadent musical entrees.   

In violinist Pinchas Zukerman, the Philharmonic found itself an assertive partner for Max Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 1. With Zukerman, you always know what you’re going to get – big sound, big vibrato, and absolutely no nonsense. 

Zukerman approaches the fiddle with an old-school sensibility. There is never an inch of bow wasted, glissandos are permitted – nay, encouraged – and the orchestra serves the will of the soloist, not the other way around. 

There was a time when, I would argue, Zukerman was the greatest living violinist in the world. That time has clearly passed. His technique isn’t what it used to be, and the whole stoic, just-stand-there-and-play thing feels kind of strange in juxtaposition with the highly animated Dudamel.  

But Zukerman’s tone is second to none. His unapologetically gigantic vibrato is nothing short of delicious. And everything he does is big. 

Maybe it was too much. But this was a night for too much. Why not just bask in the sentimentality of it all. 

Two rhapsodies followed intermission, one Romanian, by George Enescu, the other Hungarian, by Franz Liszt. The works – much like Strauss – are musical snapshots of a distinctive time and place. 

Enescu’s bucolic Romanian Rhapsody No. 1 started off slow and a little sloppy, but as things got raucous, it didn’t seem to matter much. Surprises waited around every corner, and Dudamel played them up masterfully. 

In the Hollywood Bowl, where his gestures are blown up on the big-screen, Dudamel doesn’t just direct the orchestra. He directs the audience as well – showing them where to laugh, where to hold their breath, and where to let it all out. This is, truly, what Dudamel does best.    

He kept it up with the orchestral arrangement of Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, a piece that’s recognizable to anyone with a pulse. After a soulful start and a couple of dynamite clarinet solos we got on to the good stuff – you know, the “oh-my-gosh-that’s-the-Bugs-Bunny-song” moment. Shouts of delight could be heard clear across the Bowl.  Even the violin section got a little worked up, finding themselves a good half-beat ahead of their colleagues.   

And just when it seemed like the audience couldn’t get any more excited, Dudamel started talking. The collective shudder of euphoria that accompanied Dudamel’s “farewell for the summer” speech shouldn’t surprise anyone who’s eavesdropped at a Phil concert in the last couple of seasons. Even Dudamel’s detractors (yes, he has some) would agree that Gustavo is beloved in this town. 

Irresistible music was the theme of the evening, and the Phil saved the most irresistible for last. Blue Danube is a classic without rival. Serene, sweet, and sincere, this is a rare breed of music that can elicit smiles, tears, and a whole lot of foot-tapping all at once. Dudamel may have been the star of the evening, but Principal Cellist Peter Stumpf earned the most memorable performance award for a Blue Danube solo that was positively sublime.

It was followed by a lighthearted encore – Strauss’s Pizzicato Polka with Dudamel as a soloist for a few notes on the glockenspiel. The Phil had loads of boisterous fun with all of it, and really, that’s all that can be asked. 

Thinking back on it now, what amazes me most about those annual New Year’s concerts is how the ultra-refined Viennese couldn’t resist swaying along in their seats and nodding their heads to the beat any more than we can. Anyone who took a look around the boxes and bleachers of the Hollywood Bowl last night would have seen it: bobbing heads, tapping feet, and smiles everywhere. 

Music, it would seem, truly is a global language.