A MIXED MAHLER 9
CBSO at Symphony Hall ★★★
In the Musical Claptrap Stakes, the race to determine which work has the most egregious nonsense written about it, one contender is furlongs ahead of the rest – Mahler’s Symphony No.9. Mahler may have been superstitious but surely couldn’t have believed in the “curse of the ninth symphony” – invented post hoc by Schoenberg – which allegedly claimed the lives of Beethoven and Bruckner. This dubious assertion was used in last month’s programme on ‘Das Lied von der Erde’ and appears to have been cut-and-pasted into conductor Kazuki Yamada introductory notes where he adds; ‘Mahler expected his death to be very near when he wrote this symphony.” Says who? Not Mahler, who soon started on a tenth symphony with every expectation of finishing it. No, pneumonia and Mahler’s gruelling 8,000 mile round trips to New York to conduct at the Metropolitan Opera were responsible for his death, not compositional hubris. When beginning writing the ninth in the summer of 1909 at his Alpine retreat Mahler began the day with a breakfast of “tea, coffee, butter, honey, eggs, rolls, fruit and poultry,” said the woman who served it, which doesn’t sound like a frail invalid “half in love with easeful Death”, in Keats’s words, avidly quoted by Leonard Bernstein in his explication of the last movement. The symphony’s hesitating opening, he opines, represents the composer’s arrhythmic heartbeat – the symphony as an echocardiogram. Or maybe it’s an orchestrated therapy session about “the five stages of grief” as the pre-concert lecture put it. If this were all the symphony is then it’s not great art which is rooted in the personal but strives for the universal. But this symphony is, so let’s put autobiography, true or feigned, aside and listen to the music.
The CBSO’s contribution was impressive; stupendous power and overwhelming sonority when required, filigree detail, sensitivity and exquisite touches with care lavished on tiny and telling minutiae. I ran out of space making notes on the latter. Those baleful trombones in the opening movement sounding like Leviathan booming from the depths of the ocean; in amidst the sound and fury Mahler has the horn and flute share a moment of calm contemplation; the cor anglais suddenly adding a new shade of melancholy to the wonderful panoply of wind sound; an amusingly wry interjection from the contrabassoon. No caveats here. “Proud to be Birmingham’s Orchestra” is their slogan, believe me that pride is heartily reciprocated.
Of Yamada’s role however I have many reservations. On this showing there was as much Barnum & Bailey as Bruno Walter about his conducting, the cruder aspects of his innate showmanship, the smirking crowd-pleaser, to the fore. The performance began with the crudest of musical segues, a crass miscalculation by Yamada. The last notes of Japanese composer Toru Takemitsu’s short Requiem had barely died away when the first notes of the symphony started, showing a lack of respect for both works. For what? A cheap surprise. Yamada’s forte is showpieces – his CBSO Respighi was a triumph – and the ninth’s two central movements were delivered as tours-de force. The second’s demented deconstructed Ländler was a riot with its farmyard cock crows and bumptious bassoons. The Rondo Burleske equally as good, its parodic skewering of Lehar’s operetta tunes cruelly effective. The emotional depths and weight of the symphony lies in its outer movements. In the Andante comodo, as I’ve said, detail abounded, gems of polished colour – but where was the thread on which to hang these details, to make them cohere? I didn’t get that from Yamada, just a display of lovely moments. Performances of the last movement have become increasingly slower. In 1938 Bruno Walter, Mahler’s friend and acolyte, took just over 18 minutes with the Vienna Philharmonic. In 1989 Bernstein, with the same orchestra, took nearly 30, the final pages the longest deceleration in music. I think Bernstein was wrong but acknowledge his absolute conviction that this is how it must be. Yamada was as slow as Bernstein but I sensed this was a borrowed suit of interpretative clothes, the last bars just milking the music and the audience applause.
Takemitsu’s miniature Requiem for strings, angular, emotionally restrained and elegant was dedicated to the new CBSO Remembers initiative to celebrate the lives of, “friends, members and colleagues from across the industry” who have died during the preceding year. The aim is to make it an annual event and here’s an idea from CBSO Chief Executive Emma Stenning which is worthy of support. Stenning spoke eloquently of a very different departure as double bass player Sally Morgan played in her final concert after 31 years with the CBSO. A “superstar” Stenning called Morgan, not only for her long service but her dedication to helping young people with disabilities and mentoring aspiring players as part of the orchestra’s outreach projects.
Norman Stinchcombe