Mahler,    Symphony No 2 in C minor : Karen Cargill (mezzo soprano), Sally Matthews (soprano), London Symphony Choir, London Symphony Orchestra, Michael Tilson-Thomas (conductor) Barbican Hall, London 25.02.2007(AO)



Conductors like Tilson-Thomas attract extreme opinion, good and bad, making it all the more important to listen carefully, without baggage, as you might listen to a conversation.  Performance is after all about interpretation, and each performance is unique.   What was Tilson-Thomas going to say about this monumental symphony? 

The Allegro maestoso was indeed very impressive.  Tilson-Thomas’s interpretation is dramatic, focussing on the contrasts of volume and tempo.  It highlighted the oppressive tension in the music very effectively. The violins seemed to scream like a maddened horde of hornets, the sound then carefully floated into almost imperceptible pianissimo, as the woodwinds and lower strings took precedence. This forthright, dramatic approach was particularly effective in the march-like sections of the movement.  It may be a funeral march, but it doesn’t have to be funereal.  Indeed, this approach surged with powerful forward thrust, as if fate itself was relentlessly propelling the music. It was harrowing.  Haitink’s account of this movement in the 2006 Proms was unusually slow and drawn out, to the extent that the players seemed uncertain of his direction and performed under par.  This time, the same orchestra responded with quickfire alacrity perhaps because Tilson-Thomas’s tempi are more familiar.  The crescendi were explosive, enhanced by the contrast with the calmer “pastoral” themes, such as the flute passages and the superbly evocative solo by the Leader of the first violins. 

As the symphony progressed, however, it became more difficult to follow what Tilson-Thomas was trying to achieve.  The chiaroscuro extremes that made the first movement so effective didn’t develop into nuanced shadings.  The Andante calls for subtle moderation.  Mahler marked it “nie eilen”, (never rushing).  Perhaps Tilson-Thomas was aiming for a more refined approach, but the change of pace derailed what had started out with such a sense of purpose.  It did not pick up momentum even in the third movement, where the Fischpredigt motif can be so invigorating.   Instead, what came across was attention to detail to the extent that overall structure was lost.  It was nice to hear small details like the way the brushes in the percussion took up from the violas, but what would really be interesting would be the way such details integrate into a broader concept.  This is a movement where fluidity counts – literally, as it’s marked in ruhig fliessender Bewegung (calmly flowing).  The Fischpredigt reference also brings to mind the song in which the fishes leap energetically in a fast flowing brook.  They aren’t, however, actually listening to St Anthony, but doing their own thing.  It’s food for thought.

With Urlicht, the symphony reaches another pivotal turning point, the text making explicit its content.  The themes in the vocal parts are so much embedded into the orchestral writing, that the singing serves as a symphonic element as well as being significant on its own terms. Karen Cargill’s Urlicht was well-modulated and nicely balanced with Sally Matthews’s soprano. 

Far less effective were the off stage horns and percussion.  They sounded muffled and unrealistic, but this wasn’t a defect of musicianship: the Barbican just isn’t built for unusual effects like this. The sense of other-worldly spatial dimensions was quite lost.  Fortunately, Tilson-Thomas emphasized other themes more effectively.  He built up the ever-ascending trajectory in the music, and emphasized the references to Das himmliche Leben that recur repeatedly and purposefully.   Yet again his focus in this performance was on contrasts between tempo and volume, forceful climaxes and

lyrical interludes, and on those terms this performance was satisfying enough even if it didn’t have the ecstatic,  inspired intensity of the finest. 

Anne Ozorio