As a student I remember seeing Abravanel’s Mahler LPs at my
local record library, but for some reason I never checked one
out. Those pioneering Vanguard releases have now been repackaged
by Musical Concepts, in a sturdy cardboard box that just manages
to hold 10 discs in paper sleeves and a leaflet containing track
details. As for Abravanel, who led the Utah Symphony for more
than thirty years, he enjoyed a varied musical career in Europe
and the US, both in the opera house and concert hall. His discography
is small but diverse, but his Mahler cycle is the most significant
of all, especially as it was started when Mahler wasn’t the
growth industry he is now.
The First Symphony gets a genial outing, rhythms nicely
judged and orchestral detail well caught. The first movement
isn’t as atmospheric as some, but there’s a pleasing touch of
schmaltz to the string playing that really does underline
the Jewish origins of Mahler’s inspiration. Indeed, there’s
a warmth and affection to Abravanel’s reading that, while lacking
in ultimate thrust and tension, makes for a most engaging listen.
There’s noticeable tape hiss in quieter passages, but the sound
is generally refined and spacious, even in the riotous finale.
Perspectives are natural enough and the playing is just fine;
it’s only in the last movement that the symphony starts to meander.
That said, the closing pages make up for that, the bass drum
present but not overpowering, cymbals, timps and horns suitably
imposing.
I suppose if one had to characterise that performance of the
First Symphony it would be workmanlike; when Abravanel’s cycle
began in 1963 this would have been a solid contender, but by
1974 – when this was recorded – the catalogue was full of far
better versions of the First.
The Second Symphony – recorded seven years earlier –
gets off to an arresting start, Abravanel opting for a swift,
no-nonsense approach to this funeral march. Now this is more
like it; there’s tension aplenty, not to mention a craggy grandeur,
although the sound is much more upfront than it is in the First.
That elusive pulse is there too, the orchestra far more alert
and characterful than before. Only the razored strings and strident
brass are a disappointment, but there’s a compensating weight
and excitement in those thrilling climaxes. Indeed, there’s
a nervous energy that suits this symphony very well, although
some of Mahler’s more luminous writing is lost in this very
direct, propulsive reading. Perhaps that’s why the Andante
isn’t as pliant as it should be, the fierce tuttis robbing the
music of all its charm. The macabre Scherzo is marginally
more successful, with some of that louche string playing I noticed
in the First, but it does seem a tad relentless after a while.
After those bright fanfares and towering tuttis Florence Kopleff’s
expressive, clear-toned Urlicht comes as a welcome respite.
Abravanel racks up the tension thereafter, but there’s a prosaic
quality here that won’t appeal to those who prefer something
a bit more poetic – even mysterious. And with that comes fitful
progress – and some sour brass. The climaxes are superficially
impressive but much too close for my tastes. The choir acquit
themselves well and Beverly Sills and Florence Kopleff are quite
well matched; that said, the performance is becalmed at this
point and never recovers, that glorious conclusion – on the
edge of overload – a relief for all the wrong reasons. What
a pity, as this all started so well.
I was much more encouraged by the gorgeous expanse of sound
at the beginning of the Third Symphony, the timps and
bass drum very crisp, the brass baying across the void. Could
this be the best performance so far? It’s certainly the most
cogently argued, Abravanel keeping the musicians on a tight
rein without sacrificing freshness and spontaneity. There’s
an added frisson to the music-making that I haven’t heard
thus far, the woodwind suitably bucolic. The trombone’s dark
stuttering chords and snare drum are splendid too. It’s only
in the tuttis that the treble becomes a little fierce, but it’s
not nearly as bad as it is in the Resurrection.
With a few exceptions the rest of this symphony lives up to
the promise of the first movement, with plenty of telling detail
and ear-pricking flourishes. Speeds are pretty much ideal, and
while the brass can seem a little untidy their piquancy fits
well with the rude character of this performance as a whole.
The Tempo di Menuetto has more poise and point than I
expected – pizzicato strings superb – the wall-eyed Scherzo
played Ohne Hast as it should be; the silvery posthorn
– not a flügelhorn – is atmospherically distant. As for Christine
Krooskros, her O mensch! is lovely, the orchestral accompaniment
radiant. What a pity that the boys’ chorus is too closely recorded
– and aggressively so – upsetting an otherwise pleasing and
believable balance.
But it’s the hidden reef of the final movement upon which so
many performances tend to founder. Abravanel is wonderfully
spacious and innig – there’s that full-bodied violin
sound again – and one senses he has the symphony’s final destination
firmly in his sights. Abravanel builds his climaxes with great
conviction, Mahler’s long, noble spans beautifully shaped and
projected. Even the bright tuttis can’t detract from the sheer
scale and surge of this great finale, crowned by a horizon-stretching
climax that will take your breath away. Yes, you’ll hear bumps
and thumps in the background – and tape hiss – but that’s hardly
a deal-breaker.
Abravanel’s recording of the Fourth Symphony has the
splendid Ukrainian-born soprano Netania Davrath in the child-heaven
finale. Rest assured, you will find plenty to enjoy and admire
before we reach those celestial uplands. There’s lovely, liquid
woodwind playing in the first movement, but the orchestra is
too closely recorded. And even though ensemble isn’t always
immaculate, the light, skipping character of this music is nicely
caught. The wie ein fiedel sound of the second movement
is also well done and speeds are sensible, with no distracting
mannerisms to speak of.
The Adagio has a warmth and clarity of line – not to
mention a dry-eyed directness – that can’t fail to please. It’s
not always tidy though, and I noticed a tiny bit of break-up
in the left channel at one point – an audible edit, perhaps
– but that matters little when the work ends with Davrath’s
characterful singing. Her diction is clear, and she adopts an
appropriately artless tone, as Mahler directed. A fine, unsentimental
reading of a symphony that easily succumbs to mawkishness. Not
a front-runner perhaps, but worth hearing for Davrath alone.
As we move away from the so-called Wunderhorn symphonies
the skies darken and the landscape becomes less certain. The
Fifth Symphony opens the gates to this new world with
music of startling energy and heft. Certainly, this opening
fanfare is impressive, if not especially expansive, Abravanel
opting for his usual, no-nonsense speeds throughout. There’s
an airiness to the textures that might not appeal to those weaned
on the more trenchant readings of Abbado, but there’s
enough contrast and character to keep one listening. The recording
is remarkably detailed too, nuances easily heard.
Given Abravanel’s general approach it’s not surprising the second
movement lacks the last touch of vehemence. Yes, there are genial
interludes here, but even when they’re assailed by threatening
timps – thrillingly caught, by the way – one isn’t always aware
of the elemental forces at play here. As for the all-too-often-lugubrious
Adagietto, reappraised by Gilbert Kaplan and others,
it’s warmly expressive, if somewhat swooning. The Rondo-Finale
is certainly light on its feet at the outset, but later
I miss the terrifying weight and thrust that Abbado finds in
this music. Once again, the description ‘workmanlike’ springs
to mind.
The terrain of the Sixth Symphony, subtitled Tragic,
is as inhospitable as it gets. Abravanel phrases the grim tread
of the Allegro energico very convincingly indeed. The
bright, analytical sound adds to the sense of music on the edge
of a breakdown. And if it matters to you he opts for Scherzo/Andante,
the former played with splendid bite and brio. The orchestra
really seems to relish these strange, halting tunes, the Andante
being suitably introspective. The latter isn’t as radiant
or as lyrical as it can be, but the finale veers and vacillates
with the best of them. You won’t find the sustained angst and
energy of, say, Boulez, but this remains a compelling conclusion
to a truly bipolar symphony.
The Seventh Symphony, with its spooky night music, is
even more unsettling. It’s also one of the more difficult ones
to balance and bring off, so I wondered what Abravanel – possibly
most comfortable in the early symphonies – would make of it.
The dirge-like opening to the first movement is impressive,
the B-flat tenor horn well caught. There’s plenty of detail
here too. The music is ideally paced, and one senses Abravanel
and his band are fiercely engaged. Indeed, this spacious reading
‘breathes’ in a way I’ve not heard in a long time; it’s remarkable
for a recording made in 1964. As for progress, it’s unhurried
but packed with incident. Just marvellous.
This is shaping up to be a fine Seventh, although some may find
the two Nachtmusik movements a touch leaden at times.
That said, there’s more than enough illumination here to outweigh
such criticism. As for the Scherzo, it’s not as incisive
or as outlandish as it can be, but the Rondo-Finale has
splendid impetus and swagger; what it may lack in tidiness it
compensates for in terms of detail and colour. And despite some
sagging at the centre of the movement and misjudgements by the
timpanist, this is still a decent Seventh, well recorded.
Reading Paul Shoemaker’s review
of the DVD-Audio of the Eighth Symphony I wasn’t
at all sure what to expect. True, this recording must have made
quite an impact back in 1963, but how does it stack up nearly
half a century later? The first movement is slower and more
measured than most, the soloists – drawn from the choirs – quite
well blended. It’s all much too close though, and the forces
sound modest to say the least. There’s not much bass either
– I was expecting rather more heft from the Salt Lake organ
– but definition in the tuttis is pretty good. Otherwise, it’s
just too lumpen for my tastes, with some strange balances and
perspectives along the way. So, if you’re waiting for an ‘aesthetic
orgasm’ – to use Paul’s phrase – you may well be disappointed.
Disengaging from the downsides, this isn’t a bad performance,
it’s just too variable. For instance, the opening of Part II
is well played, but it lacks essential mystery. That said, Abravanel
brings an unexpected warmth and weight to Mahler’s diaphanous
scoring that’s quite appealing; the only problem is that this
impedes progress in a lengthy movement where pulse and momentum
are more important than just about anywhere else in these symphonies.
David Clatworthy’s Ewiger wonnebrand is
typical of the solo singing here; it’s well-drilled but it doesn’t
communicate much beyond the notes. That’s by no means confined
to this performance; indeed, as other recordings of the Eighth
confirm, finding a well-balanced solo team is no easy task.
I was drawn to Stanley Kolk’s heroic efforts in Blicket auf
– his voice has reach and ring – and Abravanel does build tension
rather well. As for the orchestra and choirs, they play and
sing with hushed intensity in the run-up to that all-embracing
blaze of sound. The goose-bump count is surprisingly high at
this point, Abravanel’s steady, expansive finale as transported
as one could wish for. Again the sound is astonishing – just
listen to those terrific cymbals. If only the rest were this
good.
The Ninth Symphony, with its pervasive air of ambiguity
and dissolution, is a mighty peak indeed. Abravanel begins the
ascent well enough, the start of the Andante comodo wonderfully
stoic. This isn’t as gaunt as, say, Klemperer, or as passionate
as Abbado, but the extra warmth is not unwelcome. Abravanel
isn’t one to rush his fences, or to take risks, and perhaps
that’s why this Ninth seems so earthbound at times. Make no
mistake, the Utah orchestra plays with real commitment, producing
sumptuous sounds in Mahler’s more genial episodes; but really
one’s blood ought to freeze in those anguished outbursts, and
it simply doesn’t.
Still, there are some ear-pricking passages, the second-movement
Ländler winningly done, the Rondo-Burleske suitably
sardonic. That’s all very well, but the rest is just too routine.
Take the start of the Adagio, for instance; it’s beautifully
played, haunting even, but Abbado and others sense an emotional
undertow here that eludes Abravanel. That pretty much sums up
this Ninth and, to some extent, the Adagio from the Tenth
Symphony. The latter is also well played, but it’s curiously
disjointed and fails to communicate or convince.
I don’t usually buy box sets – often because I’ve accumulated
all or most of the discs when they were released separately
– but I do recognise that reasonably priced collections offer
newcomers a cheap entrée to music they may not know.
And then there’s nostalgia and/or collectors, the latter keen
to add yet another clutch of Mahler CDs to their already groaning
shelves. For first-timers I’d suggest there’s better value –
and greater satisfaction – to be had elsewhere; for instance,
EMI’s 16-CD Mahler 150TH Anniversary edition offers
much more music in fine, modern performances for roughly the
same money as the Abravanel set. Indeed, Simon Rattle’s 14-CD
box is even better value, at half that price. Which leaves the
collector/compleatist, who’ll want these Utah discs because,
like Everest, they’re there.
I’m pleased I’ve heard these pioneering performances at last.
They’re rather like sculptures, some not quite finished but
with recognisable outlines, while others – the Third and Fourth
symphonies especially – are pretty much complete. In that sense
this box represents an evolving process, and curious listeners/Mahler
buffs might well want it for that alone. As a bonus the original
Vanguard liner-notes, by the likes of Jack Diether and Martin
Bookspan, are available online.
Dan Morgan
CD 1
Symphony No. 1 in D major (1888-1896) [49:08]
rec. 27 May-1 June 1974, Mormon Tabernacle, Salt Lake City,
Utah
CD 2
Symphony No. 2 in C minor ‘Resurrection’ (1888-1894)
[77:21]
Beverly Sills (soprano)
Florence Kopleff (alto)
University of Utah Civic Chorale
rec. 1967, Mormon Tabernacle
CD 3/4
Symphony No. 3 in D minor (1894-1896) [98:15]
Christine Krooskros (alto)
University of Utah Civic Chorale Women’s Voices
Granite School District Boys’ Choir
rec. 3-10 May 1969, Mormon Tabernacle
CD 4
Symphony No. 4 in G minor (1899-1901) [51:25]
Netania Davrath (soprano)
rec. 1968, Mormon Tabernacle
CD 5
Symphony No. 5 in C sharp minor (1901-1902) [61:44]
rec. 27 May-1 June 1974, Mormon Tabernacle
CD 6
Symphony No. 6 in A minor (1903-1904) [70:46]
rec. 27 May-1 June 1974, Mormon Tabernacle
CD 7
Symphony No. 7 in E minor (1904-1905) [78:00]
rec. December 1964, Mormon Tabernacle
CD 8
Symphony No. 8 in E flat major (1906-1907) [75:36]
Janine Crader (soprano), Lynn Owen (soprano), Blanche Christensen
(soprano), Nancy Williams (alto), Marlena Kleinman (alto), Stanley
Kolk (tenor), Malcolm Smith (bass), David Clatworthy (baritone)
University of Utah Choruses
rec. December 1963, Mormon Tabernacle
CD 9/10
Symphony No. 9 in D major (1909-1910) [82:13]
rec. 3-10 May 1969, Mormon Tabernacle
CD 10
Symphony No. 10 in F sharp minor – Adagio (1910) [23:07]
rec. 27 May-1 June 1974, Mormon Tabernacle
Utah Symphony Orchestra/Maurice Abravanel 
