Born in the Soviet
Union in 1927, Gary Bertini and his
family moved to Palestine in the early
1930s. It was in Israel, as it had then
become, that he made his debut as conductor
in 1955 after having studied in Milan
and Paris with, among others, Nadia
Boulanger, Arthur Honegger and Olivier
Messiaen. He held several important
posts in Europe and the US and was principal
conductor of the WDR Symphony Orchestra
in Cologne from 1983 to 1991. After
his death in 2005 the Capriccio label
started issuing a series of recordings
made for West German Radio during that
period. This disc with orchestral songs
by Mahler is part of that series. He
was a versatile conductor and held in
high esteem by critics and public alike.
For some reason he never secured a regular
recording contract with one of the big
companies. Accordingly Capriccio’s initiative
is laudable and it is to be hoped that
the discs will sell in quantities sufficient
to motivate further delving into the
archives.
Gustav Mahler’s music
was central to Bertini (see
his Mahler symphony cycle on EMI)
and even though on a disc like this
it is the singing that comes to the
forefront the qualities that make a
good Mahlerian are to the fore. His
clarity is notable – every strand in
the multi-faceted orchestral fabric
is uncovered, thanks also to the detailed
but atmospheric recordings. Then again
the performances have pin-point articulation
and rhythmic acuity. Finally he has
manifest feeling for the surge of the
music and for the overall Mahlerian
sound.
For these two song-cycles
and the four songs from Des Knaben
Wunderhorn he chose two of the most
distinguished male singers on the international
circuit, and that paid dividends. They
belong to different generations. Swedish
baritone Håkan Hagegård
was 48 at the time and had already an
international career of almost twenty
years behind him. His fame came like
an explosion through Ingmar Bergman’s
filmed Die Zauberflöte in
1975. There he was a superb Papageno,
but he had made his debut at the Stockholm
opera – in that same role – as early
as 1968 when he was only 23. I often
saw him in this and other roles in the
early 1970s. Even then he often gave
song recitals and critics quickly established
him as a "new Fischer-Dieskau".
It is true that his timbre and expressive
phrasing had close resemblances to the
great Berliner – as also had Håkan’s
one-year-older cousin, Erland. The similarities
may be less obvious at this later stage
of his development, but he evidently
retained his lively manner and dynamic
phrasing. Also he was never one to sacrifice
the text for sheer beautiful vocalism.
Like F-D he was a master of ravishing
pianissimo singing, which can be heard
in Das Schildwache Nachtlied
(tr. 12). The first three of these songs
(tr. 10-12) are primarily warlike: they
march, there is warlike percussion and
threatening timpani in Der Tambourg’sell
and trumpet signals – all of it evoking
memories of Gustav Mahler’s childhood
when he lived next door to a regimental
barracks. Hagegård is eager, exuberant
and involved and as always there is
"face" in his singing – most
of all in the humorous Des Antonius
von Padua Fischpredigt, which
is related with tongue in cheek.
Hagegård was
always a true baritone. His younger
colleague Thomas Quasthoff is a third
or something lower and accordingly darker
in timbre. He is alternately designated
as baritone, bass-baritone or bass and
in fact he encompasses all three, which
is a certain sign that he is a bass-baritone.
He can even lighten his voice so much
that one might take him for a tenor.
He has for many years been established
as one of the most important singers
in his range. Here we meet him fairly
early in his career. The springboard
to recognition was probably his First
Prize in the International Music Competition
of the ARD in Munich in 1988.
There is no shortage
of recordings of Lieder eines fahrenden
Gesellen. Quasthoff even recorded
it himself with Pierre Boulez in 2005.
However hearing a singer in his first
prime in this music is always a pleasure.
I noticed that his tempos are almost
identical with Fischer-Dieskau’s in
his recording with Kubelik. Even though
Quasthoff’s reading is in no way a blueprint
of F-D’s it is a good sign, since I
have always regarded his tempos as ideal.
What stands out immediately is the youthful
freshness of Quasthoff’s delivery and
the absolute naturalness of his phrasing.
Ging heut’ Morgen is so filled
with curiosity and joie de vivre:
Wie mir doch die Welt gefällt!
(O how I love the world!) the wayfarer
exclaims; Quasthoff’s voice bubbles
over with high spirits. Quite different
moods permeate Ich hab ein glühend
Messer, where Quasthoff lets loose
his powers – uninhibited yet still with
full control. Die zwei blauen Augen
is pure beauty, sung with soft rounded
tone. He may not challenge Heinrich
Schlusnus’s hardly audible whisper Und
Wel tund Traum! but neither has
anyone else. Quasthoff is not as sophisticated
as F-D but instead he is the more natural,
the emblem of a young singer’s reaction
to a young composer’s first mature work.
Twenty years later
the same composer completed his darkest,
most desperate composition, the bleak
Kindertotenlieder, settings of
Rückert’s gloomy poems. They can
be interpreted in many different ways.
One of my strongest experiences in a
concert hall was Brigitte Fassbaender’s
reading of these songs. No, it wasn’t
a reading, it was a naked, self-exposed
internal monologue, a confession not
directed to the audience, which she
hardly saw – so inward and heart-rending
was it. Her Decca recording with Chailly
conveys something of the same emptiness.
Thomas Quasthoff’s sorrow in the first
song is also very tangible: Ein Lämplein
verlosch in meinem Zelt (A small
lamp has gone out in my dwelling), but
it is controlled; there are no tears.
His tone is darker; this is the bass-baritone.
The third song, Wenn dein Mütterlein
is simple in its friendly talk to the
beloved daughter. Gradually it grows
in intensity but then he is back in
his conversation and the sorrow is again
skinless: Erloschener Freudenschein!
(my light of joy, too soon extinguished!).
In the fourth song, Oft denk ich,
sie sind nur ausgegangen, there
is at least some reconciliation and
he lightens the tone as he repeats Der
Tag ist schön! but the strings
of the orchestra reveal the truth in
their cries of despair. In the last
song, the stormy In diesem Wetter,
he resumes the dark tone, darker
than ever, black as the night in fact.
His magnificent operatic voice brings
out the horrible drama. He reaches reconciliation
once more in the final stanza: "In
this weather, in this storm / they are
resting, as if in their mother’s house
/ not frightened by any tempest /sheltered
by God’s hand." – sung with such
hushed beauty that it hurts.
Thomas Quasthoff may
sing them differently today but even
at this early stage in his career he
had so much insight and his voice had
the scope to express what he wanted
with the utmost accuracy. Old favourites
are still valid but I have definitely
added this new favourite to my Mahler
collection. I have only two grumbles:
there are no texts and translations,
which should be a must for such penetrating
songs, and I wonder if it wouldn’t have
been wiser to present the music in a
different order: it feels like a blow
in the face after the last of the Kindertotenlieder
to be thrown into the boisterous Revelge.
The Wunderhorn songs would have
been a fine opening group. After In
diesem Wetter there should have
been only one alternative: silence!
Göran Forsling
for details
Thomas Quasthoff (bass-baritone) (1–9);
CAPRICCIO
71 124 (SACD) [64:44] 
