Gustav MAHLER (1860-1911)
Symphony No. 9 in D minor (1909) [72:10]
Radio-Sinfonieorchester Stuttgart des SWR/Roger Norrington
rec. live, 5 September 2009, Liederhalle Stuttgart, Beethovensaal
HÄNSSLER CLASSIC CD 93.244 [72:10]
A lot of fuss has been made about Roger Norrington’s recent recordings
of romantic repertoire, and this particular disc has had certain quarters
in reviewing circles very hot under the collar indeed. The main source of
the controversy is Norrington’s decision to use ‘pure tone’,
that is, to do away with vibrato throughout the entire orchestra. This is
something which we’re still used to in most brass playing, less so in
the woodwinds unless you focus entirely on clarinets, but these days composers
who want to stop string players from colouring their sound with a greater
or lesser amount of more or less constant wrist movement is to mark the score
clearly with a firm set of brake blocks: senza vibrato, forbidding
the default setting of warm plushness which characterises the kind or orchestral
string sound we expect today.
So, where is the problem? Critics have issues with Norrington’s historical
basis for this approach. He cites the Vienna Philharmonic recording made in
1938 by Mahler’s assistant Bruno Walter as the end of an era, marking
the finish of the orchestral sound which would supposedly have been familiar
to Beethoven, Brahms, Wagner, Bruckner and the like. There is a certain amount
of scholarship which debunks this view, and it is indeed hard to reconcile
the implied ‘sudden’ rise of vibrato string playing within such
the relatively short WWII period. True, European orchestras were dramatically
altered by the tragic loss of so many Jewish musicians, but any such deep-seated
style and tradition would have been in the purview and leadership of conductors
who straddle both eras. I’ve looked at Bruno Walter on film, admittedly
when he had become a senior figure in the music world, but I don’t see
him bearing down on his string players for using vibrato in Brahms. Have a
look on YouTube and listen to that final Adagio of the historic 1938
Vienna recording if you don’t have the CDs. Blow me down, but I hear
vibrato in those strings, don’t you?There’s arguably not
as much as on some modern recordings but it’s there nonetheless. Earlier
orchestral recordings such as those conducted by Elgar indeed show restraint
in terms of vibrato, but I have the impression this was more the British style
of the period - like that represented by my old flute teacher Gareth Morris,
whose old-school recordings also show a kind of vibrato-free purity. My theory
is that it is probably true that the ‘rise’ of all-embracing vibrato
has been relatively recent, but only in terms of degree. Perhaps we can’t
imagine quite the rich Yves Rocher layers of modern vibrato-volume being applied
when woodwind instruments like the flute were still made of the same kind
of wood as conductor’s moustaches, but the aspiration towards a comparison
between orchestral instruments and the desirable quality of a fine human singing
voice has for a long time been a close one. As with all such things, change
from patchy regional or national stylistic trends would have been accelerated
by the advent of recorded sound, as the widespread export of best-selling
orchestra’s qualities to every corner of the western world set the forces
of sonic homogeneity in motion. You will of course note that my observations
are based entirely on a complete lack of footnotes and academic reference.
It just strikes me that we are looking at extremes, arguments both for and
against pre-war vibrato going too far in their respective opposite directions.
Let me also put up my hand with a confession. As a flute player I am not a
huge fan of excessive and constant vibrato, particularly the wide or relentless
kind which has permanently put me off James Galway’s otherwise brilliant
playing, and many singers in grand opera for that matter. I do however recognise
that vibrato is a necessary part of sonic projection. It can be that quality
in a player’s sound which brings the air and the acoustic to life, and
which can bring a range of warmth and expression to a body of strings. I do
however in the main agree with the position which sees vibrato more an ornamental
quality, to be used as a part of the sound where appropriate but also to be
held in reserve for dramatic or rhetorical effect. Norrington does allow the
solo violin parts in this recording a certain amount of vibrato, differentiating
the qualities of these moments from the main string lines. This works of course,
but these moments boil down to basic accompaniment practice - you would never
have your violins cooking at maximum while a solo line is being played anyway,
and the same moments with Bruno Walter’s 1938 work in a similar way.
One or two preconceptions did concern me from the outset. One is that an orchestra
of now being asked to play in the way claimed for orchestras of yesterday
might be seen as something as a step backwards, by which I mean that the hard-won
qualities of the SWR Radio Symphony Orchestra, placed in the straitjacket
of vibrato-less playing, might suffer any number of negative side-effects.
This is largely disproved by the recording, but I did maintain the feeling
that the withdrawal of this kind of colour hadn’t entirely been filled
by a convincing equality of quality without. The other is that by doing away
with vibrato entirely, we are denied its qualities in terms of musical contrast
and expression at moments of high drama and emotional climax where the sonic
benefits of that widening expansion of sound would seem to be as welcome as
a cold drink on a hot day in the middle of a large desert. In other words:
does this recording work at all?
The answer is a kind of yes and no. With the exposure of the string lines
into this pure sort of phrasing there arises the sometimes surprising advantage
of a kind of bald clarity in Mahler’s contrapuntal writing which we
more often than not miss in more sumptuous readings. Comparing that marvellous
string-rich Adagio finale with the Bruno Walter recording held as the
end of the era it purports to revive however, I find very few similarities.
Norrington creates a kind of ‘chamber consolation’ version of
the music. The qualities of string phrasing throughout the symphony and here
are generated through a not unpleasant mezza di voce shaping of the
notes, but apart from that there’s not much else left to describe. Even
leaving the vast extremes of Bernstein’s Deutsche Grammophon Concertgebouw
recording aside, which comes in at over 10 minutes longer than Norrington’s
19:24 timing, this version of the Adagio is brisk. Sir Georg Solti
takes 24:47 in his 1982 Chicago SO recording on Decca and represents a more
realistic average. With Norrington, the climaxes are effective only because
the dynamics of the brass and percussion are communicated effectively. The
strings contribute very little to the intensity of the whole, their sound
where audible draped like a gauze over the power of the other sections, and
when exposed frequently leaving much to be desired. Take that section where
the strings are left behind with those few sustained notes when the full might
of the brass and winds is taken away at 11:35. Doesn’t all the tension
and excitement just evaporate completely?
For me, such crucial moments fairly swiftly discount this recording from becoming
a realistic recommendation. There are some redeeming features which might
be considered, and I do not agree with the vitriol which has been thrown in
Norrington’s direction from some quarters. For one, this is not a clone
of so many other recordings, trying to out-do famous fore-runners in the same
field. This argument rides dangerously close to the ‘gimmick, stand-out-from-the-crowd’
aspect to this interpretation, but that would be entirely disrespectful to
Roger Norrington’s strongly held views, and this is not what I intend
in such a review as this. As a live performance there are many white-hot moments,
and whenever I’ve played snippets of this recording to relatively non-musical
office colleagues they’ve always still been held by that Mahler spell.
This music really is that good. There are moments of poignant fragility which
are revealed, unexpected points which sometimes encroach on your consciousness,
or which can leap out and make you start revising your opinion of this magnificent
piece all over again. These points will be different for each listener and
I’m not going to list all of mine, but it is more often than not those
areas of textural openness which can be most telling, from all sections of
the orchestra, not only the strings. In some ways the qualities in this recording
almost seem designed to reveal the strengths in others. It’s only when
you start comparing this recording with the likes of Sir John Barbirolli’s
1964 Berlin Philharmonic on EMI that you begin to hear that there is so much
more which can be so much better. My problem is not with the technical achievement
of Norrington’s performance, nor do I have many issues with the quality
of the recording. I’m not even that concerned with the vibrato issue,
where it not for the vacuum it leaves behind in its non-wake. The first thing
I found myself doing on an initial run through was listening out for traces
of vibrato, and finding myself encouraged by the glimmers of expressive content
in the violin and flute solos. Once I had passed that phase I did find I could
enjoy the music for what it was, but each time I’ve come back to examples
of trusted substance such as Barbirolli and Bernstein I discover the music
anew, wondering what I had ever found as positive in this new recording. To
the latter of these comparisons I admit a sentimental attachment as my dad
was in the audience but still, it’s Bernstein who can bring tears to
your eyes, Barbirolli who can make you sit and listen, slack jawed at the
sheer brilliance of it all. Bruno Walter’s historic 1938 recording may
be flawed in terms of technical neatness, but is excitingly intense, making
the music sound raw and modern, which in those days it still was.
These are things I rarely have with Norrington and the SWR orchestra. I relish
his clarity, and appreciate the ‘new look’ Mahler which makes
us re-discover the music in ways other recordings cannot. My only remaining
doubt with regard my own objective integrity was that, soaked as most of us
are with the idea that vibrato = intensity, I was misinterpreting Norrington’s
sound through the musical semantics of my own experience, unable to experience
the leaner and perhaps more direct language of that bygone age because my
expectations have been stained through that lack of purity which is restored
here. Norrington’s own notes say “I hope that listeners to this
recording will realise that the pure tone... does not at all detract from
the impact of the sound, or the passion of the playing. I feel that on the
contrary it can give a touching honesty and realism to Mahler’s music...”
Once again, I don’t feel in a position to disagree with this in principle,
but while I admire this experiment and have listened with great interest and
a degree of enjoyment, I can’t help feeling that we miss part of what
Mahler intended, “the symphony [which] must be like the world.”
Perhaps we do have a glimpse of that world here, but I can’t help feeling
it is only a part of that world, and I can’t resist imagining
what Der Mahler himself would have thought...
....we spent a good hour or so, waiting patiently while Gustav became accustomed
to digital sound, twiddling with the various knobs and buttons of the HiFi
and laughing volubly.
“This is incredible... where, where do you hide the orchestra... they
must be somewhere, it all sounds so real..!”
The serious business was however what he would make of the latest recording
of his last finished symphony.
“...ah, it’s wonderful - it all sounds so clear...”
Mahler was still marvelling, but a measure of impatience was becoming apparent
in his manner. He was conducting the invisible orchestra, but not obtaining
the results he so passionately demanded.
“Gah, naaahhh - come on, I need more life here - this
should be the soul of man being torn from his very being... come on...”
We took a short break, and while the great man’s brow was mopped and
tea was consumed I switched the discs in the machine. Solti and the Chicago
players: that should do the trick, Mahler exotic and abroad - like a robust
fine wine, a survivor on both sides of the Atlantic.
As these new sounds vibrated the atmosphere in the room changed at once, as
if the air had undergone a kind of polarisation. Mahler’s eyes became
misty, and, instead of conducting; trying to draw the imaginary orchestra
in the air, he became an absorbent receptacle. He would shake loose a nervous
tic from time to time but would more often close his eyes, raising his face
to the light, his face sometimes moist with tears.
“...yes, this was not my orchestra, but this is my music...”
Dominy Clements