Gustav MAHLER (1860-1911)
Symphony No. 7 in E minor
(1904-1905) [87:40]
Symphony No. 8 in E flat
major, ‘Symphony of a Thousand’ (1906) [97:57]
Symphony No. 9 in D major
(1908-1909) [95:52]
Sally Matthews (soprano) – Magna Peccatrix
Ailish Tynan (soprano) – Una pœnitentium
Sarah Tynan (soprano) – Mater Gloriosa
Sarah Connolly (mezzo) – Mulier Samaritana
Anne-Marie Owens (mezzo) – Maria Ægyptiaca
Stefan Vinke (tenor) – Doctor Marianus
Mark Stone (baritone) – Pater Ecstaticus
Stephen Gadd (bass) – Pater Profundus
Philharmonia Voices; BBC Symphony Chorus; Eton College Chapel Choir
Philharmonia Orchestra/Lorin Maazel
rec. live, May-October 2011, Royal Festival Hall, London, UK
Reviewed as a 24/44.1 download from Hyperion
Records
Pdf booklet includes sung texts and translations
SIGNUM CLASSICS SIGCD362 [6 CDs: 281:29]
Given my bruising encounter with the first instalment of
Lorin Maazel’s Signum Mahler cycle (review)
I quailed at the prospect of listening to this third and final one. Maazel
was never popular with audiences and critics on this side of the Atlantic;
his spats with musicians didn’t endear him to UK orchestras either.
That said, on a good night this divisive maestro could do no wrong. His superb
Philharmonia Mahler Third and his live Concertgebouw Sixth
– the latter part of a centenary box from RCO Live – are ample
proof of that.
Maazel recorded two earlier sets of Mahler symphonies, first with the Wiener
Philharmoniker (CBS/Sony) and then with the New York Phil. I’ve not
heard any of the second, on the NYP's ’s own label, as it wasn’t
widely available; however, I am familiar with his WP performances, and they
range from middling to good. I also have memories of Maazel conducting a pretty
decent ‘Symphony of a Thousand’ at the Royal Albert Hall in 1980.
As for this live Philharmonia cycle it's been issued in three separate boxes;
I missed the middle one, which includes symphonies 4 to 6, but Stephen Francis
Vasta’s damning review
dissuaded me from trying it. That said, I never pass up the chance to hear
Mahler’s Eighth, hence my decision to review this final set.
First up is the Seventh Symphony, which clocks in at a respectable
87 minutes, but it feels a lot longer. That’s hardly an objective critical
yardstick, I know, especially when Otto Klemperer’s classic EMI/Warner
account – which I like very much indeed – plays for 100 minutes.
Maazel, like Leonard Bernstein before him, became very slow in his advancing
years; certainly, the Adagio here is as turgid as it gets. Full marks
to his doughty players, though; they must have thought they’d stumbled
into a life-sucking swamp.
The two Nachtmusik movements are marginally better – there’s
some lovely woodwind playing in both – but it doesn’t take long
for Maazel’s lugubrious manner to reassert itself. It’s hard to
believe this is the same conductor who recorded that taut, electrifying Sixth
in Amsterdam just a few months earlier. Back to the Seventh, and the wall-eyed
Scherzo also succumbs to the conductor’s life- and interest-sapping
pace. Even the Rondo-Finale, which begins well enough, gives up the
ghost after a while. Incidentally, the Signum recording is good, if not spectacular,
with plenty of bass weight and fair perspectives.
This has to be one of the dreariest Mahler Sevenths I’ve ever heard;
it’s perverse and, despite its uncontroversial length, it feels horribly
protracted. There are so many fine alternatives in the catalogue, among them
Claudio Abbado’s warmly expressive and very human Chicago account for
Deutsche Grammophon; then there’s his ‘mighty, long-shadowed’
Lucerne video for Euroarts, although it’s compromised by less-than-stellar
sonics (review).
It’s interesting to compare the two, for one has a softer, sunnier disposition
than the other. Whichever version you prefer Abbado is a sure and steady guide
in this quirkiest of symphonies.
One of the most satisfying Mahler Sevenths out there is Michael Gielen’s
splendid Hänssler account with the SWR Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden und Freiburg
(review).
It’s tempting to dismiss these provincial radio bands, but the passion
and polish of this one is just astonishing. Shortly afterwards Gielen recorded
another Seventh, this time with the Berliner Philharmoniker; that strikes
me as a rather unyielding performance, and it certainly doesn’t supplant
his earlier one in my affections (review).
As it happens Gielen’s two recordings of the Eighth Symphony
(Sony and Hänssler) are also worth hearing. His Mahler has been criticised
in some quarters for being 'grey', but I find his directness most refreshing
after the slug and bloat of late Bernstein and others. And even if Maazel’s
Veni, creator spiritus is unhurried it doesn’t fall into that
last category. The soloists make a solid, well-blended team and there are
more than enough voices in the various choirs. The Festival Hall isn’t
the ideal venue for the piece, but the engineers strike a good balance between
weight and detail; the organ has real presence and the marvellous bells rise
out of the mix with ease. That said, the choral climaxes and the female soloists
in full cry can sound a little fierce at times.
What Maazel may lack in creative fire – he’s no Solti
– he makes up for in wonder; it’s a while since I’ve heard
this opener sound so inward, although John Nott achieved something similar
in his recent Tudor recording (review).
So, a promising start, but then there’s still so much to come. Part
II is otherworldly, its mystic landscapes awash with iridescent colours and
quiet epiphanies. Antoni Wit really emphasises those qualities in his fine
reading for Naxos (review);
indeed, he manages to coax some very unusual sonorities from his orchestra.
Maazel is spellbinding too, and much of the credit for that must go to his
players; they’re as rapt as one could wish.
The stars of this performance are the choruses, who always sound crisp, clear
and utterly engaged; they’re also wonderfully intense when it matters.
What really surprises me though is the feeling of being there; I know it’s
a live recording, but even so there’s a rare sense of total connection
here, of a profound musical experience gratefully shared. I was gripped to
the very end. And what en end it is, a genuine apotheosis so carefully prepared
for and so triumphantly delivered. The soloists seem transported, the choirs
too, and the organ adds its mighty voice to a finale of shattering range and
power.
What an experience that was, and how I wish I’d been in the hall that
night. There are a few truly great recordings of this masterpiece; among them
is Jascha Horenstein’s unforgettable one, recently re-mastered by Pristine.
That said, I’ve rarely been so comprehensively unseam’d by a performance
of this heaven-storming symphony as I was by Maazel’s. It’s not
a perfect reading, but it's so implacable, so revealing, so right
that I’m tempted to say it’s a great one. In that vein don’t
overlook Gustavo Dudamel’s cracking Caracas video; well played and sung
it blazes with extraordinary conviction (review).
It wouldn’t have been wise to segue straight into the Ninth
Symphony after that, and I didn’t. What I did do, though, was
reflect on the conundrum that was Lorin Maazel. One only has to trawl through
his discography to find a number of classic recordings, among them his recently
reissued Sibelius from Vienna (review).
Similarly, one doesn’t have to look too hard to find some ghastly things;
indeed, there’s one right here. Maazel was erratic and terribly arrogant,
but anyone who can deliver a Mahler 8 of this calibre deserves respect, even
if it’s grudgingly given.
There are many excellent recordings of Mahler's Ninth
Symphony, stretching from Bruno Walter's - made with the WP on the
eve of Anschluss in 1938 - through to Sir Mark Elder's, recorded
with the Hallé in 2014 (review).
For a good overview of this - and all the Mahler symphonies - see Tony Duggan's
fine MusicWeb survey.
Among the more recent stand-outs are Alan Gilbert's with the Royal Stockholm
Philharmonic (review)
and Bernard Haitink's with the Concertgebouw; the latter is included in the
RCO box I mentioned earlier. Then there are Abbado's various recordings, but
avoid his disastrous Euroarts video with the Gustav Mahler Jugendorchester
(review);
i'd also steer clear of Gustavo Dudamel (review)
and Iván Fischer (review).
Fans of Otto Klemperer will be pleased to know that his fabled Ninth is in
the same re-mastered box as his Seventh.
The Andante comodo of Maazel's Ninth is a treat; it has a strong
pulse and the Philharmonia are both supple and trenchant. I did wonder whether
dynamic contrasts were a little overdone, but I soon realised they fit well
with his overall conception of the piece. Also, this opener has a wonderful
feeling of surge and retreat, of memories picked up and discarded. Most important,
there’s a sinew and strength to the tuttis that I like very much indeed.
No ineffectual hand-wringing here, this is Mahler at his most confident and
forthright; and that’s just the way it should be played. Then
again, the refined stoicism of Haitink and the RCO in 2011 is very special,
too. In general Maazel's performance is much closer to Gilbert's in shape
and spirit.
I find the Ninth one of the most difficult symphonies to review, not least
because it has so much to say. Not all conductors have the patience to listen
- the brusque, even peremptory, Fischer comes to mind - but Maazel gives Mahler
all the time and space he needs. After all, these are profoundly moving conversations
– angry, tender, defiant, accepting – and it’s usually the
more seasoned Mahlerians who succeed in crafting them into a coherent and
compelling whole. He may be maddening elsewhere, but Maazel really has the
measure of this epic score. Just listen to how he shades and projects the
closing moments of the Andante comodo; the air of quiet summation
here is simply heart-breaking.
As you may have gathered this is a rather good performance. Even though Maazel
is brisker than some in the Ländler-laden second movement he’s
also sharp-eyed; the advantage of such a forensic approach is that no detail
or nuance goes unremarked. I do like Maazel’s robust, no-nonsense way
with this music, which is so much more eventful and engaging than Fischer’s
run-through. Indeed, there’s an ease and affection to the music-making
here that will surprise those who feel Maazel was a chilly old cove at the
best of times. As for the recordng it's not too closely miked - as often happens
with live concerts - so individual timbres and colours are easily discerned.
The skittish woodwinds in (ii) are partciualsrly well caught.
There’s nothing cold-blooded about the Rondo-Burleske, which
has life and lift aplenty. Once again I was struck by the versatility and
skill of these players; both here and in the Adagio they seem able
to draw on a very deep well of inspiration and stamina. The paradox of this
great farewell is that, to paraphrase T. S. Eliot, it's both an end and a
beginning. As with that extraordinary Eighth the audience seems utterly enmeshed
in the unfolding drama. Maazel, at his seamless and finely calibrated best,
delivers a finale of long-breathed loveliness, of evanescent splendour, that
resonates in the mind long after the last notes have faded. Thankfully there's
no applause.
At the risk of sounding facetious I'd say this set subverts
the natural order and proceeds from the ridiculous to the sublime. It's a
tough choice for CD buyers, but downloaders can simply skip the Seventh and
cherry-pick the rest. Hyperion's website is still a joy to use and
Julian Johnson's liner-notes are eminently readable.
A Seventh that should be deep-sixed, coupled with a superb Eighth and Ninth;
in short, typical Maazel.
Dan Morgan
twitter.com/mahlerei
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