Any
performance of a Mahler symphony is an occasion,
but this one had something extra. Before it
even began, a representative of NARAS delivered
the orchestra's Grammy Award for best classical
recording, announced last month, honoring
its 2-CD set with music director Michael Tilson
Thomas of Mahler’s Third coupled with
Kindertotenlieder. Then, after a short
first half of forgettable Beethoven marches
and a Cherubini overture, Tilson Thomas and
the orchestra delivered something unforgettable
of their own, a Mahler Fifth bristling with
brilliant solo turns and glorious ensembles
held together by an interpreter who never
seems to take a false step with Mahler these
days.
Conducting
without a score, Tilson Thomas led a traversal
that was not so much a sustained journey than
a celebration of all the dead ends, wrong
turns and unexpected blazes of sunlight in
Mahler's score. In the Fifth, completed
in 1904 and revised finally in 1907, the composer
of four song-saturated symphonies was searching
for a new direction. He found it, edging closer
to a more dissonant harmonic language, incorporating
a great deal more polyphony and, despite its
more traditional, symmetrical form, the music
goes skidding off into ever more unexpected
byways.
In
a letter to his wife, Alma, Gustav Mahler
wrote, ""Heavens, what is the public
to make of this chaos in which new worlds
are forever being engendered, only to crumble
into ruin the next moment? What are they to
say to this primeval music, this foaming,
roaring, raging sea of sound, to these dancing
stars, to these breathtaking, iridescent,
and flashing breakers?"
Right
from the opening measures, Mahler sets the
tone. An extended solo fanfare, played here
with barely-contained nervous energy by principal
trumpet Glenn Fischtal, leads to an orchestral
explosion that rapidly collapses onto itself,
leading to the statement of the first, highly
lyrical theme by hushed violins. It was an
omen of great things to come that the crash
of the orchestra rocked me back into my seat,
and the violins played that first theme with
such spectral, virtually vibrato-free sound
that they had me leaning forward again.
That
kind of attention to detail showed itself
repeatedly throughout this performance. Especially
intriguing was the astonishing array of timbres
coming from the violin section. At one point,
the violins sustain a note that, a few seconds
later, the horns would pick up and extend
into a long, arching melody. The violins actually
shaded their sound to something almost metallic,
foreshadowing the horns' entry. At another
point, with the strings playing pizzicato,
associate principal bassoon Steven Dibner
entered with a counter melody that had the
same quick attack-and-release sound as the
plucked strings. Musicians often do this.
Dibner got the sound so right, he sounded
like a cello.
The
net effort of all this not only created interesting
effects, but also a palette of sound that
served to glue the music together. With so
many different ideas coming and going in the
score, it can easily seem episodic and unrelated.
These timbre mirrors were part of the solution.
Another part was Tilson Thomas' approach to
tempo relationships. The pulse ebbed and flowed,
but always came to rest with a clear relationship
with what came before and what was coming
afterwards. Phrasing always had shape.
The
results were riveting, especially in the sprawling
scherzo that is the centerpiece of the five-movement
work. The horn section, led by principal Robert
Ward, distinguished itself, not only playing
with accuracy but shaping their sound to make
it round and mellow one moment, nasty and
blaring the next. The famous Adagietto, which
followed, taken at not quite as slow a pace
as often heard, still created a sensation
of hovering quietly. Again, the strings went
for a hollow sound in the quieter sections,
only introducing vibrato in those few measures
when the volume increased to forte, a courageous
and striking effect.
After
all this seriousness and exploration, the
finale refuses to take itself seriously. Several
times it reaches for a climax, only to brush
it aside in favor of music that seems to giggle
behind its hand. The most obvious example
is at the very end. Having spent more than
an hour moving away from the complex key of
C-sharp minor, Mahler finally reaches the
final pages in the sunny, open key of D major.
Even as the brass chorale from the second
movement returns in a gesture of triumph,
intoned brilliantly by massed trumpets, trombones,
tuba and horns, the final measures intrude
with a rapid scurrying and a final whump!
that always reminds me of door slamming. The
orchestra nailed this finish with such vivid
execution half the audience was out of its
seats almost on the rebound.
Audio
evidence of this turbo-charged performance
can be heard the week of March 15 on radio
stations, including those heard on the internet,
that carry the San Francisco Symphony broadcasts.
Harvey
Steiman
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