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September 18, 2017
"It is the most original symphony, I think, of the nineteenth century."
The words are those of Sir Neville Cardus, arguably the finest — and, surely, the most poetic — of twentieth century music critics. (He was also one of the finest ever writers about cricket, but that fact need not detain us.)
He was writing of Mahler's Symphony No.1 and the claim is a remarkable one, given that the nineteenth century more-or-less opened with Beethoven's "Eroica", witnessed the entire symphonic oeuvres of Schubert, Berlioz, Schumann, Mendelssohn, Liszt, Brahms, Dvořák and Bruckner, as well as the earliest symphonies of Sibelius, Nielsen and Mahler himself.
Fifty years ago, when Cardus was writing ("Gustav Mahler His Mind and His Music; The First Five Symphonies" appeared in 1965; no second volume ever appeared) the claim seemed, to many, to be outrageous. Mahler's music was still emerging from the shadows and to many he was still "hysterical", "vulgar" and not to be taken seriously.
Today, of course, we acknowledge that Mahler was a great and hugely influential composer, as well as being one of musical history's greatest orchestrators.
But some of what might seem groundbreaking in the first symphony — the massively expanded orchestra, for example (as Deryck Cooke observed, Mahler was the first to bring the full Wagnerian orchestra to bear on a symphony) — are now known, since the discovery of the 1893/4 manuscript of the symphony in the Yale library, to have been part of the final, 1899, revision.
Nevertheless, there is more than sufficient originality in the symphony to to least bolster Cardus's argument, even if one does not necessarily agree with him.
Incoming Music Director Christian Kluxen and the Victoria Symphony closed their first concert of the season with a superb performance of Mahler's First. Kluxen barely put a foot wrong, although, to stretch the metaphor, there were a few toes out of place.
But to start with the positives: the opening movement began with that extraordinary seven-octave A (nobody had ever opened a symphony quite like that before and the opening is common to all three versions of the work), finely, not to say exquisitely tuned. The opening was as misterioso as one could wish, with superb winds and offstage trumpets.
Kluxen managed the transition into the main body of the movement, with its theme taken from the second song, "Ging heut' morgen übers feld", taken from the almost contemporaneous song cycle Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen, extremely well; indeed the entire movement, which can so easily become a seemingly-interminable ramble passed by in a flash. (Mahler originally dubbed it "Spring without end" and in many hands it is only the last two words which seem relevant.)
The second movement began vigorously and possessed considerable rhythmic impetus. Kluxen indulged in some lovely rubato and even the occasional discreet touch of portamento. Here, as in the first movement, Mahler's repeats were observed.
It was the third movement, with its canonical treatment of "Bruder Martin" (the German equivalent of "Frère Jacques") and injections of "Klezmer" music which most offended the audiences at the first performances at which Mahler was accused, and not for the last time, of "vulgarity".
Again Mahler's quotes the Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen, this time the final song, "Die zwei blauen Augen von meinem Schatz", in the central, almost static section of the movement. The strings were particularly lovely here, particular the two solo violins of Terence Tam and Christi Meyers.
The bang which launches the finale caused one audience member who had apparently dozed off at the 1889 premiere in Budapest, to sit up abruptly and drop her purse onto the floor.
Although we are expecting it now, it still take the breath away and was, as was the entire movement, tremendously exciting.
Throughout the work the orchestra played as well as, if not better than, I've ever heard them: strings (although a few more would not have gone amiss) were full and verging on the sumptuous, winds full of character and life, brass sonorous and fulsome. And the percussion, when required, was almost seismic in its impact.
I must just mention those few misplaced toes to which I alluded earlier.
The opening of the symphony was perhaps not quite soft enough; at the beginning of the second movement while I did enjoy the weightily exaggerated strings, I also felt that the exaggeration was so extreme that the enforced acceleration to the movement's true tempo seemed inelegantly rushed (Kluxen did the same with the repeat, but not the reprise after the trio).
Quite what justification there was for having the solo doublebass "Bruder Martin" played by the entire section I am not sure. It was rumoured that Kluxen had examined Mahler's own copy of the score, which he used in New York, and possibly that was the source — Mahler was seldom averse to amending his own scoring according to the acoustics of a particular hall and even went so far, in his farewell to Paris, to perform the "Resurrection" symphony with pairs of soloists.
Whatever the justification and despite the fact that the basses played it well (which, just possibly, was not the original intention), for me it did not work.
But the one point at which I really would take issue was Kluxen's (unmarked) accelerando in the final coda. I'll put it down to youthful (over)enthusiam. True, I have heard it done far worse, but the close of the symphony truly works much better, and is actually far more thrilling, if taken at a steady tempo.
It was perhaps these final bars which prevented me from joining those many audience members who rose to their feet at the end (we'll pass lightly over those few who felt it appropriate to give Kluxen a standing ovation as he walked onto the stage at the beginning of the concert, before he had conducted a single note).
But this I will say: for 99.9% of its duration this was a performance which reminded me just why I fell in love with Mahler's music, over fifty years ago now.
Bravo!
I have often wondered why there is so much more piano music, comparatively speaking, for the left hand alone rather than the right. Indeed, the only right hand piece I can think of, off the top of my head, is the second of Charles-Valentin Alkan's Trois Grandes Études, Op.76, and even that is preceded by an etude for the left hand alone.
By the time that Paul Wittgenstein (who had lost his right arm in World War I) commissioned Maurice Ravel to write him a concerto there was a wealth of left-hand material for Ravel to study: not just the Alkan, but also those of Leopold Godowsky's Studies after Chopin which he arranged for the left hand alone — twenty-two in total.
Wittgenstein also commissioned music from Britten, Hindemith, Korngold, Prokofiev and Richard Strauss, but it is only Ravel's concerto which has established a foothold in the repertoire, albeit not such a firm one as its sibling, the G major concerto.
Stewart Goodyear was a first-rate soloist in Monday's performance of the Left Hand Concerto.
After the lengthy orchestral introduction, beautifully shaped, its long crescendo ominous and pregnant, ultimately leading us from the darkness of the first bars (with wonderfully bovine contrabassoon from Liz Gowen) to the light of the soloist's first entry.
Goodyear certainly grabbed the attention with his entry and never let go. His tonal palette was rich and varied and he brought considerable power to the louder passages, without that tone ever harshening.
His contouring of the two lengthy cadenzas was extremely effective and brought out connections, which are not always as clear, with other music by Ravel — most notably, in the second cadenza, there were hints of Ondine from Gaspard de la Nuit, or perhaps the Jeux d'eau.
While I doubt that the left hand concerto will ever replace the G major in my own affections, this was certainly a performance to make one take it seriously.
The evening opened with Jared Miller's 'Buzzer Beater' "SESQUIE for Canada's 150th Anniversary", a commission receiving its first performance.
Miller tells us that the music is a depiction of the final two minutes of a basketball game. In my preview I (foolishly) wrote "surely it will be longer than that?"
If anything, it was shorter.
Certainly, from the opening horn blast (think motor, not French) to the final bang the music seemed to take virtually no time at all.
The keyword here, I think, is "fun"; certainly the musicians seemed to be enjoying themselves (and how often does one see a percussion section which includes a whistle and a basketball?) and the audience, chuckling throughout, rewarded the close with an outburst of laughter mixed in with the applause.
Miller handled his forces very well, the bouncy syncopation of the first section was great — that word again — fun, it was extremely well played and a fine way to open a superb evening of music making.
Tonight launched the Victoria Symphony on a new era and the auspices look more than good.
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