Mahler Symphony no 7 Rattle Berlin Philharmonic Boulez Prom

Sir Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra in Prom 64 at the Royal Albert Hall.  Mahler Symphony no 7 and Boulez Éclat (1965) a musically judicious pairing that enhances both works. But first the newsworthy bit!  Lines round the block at the Royal Albert Hall, the hottest ticket in town.  . Rattle is a National Treasure, as the Japanese honour people who've changed the world around them.  Rattle transformed the CBSO and galvanized British music as a whole. He championed music we now take for granted as mainstream, but wasn't 35 years ago.  He's an amazing communicator, his enthusiasm motivated by love. As Claudio Abbado said "What  drives me is the love of my job, and the passion for things I find inspiring, when I get a chance to immerse myself , to deepen my knowledge of a score, or a book.......if I can deepen that knowledge, I will always do so...  the starting point is always love".  Very different conductors, but the same basic motivation, one which uncreative minds often do not comprehend.

The equivocal nature of Mahler’s Seventh Symphony makes interpretation elusive.  Clues are embedded in the orchestration, so for listeners, as well as for performers, it's a test of sensitivity and musical nous.  If a "symphony contains the world", why not? This isn't a piece where “received wisdom” has any place.  The tuba calls, then the winds and smaller brass, and the symphony gets underway with the figures inspired by the sound of oars rowing across a lake.  Stillness, yet also a sense of purposeful forward thrust.  Though there are chords which scream turbulence, the mood is "risoluto", resolutely unperturbed.  Here, the finesse of the Berlin Philharmonic paid dividends. It takes skill to hold a coherent line and shape it so well.   When the tuba returned, strings glistening around it, I felt as if the symphony was somehow expressing movement in time, past, present and future seamlessly together. Hence the silvery trumpets calling us forwards.

The famous horn call with which the first Nachtmusik  begins was suitably expansive, but I was fascinated, too, by the way the Berliners can do subtle detail: quiet bowing and plucking, suggesting mystery, images half-heard, half felt as if hidden in darkness.  At night, the subconscious is released and thoughts run free.  Hence the Scherzo, often described as a nightmare parody of a waltz.  Rattle and the Berliners don't need to scream out "spooks". Instead a quiet violin suggesting a quirky loner, but not a madman, since the part is too integrated to represent  selfish ego.

An important insight, since the very structure of this symphony suggests equanimity not psychosis.   The two Nachtmusiks surround the Scherzo, like oars around a boat,  firmly keep it afloat, reaffirming the sense of duality in the symphony throughout.   In the second Nachtmusik, the concept is furthered by the pairing of mandolin and guitar, referring to troubadours serenading  lovers, possibly unseen in the night.  In many ways, this gentle movement is the human heart of the symphony and the clue to the real soul of Mahler, so often missed these days by notions that Mahler should be loud and neurotic.  Rarely have I heard the final passages on clarinet so well defined, oscillating with haunting magic.  Horns and tubas may grab attention, but these tiny, fragile moments are, in this interpretation, the heart of the symphony.  When the Rondo Finale bursts forth after this stillness, the contrast is shocking, but that, too, I think, is evidence of the subtlety of Mahler's mind and of the idea of hidden mystery that makes this symphony so intriguing.  The sudden switch might be Mahler's way of hiding his sensitivity from the world, much in the way people joke about things that hurt, deflecting attention.

Donald Mitchell wrote of the Rondo-Finale that “the violent, unprepared contrast is akin to parting the curtains in a dark room and finding oneself dazzled by brilliant sunlight”.  Perhaps the sudden glare drives away fear, but not, I think, what we've learned from the ambiguities of the night.  The brass are back, timpani and percussion pound and the orchestra erupts in full flow. A delicious flourish, then an adamant cutting off.What to make of this miniature at the end of a long(ish) symphony? Is it a wail of thwarted rage, or is it a last, sardonic laugh, suggesting the triumph of life?  From what we now know of Mahler the man and composer, I'm inclined to go with Rattle's life-affirming confidence.

And back to Boulez Éclat with which the programme began. It uses only 15 instruments, and lasts  eleven minutes.  Not actually so very different from Mahler, who used large ensembles but created music of chamber-like clarity.  Furthermore, Boulez employs guitar and mandolin, just as Mahler did, with piano, celeste, and  vibraphone. For me, the connection between the two pieces lies also in the way they  explore ambiguities and planes of sound, turning suddenly as if the music itself were a living organism.  Éclat shimmers with beautiful lines,bell-like oscillations suggesting purity and freshness,  the lines always alert to transformative change.   It's mysterious, too, exploring its way through sound.  Boulez learned, from Messaien, how to observe quietly, without rushing to impose judgement. In Éclat, we can sense thoughtful observation, as if Boulez were drawing his ideas from watching the movement of birds.  An immensely delicate piece, but with parallels to the contemplative passages in Mahler 7 and its mood of secret mystery.

I first heard Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic do this programme in the Philharmonie, where the acoustic is better than in the Royal Albert Hall, even if the Proms atmosphere is more electric.   At the Prom, the final movement had maximum impact, so devastating it might have lifted the roof. If the more subtle detail (like the clarinet at the end of Nachtmusik II), was lost,  no-one's going to forget that Finale! A friend sent me a video of the applause, shot from way above the stage. Six thousand people clapping and stomping their feet in unison.  Later, I listened again and caught Rattle's short interview about the connections between  Éclat and Mahler 7th. Very revealing, perceptive, and definitely worth hearing. 

Please also read :
Poetic Thoughts : Mahler Symphony no 8 Chailly, Lucerne Festival
Spiritual Mahler 3 Haitink Proms
Blazingly relevant : Mahler 1 Salonen Proms

Abbado Mahler 7 Lucerne Festival

The equivocal nature of Mahler’s Seventh Symphony makes performers respond in an individual way. It is as if Mahler is setting a challenge that will separate the creative from the conformists. In the same way, it is a challenge for listeners. Can they follow the interpretation? Can they feel what the performer is trying to express? There are no “right” answers : the challenge is in the process. As E M Forster said, “Only connect”. Sometimes when I listen to this symphony I think of Mahler with his uncompromising intellect and originality, looking at us, with a grin, whispering “Only connect”.

This is what I wrote about Claudio Abbado conducting the Lucerne Festival Orchestra in Mahler's Symphony no 7 in 2005.  It's also available on download from medici.tv.medici.tv

What then is Abbado expressing? This version has the conductor working with the Lucerne Festival Orchestra, an orchestra hand picked from among the finest musicians in Europe. The great names are here - Kolja Blacher, Antonello Manacorda, Albrecht Mayer, Sabine Meyer and her Bläserensemble, members of the Hagen and Alban Berg Quartets, members of the Mahler Chamber Orchestra. Abbado has worked with them individually and collectively many times, and they know each other well. Coming together to play is an exhilarating experience, all the more stimulating because it is a seasonal event, rather than a regular fixture. This gives the performance a wonderful blend of precision and spontaneity: these are musicians at the peak, technically, playing for the sheer enjoyment of being together and sharing their love of the music. This means Abbado can create an unusually acute, chamber-like performance.

It is the refinement and sensitivity of this interpretation that is refreshing. Abbado recorded this in May 2001 with the Berlin Philharmonic, when he was their chief conductor. That performance was assured and expansive, making the most of the Berliners feel for the grand scale. Although many of the Berlin players are on the Lucerne Orchestra too, Abbado has chosen a very different, more sophisticated approach. The famed figure on posthorn that signals the opening asserts itself, but leads naturally into the ensemble, without overly dominating. This chamber approach enhances details like the flurries in the exposition, warning, perhaps, of “night winds” to come. What is even more striking, though, is the expert precision with which these players respond to the conductor. They switch from the march theme to strings as if they were a single organism. Playing of this calibre is exciting, particularly when you appreciate just how many players are involved.

Abbado takes the march theme not as a rigid militarist march but as something crisper, and faster paced. It is less tied to 19th century reality, and becomes more abstract, more timeless. In the first Nachtmusik, the horns are exquisite, expressly like alpine horns ushering in nightfall. The movement has a duality like that between night and day, darkness and light. Yet, as in the first movement, the music moves forward to the scurrying sounds of clarinets and pizzicato strings. The swirling motifs in the Scherzo cut off with breathtaking suddenness. They deliberately unsettle any complacency. This same unsentimentality illuminates the second Nachtmusik. Serenading mandolins and guitars are typical Romantic cliché. Yet again, this orchestra lifts the movement out of the 19th century with its clean, modern sound. Lush, resonantly mysterious playing is a given, but then Abbado puts finger to mouth, indicating gradual silence. The music softens into a strange but convincing combination of understated yet precise playing.

In contrast, the Rondo Finale is even more electric. In his notes to the recording, Donald Mitchell states; “The violent, unprepared contrast is akin to parting the curtains in a dark room and finding oneself dazzled by brilliant sunlight”. It’s an ambiguous, contradictory movement, but what stands out is its powerful sense of energy. This is where a crack orchestra like this proves its worth. The precise, vivid commitment of this playing carries all with it. This is its excitement. There’s no place here for sloppy blurred playing. There is no need for the composer to resolve the ambiguities of the night, which are part of nature.

Mahler throws himself into the light as if in an act of faith. The Lucerne Orchestra explodes with sheer exhilaration. It’s glorious. Abbado shines with happiness and clutches his chest – an unconscious gesture, but one which for me was incredibly poignant. Life is fragile, but Mahler lived it fully and passionately. He wrote the equivocal Nachtmusiks before the rest of the symphony. Perhaps then the Finale is, like Urlicht in the Second Symphony, or the Finale in the Eighth, a statement of faith in life itself? I don’t know. But this performance certainly had me thinking on new lines, the sign of a truly original and thought-provoking interpretation. One day, perhaps, when audiences become more attuned to modern approaches to Mahler, the Lucerne Festival concerts will be appreciated for their role in developing Mahler performance practice.

Please also read about Ingo Metzmacher's Mahler 7 at the Proms 2010, That was wonderful, too, because Metzmacher and DSO Berlin make a virtue of the contradictions, a good flow between the contrasting moods, the crazy distortions which made people call this the "Symphony of the NIght". Plrease keep coming back to this site if you like Mahler, he's been the lodestone of my life for many years. I remember Des Knaben Wunderhorn Dietrich Fischer Dieskau/Elisabeth Schwarzkopf when it came out! But I was pretty young then.

Insightful Mahler 7 Metzmacher Prom 34

Interpretively, Mahler's Seventh Symphony is intriguing. Ingo Metzmacher's Mahler 7 at Prom 34 penetrates depths rarely accessed. If "a symphony contains the world", contradiction is fundamental. Metzmacher goes straight for the contradiction and reveals so much about the innate nature of Mahler's idiom that it bears thoughtful, careful relistening.

Of all Mahler’s symphonies, Symphony no 7 is controversial because there are many scattered clues as to its interpretation, some wildly conflicting. It 's emotionally ambivalent,  hence the variations in performance practice. This is not a symphony where “received wisdom” has any place.

The opening bars were inspired by the sound of oars, on a boat being rowed across a lake. Immediately an idea of duality is established,  bassoons paired with horns, their music echoed by strings and lighter winds. The "oars" gently give way to a slow march which will later develop in full, manic force. If the horns sounded slightly sour, this was no demerit, for distortion pervades this whole symphony, where all is heard under cover of night. Beneath the gentle surface flow disturbing undercurrents.

Metzmacher conducts with real aplomb, rather, I suspect, like Mahler did himself (see picture). He smiles, and rounds his fist in huge, expansive gestures, and the musicians  respond with richer, rounder playing.

Despite the nightmare aspects of this symphony, humour keeps breaking through.  Cowbells in a sophisticated orchestra? Perhaps Mahler is reminding us that life is about other things than being too serious. Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin's cowbells are wonderfully resonant, truly Wunderhorn-like, evoking associations, either from some recess in Mahler's memory, or from his earlier works (which is why knowing Mahler's whole output assists appreciation of individual works). Yet this nostalgia is neither cosy, nor comforting. The sharp pizzicatos, dark harp chords and almost jazz-like dissonances are meant to disturb, and the DSO Berlin players do them with whip-like savagery.  This is “night music” after all, the stuff of dreams and nightmares. Resolution is not going to come until the blazing end, when the work is complete.

Just as the first and last movements form an infrastructure, the core of the symphony is the scherzo Schattenhaft, literally “shadow-like”.  This is no gemütlich Viennese waltz but one which harks back to a much more ancient, and darker, concept of dance as of demonic possession. It reflects the subversive Dionysian aspects of the 3rd Symphony. The strings, of course, take pride of place. Remember Freund’ Hein, the fiddler of death, though death is by no means the only interpretation in this bipolar symphony.  Metzmacher lulls us with the gentler aspects of this music, so the eerier depths sound all the more unsettling. Just as in the best horror stories, the scariest bits are those you can’t quite identify at first.

The famous horn dialogues of Nachtmusik 1 exemplify the contrasts that run throughout this symphony. Mahler shifts from major to minor, from upfront, blazing fanfares to shadowy cowbells heard from a distance. Strident trombone calls contrast with intricate trills in the strings. In contrast, the mandolin and guitar of Nachtmusik 2 are embedded in the orchestra, so they arise even more mysteriously into the consciousness,  as if from a distance. They function much as the cowbells did before. Metzmacher makes the connection.

Thus the contrast with massed strings. But the simplicity is sympathetically reinforced by a superb solo by the orchestra's Leader (Wei Lu). The humble troubador's music is private, not meant to be heard by the slumbering masses, a "ferne Klang". The first violin, however, makes it clear how important the image is. Then the cellos pick up the concept, their deeper, more sophisticated sounds echoing the mandolin and guitar. The Rondo-finale is magnificent, but Metzmacher and his players understand the crucial human-scale pathos that runs beneath.

And what a finale Metzmacher creates! its fanfares, alarums and crashing percussion drive away the ambiguities of the Nachtmusiks like brilliant sunshine drives away the shadows of the night. Dominant major keys return. The solemn march of the first movement becomes a blitzkrieg stampeding wildly forwards. The deceptive patterns of Rondo repeats seem to contradict the forward flow, until, at the end, the trajectory surges forth again, triumphant.

This final movement is carefully scored with no less than seven ritornellos and several secondary themes. Trumpets, drums and bells normally evoke sounds of triumph, but what is really in this triumph? Not bluster, according to Metzmacher, for his Mahler isn't brutalist. Contradictions again. He keeps control of the intricate architecture even when the music explodes in exuberance. A Messiaen dawn chorus, each bird distinctly clear in the cacophony.

This turbulent, life-enhancing energy is more indicative of Mahler’s personality than conventional wisdom allows. Dionysus, the god Pan, the subversive Lord of Misrule has broken loose again, intoxicated with love of life.

Easily this was the finest Mahler Prom this season, though there hasn't been any real competition. It's probably not a "first Mahler", since it's not superficial and needs a basic understanding of the composer's work as a whole, but there is a lot in it, and it's a genuine contribution to Mahler performance practice.

Metzmacher has long championed "suppressed music", composers banned by the Nazis for various reasons. His approach is important, because he hears the music in its true beauty. My friend and I had come for Franz Schreker's Der ferne Klang – Nachtstück. Wonderfully lustrous performance, the strings particularly luminous. This matters, for Der ferne Klang is a much deeper opera than its plot might suggest. "The Distant Sound"  is literally heard from afar as it's played offstage by an invisible musician. It's seductive, ravishing, hypnotic but dangerous, for the composer who hears it sacrifices all.

Although the opera has just been premiered in the US, it's had quite a few performances in recent years in Europe.  Indeed, Metzmacher conducted the whole opera earlier this year, please read a review in Die Welt. There is a lot more to Schreker than ultra-late Romantic, the cliché which he's been saddled with. Please see what else I've written about Schreker for example Die Gezeichneten, and Der Geburtstag der Infantin) him, and come back because I'll be doing more, esp on Christophorus.

The Royal Alberrt Hall went wild for Leonidas Kavakos because he's wonderful. He took three bows and did an encore. But I'd come for Korngold's Violin Concerto, and Kavakos exceeded all expectations. He brings out its European intensity, very rigorous, incisive playing. Because Kavakos treats it stringently as the serious music it really is, you appreciate how interesting Korngold really was, behind the surface glamour of Hollywood.

Mahler, Freudian pioneer - Salonen's psychologically astute Mahler 7th

Mahler’s Seventh Symphony doesn’t quite fit in with the usual Mahler fascination with metaphysics, and is something of a Cinderella compared with blockbusters like the 5^th,, 6^th, 8^th and 9^th symphonies. Yet it has unique charms. Clues to performance are embedded in the orchestration, so it’s a test of any conductor to hear how he understands them as he builds an interpretation.

Esa-Pekka Salonen produced an original and valid approach with the Philharmonia Orchestra at the Royal Festival Hall. His Mahler 7^th doesn’t rely on big flashy effects to impress the audience. Instead he’s subtle, as befits a piece with such emphasis on night and shadows. At night, images are blurred, details only briefly perceptible, hidden by darkness. What we hear is elusive, disguised. We need to be alert to subtle hints of what is not revealed.

The First movement starts conventionally enough with brass fanfares, often interpreted as a kind of funeral march. But is it anything so concrete? Mahler writes lots of military processions, but here Salonen indicates that it’s no ordinary, daylight march but a progression into another mode of being, into sleep, into the world of dreams. Gradually the ensemble fades and solo violin emerges, sweetly poignant. It’s as if the hustle and bustle of daily reality has gone, and we’re somewhere more private and intimate.

Thus, we flowed gently into Nachtmusik 1, the first of the two movements where hushed sounds evoke mystery. Alma Mahler said that the composer thought of Eichendorff while writing, and perhaps that’s true, as Eichendorff was a master of magical, almost surreal night images. “Verschweigene Liebe”, for example (set by Hugo Wolf) specifically refers to the idea of night as an escape from daytime consciousness. “Die Nacht is verschweigen, Gedanken sind frei”. (The night is mute: Thoughts run free).

Thus the atmosphere of secrecy in this performance, created by the delicacy of detail. The elaborate programme notes to this series “Vienna: City of Dreams” refer to the idea of magic in this symphony, and indeed the idea of enchantment is present. But Mahler was not one to fluff about with fairies. Even when he’s setting folk tales with magic elements, like songs from Des Knaben Wunderhorn, there’s a very adult, unsentimental awareness in his work. He’s not a gullible believer, his magic comes from an awareness of the irrational forces in the human psyche.

In short, Salonen relates this symphony to Mahler’s interest in psychology and the power of the unconscious. It’s disappointing that this series, with its ostentatious claims to connect music with what was happening in Vienna at the time, undercuts the very importance of the period by frequent references to the past, as if Vienna 1900-30 was a throwback to the 19^th century rather than a time of quite revolutionary change. This symphony really does evoke the idea of a city of dreams. Certainly lip service is paid in the notes to Freud and other thinkers, but the message hasn’t go through to the actual core of the texts, which defeats the whole purpose of the series. Perhaps that’s because the series is aimed at a very general audience that might be scared off by any hint of modernity. There’s infinitely more to Mahler than Wagner. Indeed, the more you think about the music, what’s interesting about Mahler is that he’s not Wagner.

There is Romanticism in this symphony but it’s not there as frivolous sugar coating. Eichendorff was by no means the only poet who wrote in the Romantic vein. Think of Gottfried Herder, the father of folk-oriented Romantic poetry, a key figure behind the mindset of the period. Brentano and von Arnim, who compiled the collection that is Des Knaben Wunderhorn knew that fairy tales had menacing undercurrents. And we have only to think of Goethe’s Erlkönig, which Mahler knew, to appreciate that magic and dreams were a framework for describing the id and the subconscious long before Freud devised the terms.

Fortunately Salonen and the Philharmonia know their Mahler well. Mandolins and guitars reference strolling troubadors serenading lovers. Indeed, the recurrent “call and response” instrumental pairings may also support the image, which puts the unusual structure of the symphony into perspective : two Nachtmusiks of different characters calling to each other over the divide of the middle movement. Conventionally a middle movement is central, but Mahler turns the concept on its head. Instead, as with so much else in Mahler, there’s a strong sense of direction. In its quiet way, the symphony is heading towards a powerful conclusion.

Salonen’s understated delicacy allowed the sensuality in the piece to emerge, langorously. Troubadors sing of love, albeit often unrequited love, and love is an “altered state” rather than something coldly calculating: an example of the irrational in normal life. I was half hoping for some sensuous portamenti, but Salonen didn’t oblige. James Clark, the concertmaster, obliged with some lusciously pure playing, and the strings responded – “call and response” again. Lovely rich winds, too, especially the lower tones – Gordon Laing’s contrabassoon deeply resonant.

In this symphony, the brass is important. I’ve heard performances collapse when something went horribly awry with one horn – the poor player has probably never lived it down. No such accidents here. The Philharmonia is far too good, and Salonen rehearses them well. Indeed, it’s heart warming to hear the musicians speak of this conductor. London has gained immeasurably, and Los Angeles can have Dudamel.

Oddly enough the cowbells sounded more ragged than usual. They aren’t the most controlled of instruments, and at first I thought it disrupted the flow. Then I realised, cowbells are supposed to sound ragged, as anyone who’s heard the cows being herded home from alpine meadows can attest. Mahler knew all about cowbells from personal experience. So perhaps the cowbells indicate a wildness and freedom beyond the normal ambit of formal symphonic playing? Perhaps they, too, hint at the wildness of the subconscious ? Gedanken sind frei. Mahler may not have set the poem, but its spirit infuses this symphony.

And so to the all-important climax in the final movement. It builds up in fits and starts, rather like slow awakening, but gradually the major keys assert themselves firmly. No more irony now, we’re back in the real world. Or are we? Woven into the tumult are those cowbells again, reminding us that disorder will return as surely as day turns into night.

Pairing this symphony with Berg’s Three Orchestral Pieces was a good choice. Like the symphony, the disparate pieces together add to a coherent mood. Berg was still very young when he wrote it – alas he was never to get old – but already he’s grasped the concept of music as act of freedom. The violin stands up to the massed orchestra but is eventually overwhelmed by the savagery of the March. Or is it? As the music begins to distort, maybe there’s hope for the subconscious to escape.

Please see the review HERE and look at the site