Two Mahler Symphonies at the Boston Symphony Orchestra

Mahler Symphonies at the Boston Symphony Orchestra 2018-19 Season

by Boaz Heilman

I finally know what it is about Andris Nelsons conducting that I don't like, but that I couldn’t quite pinpoint before.

The BSO has long been the orchestras’ orchestra, among the world’s finest. It has boasted some of the world’s greatest conductors, among them Pierre Monteux, Koussevitzky, Leinsdorf, Osawa and—yes—James Levine. Mr. Nelson, to put it politely, just isn’t in the same league.

He has a wonderful orchestra, and he himself is musical and proficient enough to let his musicians shine. The trumpet solo in the recent Mahler 5^thwas phenomenal—because Thomas Rolfs is superb. The harp in the famous Adagietto glowed. And so on, so many different moments of glorious playing.

Problem is, the Mahler 5th never became the drama that it is. 

The “Resurrection,” Symphony No. 2, played just earlier this season, never lifted anyone, let alone resurrected them.

The pianissimos are gorgeous, even a curmudgeon like me has to admit. Long, sustained passages played—by the entire orchestra—so softly you actually had to listen to them. Now that’s what I go to the BSO for. Their sound. Magnificent, nothing short of.

And Nelsons, I am sure, is paid handsomely to let them sound their best.

What he’s not paid for is making the music ebb and soar, take you on a journey not only of sound, but also of emotions and powerful thoughts. There was no menace in the rhythmic trumpet solo. No victory rattle of the arrogant. The Viennese waltz never quite made the level of gilded, vapid, bubble-headed luxury which is how Mahler was sure to have conceived it.

The beautiful Adagietto. What more can anyone say? Truly one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever composed. Ever.

Yet—maybe because the harp’s beauty was so in the fore, on display—that at this concert the piece never became multi- dimensional. There are moments in this movement where the harp has barely to outline the distant horizon painted by the strings; but it was always highlighted, projected to the front and breaking distance and perspective. 

In Mahler, there is so much more than just sound. And don’t get me wrong—there’s plenty of sound there. Think of the climax of the “Resurrection,” which occurs in the last movement, with the entire chorus exploding over a full orchestra, organ, bells and all. Now there’s a powerful moment, and the BSO with Nelsons performed it that way.  Yet it could have--and should have--carried much more emotional punch with it.

I have to admit, the BSO and the Tanglewood Festival Chorus being what it is, the opening of the “Urlicht” movement was sublime. It is supposed to be. Only that between this moment and the aforementioned climax, the music has to take the listener on a journey of faith, from despair to redemption. This particular performance, it didn’t. And, though I didn't go to the other performances, I'm guessing it didn't on those occasions either.

Nelson’s musicality is simply not in the same league as the other, great conductors who have led the BSO. He lets the orchestra sound its finest, but he does not serve the music. 

It’s his lack of drama. Let’s face it. He’s boring. 

What the BSO needs is a conductor who is a sound visionary, a musician who will not only make their instrument sing beautifully but will also drain you emotionally.

Great emphasis is put today on making old warhorses sound fresh. Often, it’s in the speed or tempo. Sometimes another trick or shtick. Why not just let the music say what it needs to? If it’s a work of art, it will always speak to us. It’s all in the music. But you have to get at it, to get beyond the sound itself, to the story behind it. It will always sound fresh if you got it. That's the greatness of music, even beyond the greatness of the interpreters who give it life. It has to sing through them, despite them, to overcome them. 

I guess I'll stick with Bernstein.

Speed and Volume: The New Standard in Classical Music

Speed and Volume:  The New Standard in Classical Music

So why do so many young interpreters/conductors feel the need to play or force their orchestras to play faster than anybody else?  Since when is speed the prime factor in interpretation?

Francois-Xavier Roth is a case in point.

Here last week to conduct the Boston Symphony Orchestra, Roth chose two super-familiar pieces.  One was the C Major Piano Concerto by Mozart, with Benjamin Grosvenor as soloist.

Let’s start with the Mozart.  There were exquisite moments.  The woodwinds were gorgeous.  The piano playing was superb.  Grosvenor is in total charge of his playing; his fingerwork is impeccable, his coloration is nothing short of sumptuous.  He truly captured the spirit, emotion and beauty of the concerto.  Except for the slow middle movement, the famous “Elvira Madigan” music.  Perhaps the pianist’s young age compelled him to drive the triplets a bit much.  They became restless, taking something away from the luxuriousness of the music.  The melody should have floated over the triplets; instead, it felt rushed.

Tempos are individual and unique to the interpreter and the moment.  I understand that.  Other than that, Grosvenor’s playing was truly beautiful. His Moskowski Etude encore was colorful and brilliant.  I would be happy to hear him play other works as well, particularly Scarlatti.

But the Beethoven Fifth Symphony was another matter altogether.

The speed with which this work was played was without any rhyme or reason.  Granted, it made the interpretation sound “fresh.” And indeed, after hearing this symphony played so often that every note is fixed in your memory, head, and every bone inside your body, “fresh” may not be so bad.  It was also very, very loud.  Here and there, a well-placed pianissimo only served to highlight the loud, serving no other purpose.

That the Boston Symphony Orchestra could play at that speed and volume—and play magnificently—is proof (if still necessary) of what a great orchestra it is.  Still, a split note from the brass (the French horn?) at the Saturday night concert was not due to the player, but rather to the speed in which the first movement was going.  It took the orchestra a while to build up compliance with Roth’s unreasonable and needless demand for breathlessness and speed. 

Music has to breathe.  It has to evolve naturally.  Great music has to be organic.  The opening four notes stand not only as an iconic statement, but actually give the whole symphony its drive and emotional impetus.  Done too quickly and breathlessly, the entire work is weakened.  One has to trust Beethoven and not supplant him.

But OMG, it was loud! The ending of the symphony goes on and on endlessly, and for it to work the dynamics need to be structured and layered.  Otherwise it’s no more than an onslaught upon the listener’s ears. 

The audience, needless to say, loved it and couldn’t jump to their feet fast enough.

The opening work of the concert, the overture to “Les Amazones, ou la Fondation de Thebes” by Etienne-Nicolas Mehul, suffered from the same malaise.  Roth does not let the music evolve naturally; it doesn’t breathe, it doesn’t grow, it does not become what it is meant to.  This work isn’t spectacular; it isn’t particularly melodic.  What it is, however, is a series of very interesting harmonic progressions that anticipate music from a much later time.  The harmonies are the centerpiece of this otherwise pedestrian work.  For that to work, one needs to listen, to let the progressions lead you rather than vice versa.  Otherwise, you’ve missed the whole point of this work, and in that case, why bother.

The Boston Symphony Orchestra is still a phenomenal orchestra.  Its players are consummate musicians. One simply cannot hear enough of this artistic and cultural treasure.  Luckily, there are a few concerts left in the series I subscribed to this season. 

But my main complaint is not with the BSO.  It’s bigger than that.  It has to do with the way we hear music—or rather, the way music is all too often presented for us.  Everything is too athletic (classical music is NOT the Olympics, after all).  Too fast, too muscular.  Gentleness, softness, a curved line rather than a sharp spike—these have become synonymous with weakness.  Brash is best, if to judge by the playing of such as Lang Lang and others of his ilk.

Maybe we’ve gotten too used to over-loud music.  Everything is amplified for us_­.  God forbid we should miss the obvious.  The subtle, unfortunately, disappears under the massive blanket of sheer volume and runaway speed.  We’ve gotten too used to overstimulation. Silence frightens us, or, worse, bores us. 

Speed is the new spectacle.

How sad. 

© 2018 by Boaz D. Heilman