This Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra concert, originally scheduled for March 2020, was one of the North West’s very first pandemic cancellations. That it has taken five years and a change of Chief Conductor to restage the event is testament to the gargantuan demands of Gustav Mahler’s all-encompassing Third Symphony. Here, in Domingo Hindoyan’s sure hands, its course was charted with total clarity of direction and no shortage of drama along the way.
Much of the success of this symphony comes from a convincing sense of structure through its ever-climbing spheres of consciousness, from the earthly, primordial beginnings to ecstatic finale. Here the drama was paced just right, with a clear narrative arc evident from start to finish. The same was true within the first movement, where Simon Cowen’s trombone solos demonstrated a clear change in character from first to third appearance: where the first was strident, the last was exquisitely reflective and vulnerable. These episodes knitted together the movement as a whole, from its raucous, fast-paced marches to crushing dissolutions into darkness. At the movement’s climax, a whole quartet of crash cymbals proved a spectacular sight. The last pages of the movement raced along with steam practically visible from the flurrying double bass bows.
After a suitably long pause during which the choral forces filed onstage, the Minuet gave a suitably fluid impression of plants and flowers swaying in the breeze, with Hindoyan’s supple tempi supported by light, translucent textures. The third (originally “What the wild animals tell me”) was in turn vigorously muscular and never over-polished. Much of the writing here is chamber music in all but name, and it was wonderful to watch the front eight strings (particularly the animation of Principal Cello Karen Stephenson) in their interactions with each other, often leaning towards colleagues to pass across a musical line with utmost care. The offstage posthorn solos, here magnificently played by Principal Trumpet Fabio Brum, floated down from high above the gallery with the impression of all the time and space in the world.
Jennifer Johnston’s O Mensch was similarly spacious, though in an altogether more expansive character. Her richly warm sound, imploring mankind to take heed of her (admittedly cryptic) words, was matched by seamlessly blended horns and gloriously soft violin playing. After their long wait, the women of the Philharmonic Choir and Youth Choir sang with dazzling brightness and total conviction from the first bars. The words “Liebe nur Gott” were some of the most utterly joyful singing one could hope for.
Then to the finale, that Mahlerian epic slow movement. Although Hindoyan’s tempi were generally brisk here, this never felt rushed, and there was a clear sense of ascent to the mountaintop of the last pages. As the luscious D major of the last chord faded into a wonderful moment of ecstatic silence, there was an audible exhalation from the capacity audience. This was a performance worth every day of the five-year wait.
