In a week in which John Storgårds extended his BBC Philharmonic Orchestra contract until at least summer 2028, he took his augmented forces to the end of the season with an astonishingly good account of Mahler’s Third Symphony.
The Philharmonic have a particular way of playing for Storgårds which sees them comfortably half a beat behind his direction and yet with total assuredness of ensemble. He also allows his soloists ample artistic licence to shape their own contributions without ever seeming to micromanage proceedings. Here, in the vast 105-minute sprawl of Mahler 3, he also masterfully handled the pacing of the symphony. Nowhere was this more evident than in the first movement, where the drama of the Earth’s beginnings and Pan’s awakenings can rarely have been so clearly laid out.
From the opening horn proclamation (measured but totally gripping) to the ebullient, giddy last pages of the movement, the drama seemed to snowball throughout the various episodes through which Mahler takes us. And yet in the minutiae of those opening minutes, there was a wealth of detail and character: the precision of and space between bassoon and cello/bass rumbles, the acidity of the trumpet arpeggios, and the contrasting freshness of the upper winds. One had the sense that all present were hugely enjoying themselves, with woodwinds and lower strings playing with visible physicality and some thrilling climaxes in the thunderstorm. Richard Brown’s three trombone solos were characterised to perfection, transitioning steadily from defiant to delicately consolatory. The final scene of the movement steadily accelerated with thrilling energy before hurtling raucously into the buffers. The only thing which didn’t feel natural was the sense that every single person in the audience was forcibly restraining themselves from bursting into applause.
There was high-definition detail and drama in the second and third movements, too. In the former, Storgårds’ brisk tempi gave a striking sense of plants and flowers being tossed around in a stiff breeze, not overly beautified but wildly animated. In the third, the animals of the forest seemed joyously untamed in a punchy, muscular romp. Translucent textures gave space for the woodwind solos to take on immense personality, none more so than E flat clarinet. Gwyn Owen’s offstage posthorn solos, here played on trumpet from the end of the choir stalls above the double basses, were unerringly immaculate in precision and dreamily unhurried in character.
If there might have been an argument for more cosmically spacious tempi in the fourth movement, contralto Jess Dandy nonetheless found a richly warm tone, imploring mankind to heed her words while reaching out physically to the audience. High horn duets and oboe birdcalls were attractive accompanists. The fifth movement saw the massed forces of the CBSO Children’s and Youth Choruses and Hallé Choir sing with joyful abandon amid the clamorous din of the RLPO’s Forever Bells, peeling away from high in the gallery like a church belltower.
Then to the finale, that greatest of Mahlerian slow movements. Here Storgårds allowed the music all the breathing space it needed, his string players finding astonishing depths of warmth and exquisite softness. The unfolding paragraphs of music spoke with utmost eloquence, all the while saving something even more special for the last pages. This was probably one of this city’s greatest performances in recent years, and the BBC Radio 3 broadcast on 2nd July is not to be missed.
