Right at the end of Der Wegweiser in Schubert’s Winterreise, the soloist sings of the “one road that I must take which no one has ever travelled back”. Though the signposting is clear enough, absolutely nothing is certain about the unknown territory that lies beyond. For Mahler, who struggled for more than six years to put together the elements that make up his Symphony no. 2 in C minor, the ultimate message had to be about hope. In this performance with the NDR Elbphilharmonie Orchester under its chief conductor Alan Gilbert, all the cumulative tension present in the long concluding movement was finally released, and any residual doubts about the meaning of life itself were decisively dispelled, as the chorus sang those crucial words, “Sterben werd’ ich, um zu leben!”.
It is one of those special moments in music which make the hairs on the back of one’s neck stand up, pure theatre with more than a touch of frisson. A large amateur chorus can deliver that message with fervour. Yet the 80 or so professional voices of the Berlin Radio Choir and the NDR Vokalensemble, all singing from memory, like the two vocal soloists, produced a concentrated punch of sound that was as thrilling as the huge orchestral forces which Mahler deploys. Balm in plenty was supplied by Dame Sarah Connolly’s sonorous, warmth-infused mezzo allied to her authoritative German diction, but equally impressive was the young Swedish soprano Christina Nilsson, sweet-toned and with a bell-like clarity, an angel on high soaring effortlessly in all her exposed lines.
Gilbert had already set off in an impressive manner. Cellos and basses supplied a real orchestral snarl, arresting and implacable, followed by gigantic growls from the deep, with the first brass chords spat out with venom. Such dramatic statements achieve an added impact in the crystalline acoustic of the Elbphilharmonie. There was a remarkable degree of elasticity in Gilbert’s chosen tempi, at times quite urgent and incisive, yet sufficiently reined in to provide a contrasting mood of contemplation, not always corresponding to the Allegro maestoso marking the composer asks for, yet with a sure-footedness of pacing. Gilbert’s orchestra was on fine form, the contributions from the vibrant principal trumpet of Guillaume Couloumy already catching the ear. Later, there were notable solos from the flute of Gianluca Campo and the oboe of Kalev Kuljus.
So far, so good. However, I wish there had been a slightly slower basic pulse for the ensuing Andante moderato. This is one of the gentlest orchestral hugs that Mahler gives you: it requires delicacy and nimbleness, which we had here, and the touches of portamento added to the sense of dreaminess, but applying even an extra degree of onward pressure can affect the sense of being suspended in time. Gilbert carried over this quality of a reverie into the third movement. This is where Mahler introduces a sardonic tone, not always matched by requisite sharpness in the playing, the sound of the Rute or switch hardly registering. Indeed, though balances throughout were generally appropriate, I felt that Gilbert repeatedly underplayed the individual timbral effects from the percussion, the only exception being the set of real bells, rather than their tubular cousins, used in the Finale.
You do not need to believe in the concept of a resurrection or a life hereafter to respond positively to Mahler’s unique music. No matter how many nails are driven into the coffin of the first movement, what follows is essentially life-affirming. Gilbert understood that message, and so should we. Life is there to be lived to the full until the end comes.
