This weekend at the Musikverein, Klaus Mäkelä debuted with the Vienna Philharmonic, leading the orchestra through a searing rendition of Mahler's Symphony no. 6 in A minor, a work that continues to confound and captivate over a century after its creation. Known as the “Tragic”, the Sixth is a journey through big life themes: joy, struggle, death and the inexorable force of fate which cuts down even our grandest heroes at the Achilles. It was also, poignantly, my twelve-year-old daughter's introduction to Mahler — a baptism by fire via a grandiose but deeply unsettling symphonic work. While some Mahler symphonies assure that everything is tragically devastating but that life is ultimately beautiful, the Sixth is packed with beauty but leaves you convinced that absolutely nothing is ok.
The evening was charged with intensity from the outset. Mäkelä drew a performance from the orchestra that was both technically dazzling and deeply affecting. The opening Allegro – its military rhythms relentless – set a tone of defiance, a struggle against overwhelming forces. Everything in Mahler’s first movement is just slightly too brash and bright, a feast of color and sound; yet both heroic and hunted to distraction. The brass were in rare form, and Mäkelä drew from their reinforced ranks the edgiest sound one hears the Philharmoniker happily produce.
During the second movement, here the Andante, an emergency momentarily threatened to derail the performance: a woman sitting in the Parterre collapsed and medical help was summoned, with her eventually carried out of the hall – a chilling echo of Mahler's preoccupation with mortality. The pastoral calm of the Andante thereafter seemed particularly tinged with fragility, as if the music itself had absorbed the incident.
The Scherzo was a particularly gripping paradox, its angular melodies and grotesque humor like a mocking dance of fate. It was poignant too; grappling openly with the contradictions of life: joy and despair, love and loss. Combining moments that feel nearly courtly, then wildly rushing, then suddenly pulled in slow-motion – deformed, like a sarcastic taffy – Mahler quite literally plays with time.
The Finale, however, was the towering achievement of the evening. Spanning nearly half an hour, it was an odyssey unto itself, Mäkelä steering the orchestra through countless tempestuous climaxes and hauntingly quiet passages. The hammer blows, infamous symbols of fate, landed with devastating finality. The Philharmoniker brought luminous clarity to Mahler's layered textures, from choruses of (more) cowbells, to mellifluous brass, to virtuosic solo lines giving every section leader a chance to strut their stuff.
As the last notes faded into silence, the Musikverein held its breath before erupting into applause, with Mäkelä singling out each soloist and section for well-deserved recognition. For me, as I gazed at the sea of grey hair surrounding us, and then down at my daughter, who has grown up so much this past year that it takes my breath away, this even served as a reflection of the inexorable alloy of beauty and struggle that is part and parcel of existence itself. As in Maher’s Sixth, life is never settled nor predictable but shifts continuously underneath our feet.
