How times change! At the Munich première of Mahler’s Fourth Symphony in 1901 there was persistent loud hissing, and on its first performance in New York a few years later one local critic described it as “a musical monstrosity” and “the most painful torture”. Yet today it is regarded as one of the composer’s most popular works. Given that in the right hands this symphony oozes a heady bucolic charm and bathes the listener in radiant sunshine, it is difficult to comprehend what all the fuss was about.
One of the many virtues of this performance by the London Philharmonic Orchestra under its Principal Conductor Vladimir Jurowski was the broad sweep of its generous spirit combined with an analytical probing of the multi-faceted instrumental texture, the phrase endings receiving as much attention as the melodic accentuation. It is possible to hear in the jingle-jangle of the opening bars echoes of Leopold Mozart’s Musical Sleigh-Ride. That would be to wrongly assume a mood of unruffled sunniness in this most ironic of composers: the one work by Richard Strauss that Mahler conducted more than any other was his Till Eulenspiegel, in which the hero comes to a sticky end after a succession of merry pranks. Mahler in fact insisted that these sounds were not those of bells attached to a child’s sledge, but those on a jester’s cap. As in medieval court drama, Mahler’s apparent jollity is a cloak for a deeper truth.
Throughout, Jurowski drew exceptionally characterful playing from his instrumental soloists, from the fat earthy sounds produced by clarinets and bassoons in the opening movement to the bright celestial celebration from trumpet, triangle and glockenspiel at its close. If the woodwinds constantly delighted the ear with their rusticity, the strings were no less impressive, with immensely supple and refined playing. At the start of the scherzo, Jurowski took me as close as I could hope to get to Yeats’ Lake Isle of Innisfree, with its “bee-loud glade”, where “midnight’s all a-glimmer and noon a purple glow, and evening full of the linnet’s wings”. The slow movement began slowly and softly, the darker hues of the lower strings predominating, before Ian Hardwick’s beautifully poised oboe pointed the way towards an understanding of what this great Adagio is all about. As originally sketched, Mahler’s explanatory title for this movement was “The World without Gravity”. With at times daringly slow tempi, Jurowski found those genuine moments of repose when time appears to stand still, where the door to a hidden interior world opens for a tantalisingly brief glimpse before the lock falls back into place.