There are few symphonies that have such an arresting opening. Sit up, pay attention and listen is what the opening tremolo and fff statement from the lower strings in Mahler’s “Resurrection” Symphony seems to be saying. And take careful note of everything that follows too. Which is more or less what Edward Gardner did in this performance with the London Philharmonic Orchestra. At the start of its new concert season, it was good to hear the LPO in such fine form, a few smudges in ensemble aside, with sweet-toned strings, eloquent woodwind and massive staying power from the brass.
In his score, Mahler provides a complete catalogue of dynamic and tempo markings, including instructions about the exact flow – moving on urgently or holding back – and even the character of individual bars. At one point in the Scherzo, for instance, he instructs the clarinet to play “humorously”. Yet bringing this vast work to life also requires an appreciation of how the numerous details contribute to overall mood. The first movement, like the Finale, was taken steadily, the funeral march contrasted strongly with passages of pastoral relaxation. I was struck too by the moments of delicacy, tenderness and serenity which Gardner found in the next two movements, like the pizzicato passage for second violins (placed antiphonally, with a wedge of cellos and basses on the conductor’s left) accompanied by gentle piccolo, sounding like a representation of soft downy feathers floating in the wind. This also meant a Scherzo that was at times just a little too comfortable, like the gentle rocking motion of a rowing boat, rather than with sardonic swagger and ebullience.
The two soloists took their places on the conductor’s immediate left following a brief pause (less than stipulated) at the end of the Allegro maestoso. There was one shining star of this performance. From the moment the young Scottish mezzo-soprano Beth Taylor launched Urlicht with the vocative “O Röschen rot!”, her inner poise was palpable. I have waited a long time to hear a voice which connects so obviously with this particular composer, recalling Norma Procter, who made many memorable appearances with this orchestra in times past, but who also has the recognisably deep tones of a contralto register, glowing and chocolatey-rich in her chest tones, yet opening out magnificently for “Ach nein! Ich liess mich nicht abweisen!” Here was somebody who imbued every single word she sang with expressive meaning.
In contrast to the London Philharmonic Choir, augmented by members of the BBC Symphony Chorus, totalling almost 200 singers, all performing from memory, who made a beautifully hushed entrance, the soprano line of Sally Matthews had just too much vibrato, slightly spoiling the rapt intensity of the moment. The blaze of sound that these choristers achieved in their final peroration was quite dazzling.
Gardner paced the final movement well, not giving in to any hysteria, but at 36 minutes taking a very expansive view of the vast aural landscape. He allowed cymbal slides and tam-tam to emerge almost from nowhere, with terraced dynamics in the off-stage brass sounding from afar and then much closer, the process of awakening from a profound orchestral slumber transformed in the twinkling of an eye into a collective wailing and gnashing of teeth, complete with shrieking piccolos and piercing trumpets chilling the blood. At the time of its composition, this visionary use of the orchestra was quite sensationally new, a journey into previously unknown territory. As Mahler himself observed to a friend in 1895, “The whole thing sounds as though it came to us from some other world.”
