One often hears words like monumental, elemental or colossal in relation to the great symphonies of the repertoire, but surely Mahler’s Symphony no. 3 in D minor is one of the few truly deserving of such adjectives. This is a mammoth (there’s another one) undertaking, and at over one hour and forty minutes, the longest symphony in the core repertoire. Its opening movement alone is well over half an hour long.
The Philharmonia is of course no stranger to the work, having recorded it on several occasions, most recently as part of a live cycle with Lorin Maazel conducting, and the same choral forces: the women of the professional chorus, Philharmonia Voices, and the Tiffin Boys’ Choir. Having performed it in Leicester last night, they were all back at the Royal Festival Hall for tonight’s performance.
A regular guest conductor with the Philharmonia, Jakub Hrůša has been hailed by Gramophone as being “on the verge of greatness” – but ready for the weight of Mahler’s Third? On the evidence of this evening, I’d say a definite yes, although I suspect there is more depth to come in the future from him. This was a well-paced performance, and Hrůša had a keen eye on the overall architecture throughout, which can often be forgotten, particularly in the shorter middle movements. Mahler had a clear progression in mind, from the elemental forces of nature in the massive opening movement, through nature and animals, night and day, ultimately leading to love, and specifically love of God. So the light simplicity of the Ländler and the cheeky childlike fifth movement have just as important a place in the arc of the symphony as large scale outer movements and the dark and sombre Nietzsche setting.
Back to that huge opening movement, however. The eight unison horns launched proceedings in a suitably dramatic fashion, supposedly coming out of the empty void, although the theme’s close echo in shape to the big tune in the fourth movement of Brahms’ First Symphony suggests a past before this story begins. The ominously rumbling bass drum and the augmented harmony of the trumpet motif set up a brooding sense of uncertainty, and Hrůša slowly but firmly layered the tension here, transforming the initially delicate march with slowly increasing aggression. But the star of this movement was surely Byron Fulcher, the first trombone, managing the transition from the first solo passage’s reticent, almost faltering utterances, to great tenderness and sensitivity later in the movement. On the whole, Hrůša articulated the frequent tempo changes convincingly: just once or twice the transitions could have been smoother. The relentless build to the movement’s frenzied conclusion, the full force of Pan, and Mahler’s raging ‘southern storm’, was powerful and elemental.