On November 24, 1963, Leonard Bernstein conducted Mahler's Symphony no. 2 in C minor, “Resurrection”, in a televised tribute to President John F. Kennedy, who had been assassinated just two days before. In a speech at the United Jewish Appeal Benefit the following day, Bernstein explained why he had programmed this particular work. “This must become the mission of every artist... to achieve the triumph of the mind over violence,” Bernstein said. The goal, he added, was, “to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly, than ever before.” That message is even more compelling these days than it was in Bernstein’s time.
Happily, the circumstances of the Seattle Symphony’s performing the work were far less tragic, although the injury of the orchestra’s music director Ludovic Morlot did cast a pall over the occasion. But the orchestra, under the outstanding leadership of guest conductor Giancarlo Guerrero, overcame the absence of its maestro and gave a worthy reading of the monumental work.
As a prelude to Mahler’s ultimately life-affirming Resurrection was Hector Berlioz’ La Mort de Cléopâtre, a little-known work that deserves to be heard more often. From the very first notes, it was clear why this cantata, written as the 26-year-old composer’s entry for the Prix de Rome, did not win the first prize in that competition (though he did accomplish that goal the following year with his cantata, La Mort de Sardanapale). Its rhythmic and harmonic quirkiness and experimental nature must have bewildered the staid, conservative jury consisting of such established composers as Cherubini and Boieldieu. Like numerous other composers, Berlioz had no qualms about repurposing his music in subsequent works. His use of themes from his overture, Le Carnaval Romain, was a revelation to the ear, as were the many vocal passages displaying hints of his grand oeuvre-to-be, Les Troyens.
Guerrero immediately took up the task of shaping the ambivalent syncopations, emblematic of the queen’s anguish over her ignominious defeat at the hands of the Romans, into a coherent through-line. The accompaniment he provided for Dutch mezzo-soprano Christianne Stotijn was sensitive and insightful and, with its opening harmonies settling into a semblance of C minor, effectively set the stage for the Mahler. Stotijn’s voice, large and capable of cutting through the sizeable orchestration, was unfocused in the mid-range but her top notes had enormous impact, as did her dramatic forcefulness in rendering the gripping final moments of the fallen queen’s demise.