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Orchestra Filarmonica Marchigiana
Gustav Kuhn conductor
Gustav Mahler
Symphony No. 9
Like so many composers before and after
him, Mahler had a superstitious fear
of reaching his Ninth Symphony. After an
initial, purely orchestral symphony, highly
original in musical and tonal content, come
three ‘literary’ symphonies in which he
resorts to eschatology (or escapism). The
Second confounds Death with the mystery
of Resurrection. The pantheistic Third
embraces eternity, commingling Nietzsche
and the pseudo-ancient German fairy-tale
vision of Des Knaben Wunderhorn (The
Youth’s Magic Horn). The Fourth concludes
with the composer turning once again to
this fairy-tale heaven where the saints
dance, sing and feast under the benevolent
gaze of St. Peter.
In the purely orchestral Fifth, Mahler
comes nearest to avoiding the terrors. In
the terrifying Sixth, nihilism seems to win
out. The Seventh, perhaps the ‘purest’ and
also the most difficult to achieve in performance,
is a symphonic tour-de-force, but
essentially pessimistic. The mighty Eighth
seeks to batter down the doors of heaven
but sets itself impossible goals: to make a
musical setting of the “Veni Creator” is not
unprecedented, but to attempt a musical
recreation of Goethe’s ultimate transcendent
vision in his Faust was always asking
for trouble. Das Lied von der Erde, (a disguised
Ninth) with its departing murmur of
Ewig, ewig… (for ever, ever…) only seems
to bring closure.
The much-feared Ninth emerges at a
time of terrible upheaval in Mahler’s life.
His glorious but tumultuous reign at the
Vienna Court Opera had ended amidst
cabals and little love. He had begun his
successful association with the New York
Metropolitan Opera, but the prospects of a
long future of artistic fulfilment and financial
security were soon to be dashed by
the diagnosis of serious heart disease.
Within a couple of years further hammerblows
were to fall, more painful even than
those of the Sixth Symphony. His eldest
daughter, Maria, died from scarlet fever.
His ever-needy wife, Alma, feeling rejected
while her husband isolated himself to work
on the new symphony, sought consolation
with Walter Gropius. No wonder then, that
the Ninth, far from moving on from the calm
acceptance of Das Lied von der Erde’s
Abschied, sees Mahler in a more desperate
state than ever before. Deryck Cooke
perceptively called it Mahler’s “dark night
of the soul”; one nevertheless penetrated
with shafts of life-affirmation.
Mahler’s Ninth is both a summation
of late-Romanticism and an adumbration
of the end of tonality. There is no escape
from passion, no final refuge in the beauty
of creation. Time and again savage irony
and bitterness distort the picture. The first
movement’s reluctant opening gives no hint
of the battle to come, or of the huge compositional
achievement it would ultimately
represent. Familiar, consoling landscapes
are revisited, but a transformation of the
main theme into a mournful echo of Johann
Strauß’s Freut euch des Lebens (Enjoy
Life) tells the true story. There is also a
telling reference to the ‘farewell’ phrase
from Beethoven’s Les Adieux. It will return,
transfigured, in the Finale. As Alban Berg
wrote: “The whole movement is permeated
with the premonition of death”.
The Ländler that follows is a bitter
mockery of those we remember from the
early symphonies; the first ‘trio’ section
is insane. Moments of affirmation survive
the surrounding vulgarity and bitterness.
The Rondo Burleske, perhaps the most
‘modern’ of all Mahler’s symphony movements,
is at the same time a savage parody
of academicism and a mocking gesture of
futility, sweeping aside any vain attempt at
optimism.
Nothing that has gone before has prepared
us for the Rondo Finale. It is an
astonishing achievement, spiritually and
musically, and so hard-won. The sense of
loss, of final parting (the Les Adieux theme
again) of heart-breaking nostalgia, are now
suffused into a quiet serenity. There is no
rapt exultation, no sense of victory. Most
telling of all, the end, with Mahler returning
to his Kindertotenlieder, joining the
beloved departed auf jenen Höh’n (upon
those heights). One might think that here,
at last, he has touched the hem of Eternity.
John Kehoe
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