Last night, the Philadelphia Orchestra played the Symphony No. 6 in A minor of Gustav Mahler. The venue: Carnegie Hall. The conductor: Yannick Nézet-Séguin, who is the orchestra’s music director, as well as the music director of the Metropolitan Opera.
What a double-job. Maestro Nézet-Séguin has far surpassed Noah (the tennis star of the ’80s) as the world’s most celebrated Yannick.
The Mahler Sixth takes about an hour and twenty minutes to play. It was the sole work on last night’s program. That is the trend these days, I think: even a relatively short Mahler symphony may well be the only work on the program.
Mahler’s Sixth had its U.S. premiere in 1947, in Carnegie Hall. Dimitri Mitropoulos led the New York Philharmonic. After the symphony, there was a concerto: Gershwin’s Piano Concerto in F, in which Oscar Levant was the soloist.
(Pause to think of the combination of Mahler 6 and the Concerto in F.)
Carnegie Hall next heard Mahler 6 in 1955. Again, Mitropoulos led the New York Phil. The symphony was preceded by a piece of Morton Gould’s: Showpiece.
The Mahler Sixth received its third performance in Carnegie Hall ten years later. This time, the orchestra was the BSO—the Boston Symphony Orchestra—conducted by Erich Leinsdorf. The symphony was preceded by a violin concerto: Schoenberg’s, in which the soloist was Joseph Silverstein.
Anyway, last night, the symphony had the stage to itself.
At the outset, we heard elegant aggression. We would hear the same throughout. Is the Philadelphia Orchestra occasionally too beautiful? I have asked the same of the Vienna Philharmonic. Sometimes, you want music a little rougher—a little less rich or less rounded. You don’t want to be buffeted by pillows. You don’t want to drown in hot fudge.
But listen: if “too beautiful” is the worst you can say about an orchestra, that orchestra is doing very well.
The Philadelphia basses growled superbly. The snap of the snare drum was bracing. The horn suffered an unfortunate onset, in this first movement—but “life is not a studio recording,” as I often say.
Nézet-Séguin was animated, as usual. He was strict, keeping a steady pulse, driving forward. There were no shenanigans. “Who does he think he is,” I thought, “George Szell?”
Next came the Scherzo. The slow movement, too, can come second, rather than third—but we need not let that debate detain us.
The Philadelphians did some rich and excellent playing, of course. I would single out the low brass and the low strings: never have they sounded more Wagnerian.
In the Trio—the Scherzo’s middle section—I might have asked for a more “ethnic” flavor. Something more . . . “peasant-y”? “folk-y”? Also, some of the rubato was jarring, I thought: unnatural. One was too aware of the conducting, a manipulation.
The slow movement begins with two short notes leading to a longer one, which begins a complete measure. In my opinion, the short notes were too “placed.” They did not flow naturally into the longer one. What does Mahler intend? We could have a discussion.
What I have called the “slow movement” is marked “Andante moderato.” It is not all that slow, and from Nézet-Séguin, in fact, it was rather brisk (as was the symphony at large). The concertmaster, David Kim, contributed a sweet, Mahlerian solo.
For almost thirty years now, I have written, “The sound of the Philadelphia Orchestra and the acoustics of Carnegie Hall make for an exceptionally beautiful combination.” I thought of that when the celesta and harps began the Finale. The sound was almost supernatural—eerie (in a good way).
Nézet-Séguin and the orchestra were restless, emotional. Were they also unrelievedly loud? Maybe. But of their commitment, there was no doubt. This symphony is nicknamed “the Tragic,” and you could hear the tragedy—the pain; the stabbing, hammering pain—in the music. The pizzicato at the end was poor. You don’t want to end that way, but . . .
About Nézet-Séguin, I say the same thing over and over, because it’s true: He gives it his all. He loves music and cares intensely about it. He would be loath to phone a performance in. He is “out there,” pouring his heart into his work.
Is this everything in conducting? No, of course not, but it counts—counts more than people may suppose.
