SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

R. Strauss, Mahler: Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, Mariss Jansons (conductor), Carnegie Hall, New York, 6.2.2008 (BH)

Richard Strauss: Don Juan, Op. 20 (1888-89)
Mahler: Symphony No. 5 in C-sharp Minor (1901-02)


In the final night, Mariss Jansons and the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra began with Richard Strauss's Don Juan, opening with the largest flourish of anything of the three nights.  Nimbly rappelling Strauss's peaks and valleys, the orchestra was buoyed by some absolutely radiant horns, like a giant dirigible floating above, surveying the landscape.  The percussion section offered some sparkling accents on the triangle, surely in the running for "Most Underrated Instrument" in terms of its key role in changing the color of a large group.  Jansons's warmly exciting reading was faultless, but (it must be said) that by the third night I was hoping for a little greater characterization to help distinguish the works from one another.  The orchestra has a ravishing sound, but sometimes I wish they had just a few more "ugly" crayons in the box.

Most likely, this orchestra has played Mahler's Fifth Symphony scores—perhaps hundreds—of times over its history, and has recorded highly regarded versions under the batons of Bernard Haitink and Riccardo Chailly.  Jansons offered a sumptuous take, starting with a sizzling opening making way for some implacable wind sonorities, and some equally impressive percussion effects notable for their softness.  Like cracks opening up along a fault line, the startling mood changes cascaded down, running into each other over and over.  The howling second movement ("with the Greatest Vehemence") again showed the strings and winds buffeted about, with the trumpet flashing like a beacon amid all the contrapuntal explosions.

The Scherzo, if not as vicious as Simon Rattle in the third movement of the Mahler Ninth last fall with the Berlin Philharmonic, still had plenty of sarcasm and frenzy, a violent waltz with a sudden end, as if the ensemble unexpectedly careens straight into a concrete wall.  The Adagietto was gentle and as steady and unwavering in its gaze, making it all the more piercing; the friend with me said she had tears in her eyes.  The final phrase ebbed away as if softly closing the door on a vanished era.

But of course, as they say, when one door closes, another opens, and the sprightly brass call opening the final Rondo, with its dizzying currents, immediately livened up any remaining sober spirits.  Although Jansons's overall approach was at first more mellow than some, it became clear that he had saved some of the "big moments" for later, pulling out the huge fugal finale with consummate skill.  Throughout, the Concertgebouw's musicians seemed fearless, and for their bravery the audience awarded them and Jansons five curtain calls.  It's hard to imagine what kind of encore could have followed such a performance, so wisely Jansons offered none.  I doubt anyone felt deprived.

Bruce Hodges


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