In memoriam Michael Gielen
Gustav MAHLER (1860-1911)
Symphony No. 6
in A minor ‘Tragic’ (Two performances, from 1971 & 2013)
SWR Sinfonieorchester Baden-Baden und Freiburg/Michael Gielen
rec. 12-14 May 1971, Hans-Rosbaud-Studio, Baden-Baden; live, 21 August
2013. Großes Festspielhaus, Salzburg
CD3 also contains a short extract from a 2001 interview, War Mahler gläubig? (Was Mahler religious?). The booklet includes an
English transcript
Reviewed as a 16-bit download
SWR MUSIC SWR19080CD
[3 CDs: 172:51]
I came to Michael Gielen (1927-2019) when I chanced upon a CD of his Mahler
Eighth, recorded live at the Alte Oper, Frankfurt, in May 1981 (Sony). I
was quickly converted to his thoughtful, clear-eyed approach to this
repertoire, especially the individual Hänssler sets. The latter were
subsequently reissued as Vol. 6 of SWR Music’s Michael Gielen Edition,
which also included newly released accounts of the Rückert Lieder
and Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen; as a bonus, there’s a
DVD of Symphony No. 9, filmed around the time the CDs were being recorded.
This big box was very well received by
John Quinn.
Indeed, SWR’s multi-volume retrospective contains some truly memorable
things, as I discovered when I reviewed
Vol. 7.
Nearly all of Gielen’s recordings were made with the SWR Sinfonieorchester
Baden-Baden und Freiburg, as it was before the controversial Stuttgart
merger in 2016. It was an extremely accomplished and versatile band, of
which he was chief conductor from 1986 to 1999. In that time, Gielen
developed a wonderful rapport with these players, as those tribute boxes so
amply demonstrate. After that, he remained their conductor laureate until
2014, when failing eyesight forced him to retire. (His last conducting
appearance was with the NDR Symphony Orchestra in February that year.) And
if further proof of this special relationship is required, just compare
their Mahler 7, recorded in 1993, with the conductor’s live Berliner
Philharmoniker one, set down in 1994 (Testament). As I noted at the end of that review: ‘A good but rather uneven Seventh;
no match for Gielen’s Hänssler version.’ On reflection, it’s the
consistency of vision and follow-through that makes the original cycle such
a remarkable - and enduring - achievement.
Now we have these contrasting performances of No. 6: a 1971 studio
recording presented here in its first ‘authorised’ release - more details
below - and a new, live one from Salzburg in 2013. How fascinating to
compare readings from the start of Gielen’s Mahlerian odyssey to its
completion 42 years later. Both the 1971 performance and the 1999 one in
the SWR set put the Scherzo second, a sequence Gielen favoured until, in
2004, he read a research paper that appeared to prove beyond all doubt that
Mahler preferred Andante-Scherzo. The Salzburg invitation nine years later
offered Gielen the perfect opportunity to make the change. I daresay that
will please those who never trusted Alma’s contrary advice to the Dutch
conductor and Mahler devotee, Willem Mengelberg, after her husband’s death.
Here are the timings of all three recordings:
1971 (Scherzo-Andante)
21:04 / 12:02 / 13:15 / 27:36
1999 (Scherzo-Andante)
25:01 / 14:36 / 14:46 / 30:40
2013 (Andante-Scherzo)
27:45 / 15:31 / 16:09 / 34:40
I started off by revisiting the 1999 performance, which clocks in at 84:51.
The first movement has a darkly emphatic tread, its rasps and snarls well
caught by the SWR engineers. Two things struck me at once: how well shaped
Gielen’s reading is, and how cannily he judges tempos and tempo
relationships. (The symphony never sags or stretches, as it can so easily
do.) Indeed, the opening narrative is as tense and trenchant as one could
wish. The strange Scherzo is no less impressive - the unforced detail and
complex colour palette are especially telling - and the supple Andante is
so affectionately done. After that dreamy interlude the musical equivalent
of a cinematic lap dissolve at the start of the Finale comes as a rude
awakening. It’s one of Mahler’s most formidable creations, its idyllic Wunderhorn flashbacks swept aside by passages of huge weight and
power. Gielen and his players are superbly controlled here, the disparate
moods boldly characterised, the hammer blows all the more pole-axing for
being so carefully - and dramatically - prepared for.
So, a very cogent and compelling Sixth, whose manifold virtues are typical
of Gielen’s cycle as a whole. Incidentally, the original Hänssler releases
offered some unusual and often stimulating fillers, in this case Alban
Berg’s Drei Orchesterstücke, Op. 6 (HAEN 93029). Then again,
Gielen and his orchestra were celebrated for their commitment to to the
music of Mahler, the Second Viennese School and beyond. And he trained his
players well, as SWR’s anniversary box of
Messiaen‘s orchestral works,
recorded with Sylvain Cambreling between 1999 and 2008, reveals at every
turn.
Rewind to 1971, and the liner-notes describe how this recording was pirated
and sold with the conductor given as either Eduard van Lindenberg or
Hartmut
Haenchen. Once its true provenance was confirmed, those illicit copies were
withdrawn from sale. Auditioning the genuine article, I noticed just how
swift the first movement is. That said, it’s suitably taut and very mobile,
the analogue sound lean and quite bright without being excessively so.
However, Gielen’s tempi and phrasing aren’t as intuitive as they’d
eventually became. (That goes for his grasp of the symphony’s architecture,
too.) As for the orchestra, they lack the weight and superior blend of
later years. The Scherzo is is certainly animated - volatile, even - but
there’s little hint of a subtext; without that, we only get half the story.
Alas, the Andante isn’t fully formed, either. And what of the tumultuous,
multi-layered Finale? At 27:36 it’s the quickest of the three - and it
shows. Gielen drives the music much too hard at times, and that doesn’t
help when it comes to building tension or a coherent argument. Then again,
that was 1971, and Gielen’s Mahler was clearly a work in progress. (The
Frankfurt Eighth shows how far he’d come in just a decade.)
Fast forward to 2013, where, at 27:45, the first movement is the most
leisurely one here. Interestingly, the booklet says Gielen actually upped the tempo here, as he felt the rehearsal performance was too
slow. Even then, the pulse isn’t quite as strong as it was in 1999.
In mitigation, the playing is simply marvellous, Klaus-Dieter Hesse’s
recording warm, full and nicely detailed. Indeed, in the face of such
splendours any reservations I might have had at the outset soon evaporated.
After that weighty and surprisingly propulsive opener, the Andante offers a
modicum of relief, its wistful, dancing rhythms delectably sprung. Happily,
Gielen never underplays the music’s essential strangeness, coaxing a whole
range of ear-pricking colours and sonorities from his faithful, fearless
band. In fact, there are moments in the Andante where I’m tempted to say
this Sixth is as good as, if not better than, any I’ve encountered in the past
forty years.
Moving on to the Scherzo, I’ve rarely heard it sound so weird and wonderful,
the Wunderhorn references so appealingly presented. Every section
excels - the firm, well-rounded horns are a joy to hear - while the
thrilling tuttis are always sensibly scaled. At this juncture, the sense of
being part of an extraordinary musical event is at its most potent; and, if
that weren’t praise enough, Gielen delivers a thrilling Finale, its
strongly contrasted sections framed with all the skill of one steeped in
this great score. Moreover, Mahler’s light rememberings and dark
equivocations have seldom been so beautifully articulated. And what a
stirring summation, conductor and orchestra at their transported - and
transporting - best. The applause is rapturous; then again, for many in the
seasoned audience this was probably the Mahler concert of a lifetime.
Gielen’s Salzburg Sixth crowns a distinguished career studded with awards,
honours and world premieres; its companion, recorded 42 years earlier, is
of passing interest only.
Dan Morgan
