Gustav Mahler (1860-1911)
Symphony No.2 in C-minor ‘Resurrection’ (1895)
Mari Eriksmoen (soprano); Jennifer Johnston (mezzo-soprano)
Philharmonia Chorus & Orchestra/Santtu-Matias Rouvali
rec. live, 8 June, 2022, Royal Festival Hall, Southbank Centre, London
German texts and English translation
Philharmonia Records SIGCD760 [2 CDs: 81]
The presentation of this new album, with its concentration upon the conductor both on the cover, which features only the words “Philharmonia Records- Santu conducts Mahler” – note the chummy use of his first name – with no mention of the work actually played, reeks of the cult of personality, which probably deters serious music lovers who buy recordings as much as it supposedly draws in those who find the classical music world stuffy. Oddly, too, so great is the emphasis upon conductor and orchestra that, although they are each given a generous biographical note, neither of the two female singers is credited on the back cover or inside the booklet in the listing. I happen to like very much most of what I have heard Rouvali do, both live and recorded, but I would not say that so far Mahler has been his strongest card and critical reaction to his live performances has been decidedly mixed – indeed, sharply divided regarding this live performance; I have read diametrically opposed responses to it. He undoubtedly had some of the attributes of a Wunderkind, but he is now in his late thirties, so let’s not push it…
I must preface this review with the same observation I have increasingly been making about new recordings of catalogue staples: the competition is stiff and it has to be good if it is to sell at all. Like many a collector, I have numerous recordings of this, a favourite Mahler symphony and it takes something special to shake my loyalties to… well, where do we start? Bernstein, Klemperer, Levine, Mehta, Stokowski, Tennstedt and Walter will do.
First impressions, however, are very good; the orchestra plays with great power and attack and the prominence of the cellos and double basses, seated well forward in the sound image, is telling; the punchiness of the phrasing is perhaps explained by the fact that Rouvali is a percussionist by training. The harps, too, are magically audible without being unnaturally highlighted; the clarity of, and balances between, individual instrumental lines are enormous advantages here. Perhaps all that is missing is a sense of release, the almost panicky sense of drama that Klemperer, for example, finds in this tumultuous, constantly conflicted music. The Philharmonia’s playing is so slick and error-free and Rouvali’s control so meticulous that I miss a little of the sense of danger which should be inherent in this edgy Totenfeier. Conversely, I am so seduced by the sweetness in the violins’ restatement in C major of the second theme at 16:40, complete with unashamedly swooning portamento, that I forget and forgive any lack there, and the spooky tremolando at 18:33 heralding the return of the death march is highly atmospheric; the concluding bars are deeply satisfying.
Rouvali launches into the second movement Ländler with a lilt and a swing I find truly delightful; the subtly applied rubato of the first theme and the delicate, understated unease of the second are beautifully gauged; the pizzicato section is charming and the whole movement is a model of elegant restraint. Simply perfect.
For me, the perfection of that second movement contrasts strongly with the “Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt” Scherzo, which is skilfully played but simply taken much too fast for my taste; Rouvali begins too quickly then at 3:22 goes even faster, gabbling the momentum and coming in at 9:19, some two or even three minutes faster than virtually every other recording I like. For me, this is a miscalculation – not crucial, as the playing is so good – but regrettable.
Jennifer Johnston sings “Urlicht” with rich tone and calm, dignified phrasing, her voice introduced by a wonderfully hieratic brass passage then floating on a cushion of sound provided by strings and oboe; again, the serenity of that movement forms a telling juxtaposition with the ensuing violence of the start of the finale. The Last Trump call – actually by horns offstage – is nicely distanced yet very audible. The first great orchestral chorale over rattling timpani at 7:33 is thrilling and Rouvali sustains tension through to the start of the march ten minutes in but I would like to hear a tad more vehemence of the kind Bernstein brings to the progress of the march itself. Compensation is subsequently provided by the sheer impact of the timpani and the aural theatre of the interplay between the on and offstage bands, yet again skilfully handled by the sound engineers. The choir’s “Aufersteh’n” creeps in with hushed intensity and Mari Eriksmoen’s shimmering soprano breaks through their muttering ranks beguilingly; her silvery sound both contrasts and blends well with the mezzo-soprano’s darker timbre. The choir is as good as any I have heard in any other recording, summoning up impressive reserves of power for the peroration. Nearly two minutes of enthusiastic applause and cheering are retained at the end – in fact the only evidence in this entire recording that it is live, the audience is so rapt – and the digital sound is superbly detailed and balanced throughout.
By no means everything here is perfect – I especially wish that the Scherzo were more measured – but so much is admirable, moving and impeccably played and sung that I can unhesitatingly endorse this recording as testimony to the success of Rovali’s stewardship of the Philharmonia; it augurs well for his tenure and reveals the mind and interpretative aptitude of a thoughtful and gifted musician.
(Given that I have seen several CDs of late with timings over 80 minutes, I am surprised that this could not have been fitted onto one rather than two discs – for a start, the applause could have been cut or faded out. The resultant price increase will surely deter prospective purchasers.)
Ralph Moore
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