San Francisco Classical Voice

On Friday May 21 the second most prestigious symphony in the Bay Area attempted the herculean feat of performing Mahler's Seventh Symphony. They did not succeed.

The most problematic of all Mahler's works, the one with which the composer himself was never quite satisfied, demands an imagination above the usual, a strength in the conductor beyond the traditional. Michael Morgan, the talented and ambitious leader of the Oakland East Bay Symphony made a valiant attempt to mold this work into a cohesive structure, but he failed.

The concert began with Bernstein's "Chichester Psalms", a choral piece of several Biblical Psalms sung by the Oakland Symphony Chorus and boy soprano Aaron Shiber-Knowles. The music is easy to listen to ("the most accessible, B-flat-majorish tonal piece I've ever written," boasted the composer). The Psalms chosen are filled with acclamation (# 100), contemplation ( # 23), or quiet devotion (# 133); the music aptly follows suit in the best popular manner Bernstein was capable of. The tunes are good; the syncopations attractive, speaking more of Broadway than Jerusalem.

In general this was a successful performance. One could carp at an occasional raw sound in the tenors, or the sometimes flat singing of Shiber-Knowles, but mostly the ensemble created an enjoyable 20-minute curtain-raiser that the audience was wild about. The a cappella moment toward the end was most beautiful; Magen Solomon trained her choral group to sing at their very best.

The bulk of the evening was given to the Mahler symphony, over 85 minutes of complexity and power. Its reputation as a work of genius is doubtful. Michael Kennedy in his book on Mahler reminded the casual listener that this symphony "has remained the least understood and accepted of the ten; even long-serving champions in his cause have called it a failure, or cranky' . . . "

Unlike the other symphonies this one is burdened with intricate problems; it is "extravagant, highly sophisticated, mercurial." As in the gargantuan other works, one is given in the Seventh Symphony all the expected ingredients of the master's style: funeral marches, military brass fanfares, folk music, lilting waltzes, parodies of popular tunes. And there's the rub -- there's just too much of it, a superabundance of Mahlerian dialectic. An inattentive listener desires cuts; a sensitive listener wants it shaped to a finer design than was present at this concert.

The performers in the orchestra were uniformly first-class. Particularly remarkable was Jeffery Budin on the tenor horn, playing the magisterial opening melody in the first movement. All the brass were remarkable; unfortunately they were too loud for much of the balance of the orchestra -- Mahler grabbing the listener by the throat. Every section shone when called upon, putting the Oakland East Bay Symphony up there with the best of them.

The composer used an enormous body of instruments. At the end one could swear the powerful banging included the kitchen sink (though wiser heads and a quick glance at the percussion revealed the clangorous cow bells so beloved of the composer).

So what was wrong? Kennedy described his understanding of the difficulties, of the diffuseness of this work that took so many years to complete (and which Mahler continued to tinker with until he died): " Unity' in a symphony is partly sensed as an emotional inevitability." He could see this in the Seventh Symphony and disarmed its critics. On certain recordings -- Solti, Kubelik -- the work triumphs. But, in this performance there was nothing inevitable about the development of ideas. Rather it was an assembly of wonderful tunes, orchestral magic, constantly shifting phrases in a myriad of colors, but no emotional direction. One heard all the details, all the counterpoint, all the inner voices in equal textures. There was too much; it all fell out; it had no shape. The blame lies with the conductor.

The leader of the orchestra is responsible for creating an logical edifice, for articulating the proportions of the music in such a way that the parts are subsumed into a whole that transcends the passing of time. In an ideal performance nothing is too much, no superabundance of musical ideas buries the listener, and nothing is missing -- i.e.,the appearance of the inevitable.

To create an ideal performance is daunting, especially in this work. Morgan often missed this control. Too often the musical line lost its place in the dazzling richness of melodies and marches and dances; phrases came and went, one following another in an endless row of phrases. Without shading the ultimate meaning was lost.

Beginnings of every movement, in truth, were always right on, evocative, powerful, filled with variety and personality. Codas were delicious, particularly in the fourth movement. One couldn't wish for a more delightful and affectionate rendition of an ending. Unfortunately, the centers, the developments, the joints between sections -- here the reasoning disappeared, the "emotional inevitability" vanished. The pace seemed, after a while, relentless, driven.

It need not be so. For parodistic reasons Mahler would frequently indulge in Viennese schwung, a brief moment of popular charm that slows things down and relieves funereal grimness (second theme of the first movement). Morgan didn't indulge in this bit of popular trash, this kitsch, probably for the best of serious reasons. Certainly he was overly discrete and cautious in this loose flirtation with the beat. Comfortable sentiment was avoided; but then his conducting stick too often seemed hectoring and stern. The price? The charm.

I was in the minority in sensing something lacking in the performance. The audience was very enthusiastic in its appreciation, bestowing a standing ovation. One wonders what Morgan and his symphony would have done with a second or third performance. It isn't a relaxing work, but the conductor might have loosened up and allowed some space in his interpretation. He might design the shape to direct the flow of these plush ideas and allow emotion a freer reign. There was no question of his love for the music, just in the execution of it.

(Marvin Tartak is a pianist, Rossini specialist, and teacher who lives in San Francisco.)

©1999 Marvin Tartak, all rights reserved