Mahler’s Fourth is Vänskä’s Fifth Release

courtesy of Naxos of America

Exactly one month ago today BIS Records released the fifth installment in its major project to record the music of Gustav Mahler performed by the Minnesota Orchestra under the baton of Music Director Osmo Vänskä. Like both the second and third symphonies, the fourth includes a setting of a poem from the anthology of German folk poetry Des Knaben Wunderhorn (the boy’s magic horn). That setting is of the poem “Das himmlische Leben” (the heavenly life), which serves as the fourth symphony’s final movement. The vocalist in the performance of this movement is soprano Carolyn Sampson.

Those who have been following my journey through this series of releases know that, for the most part, my reaction has been not much more than lukewarm. This is due, in no small part, to my living in a city that has provided me with a generous number of performances of Mahler’s music, including (unless I am mistaken) all of the symphonies. In this particular case my acquaintance with the fourth symphony goes all the way back to my undergraduate years; and, since that time, it has never receded into the background of my consciousness.

However, one of the reasons it remains in the foreground is that I have had several opportunities to listen to it in concert. The symphony is, for the most part, a relatively low-key composition. While there are several occasions during which Mahler bares his characteristic sharp edges, the fourth tends to keep the grotesqueries to a minimum; and one could probably call the fourth his sunniest symphony without raising too many eyebrows.

On the other hand where climaxes are concerned, I suspect many would agree with me that the highest peak can be found during what amounts to “transition music” between the third and fourth movements. Structurally, the third movement is one of Mahler’s most elaborate constructions. Like the Adagio molto e cantabile (third) movement of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Opus 125 (ninth) symphony in D minor, the third movement of Mahler’s fourth is in what is often called “double variation” form. It consists of two contrasting themes that are subjected to pair-by-pair variations. The last of these recedes until all that is left is the barely audible bass line, after which the entire orchestra erupts into what may best be described as a blinding burst of pure white light. This amounts to an introduction to the vision of Heaven that is described in the Wunderhorn song that is presented in the final movement.

In any concert hall with good acoustics inhabited by an appropriately sensitive conductor leading a well-trained ensemble, that transition is overwhelming. Even the casual listener can appreciate the shift from the cerebral attention required for double-variation form to the primal visceral qualities of that transition passage. (At one performance I experienced, the soprano made her entrance during that passage, as if an angel were descending to deliver the good news of the final movement.) It should go without saying that even the best technology cannot rise to the challenge of effectively reproducing that experience, simply because it is an experience that involves far more than setting the eardrums into vibration.

That said, Vänskä can be credited with giving a sensitive and perceptive account of Mahler’s score; but, where it matters most, the sensitivity and perception of his insights are unlikely to register with those experiencing his efforts through this recording.