Mahler's stick in the sticks.

Mahler in the Wild

I saw that a fairly small orchestra, not in a big city, was going to perform the Mahler Second Symphony – The Resurrection. So I asked to go to rehearsals and offered to hang around as a cover. Hey, if this guy couldn’t cut it, I’d be ready!

So I went down to the rehearsal, and the conductor was really strange. He knew the score well enough, and was conducting from memory. But, as usual, this meant he was not so much rehearsing the orchestra, as practicing conducting it. He’d do huge stretches, never correcting near collapses, then eventually stop and ask the second harp to play a little louder 132 measures ago, and tell anecdotes to the chorus about where Mahler liked to have them stand. The only thing he talked to the orchestra about was ensemble; playing together. He got quite angry about poor ensemble and, in every case, it was HIS FAULT.

He had the most bizarre technique - a variant of the upside-down choral style. For the ictus at a big climax, instead of arms in the air, he would drop his arms to his waist, pull his elbows behind his back, and then with clenched fists, violently punch the stomach of a large, imaginary stuffed Panda right in front of him. Since this gesture was so low down, it was totally invisible to 80% of the orchestra. He didn’t give upbeats in tempo either. How the cellos knew how to come in at the beginning I have no idea. Critical mass, I suppose. For delicate entries in the strings, he would raise a hand beatifically above them, smile, and freeze until they started playing on their own. No baton. All poetic shaping.

I went to a bit of the dress rehearsal, but had to leave early, certain that there was no way they would get to the end. I returned to the concert and sat in the front row, with a mixture of anxiety and glee. An interminable speech about sponsors and donors, ending with the mantra “This is YOUR orchestra. Please support it.” served instead of an overture to generate enough time before the big enchilada for latecomers to get to their seats. It was sold out.

Maestro came out in a sort of Thai satin shirt. No stick. Never looked at the score.

By God, it was a triumph! Rough, but a triumph. Total effortless recall, effortlessly relaxed; he conducted the whole thing with joy and sweep, which was highly infectious. His technical problems ensured that the orchestra got out of sync at all the usual places (like the coda of the first movement, and of course, the off-stage band bits) and there were plenty of split brass notes, but he had that supreme virtue: he made it look easy and fun. I really admire the orchestra for coping so well. The concert was on a Saturday. The first rehearsal had been the previous Thursday evening.

I still don’t quite understand it. Standing Os of course. Real enthusiasm. I didn’t have a cynical platelet left swimming in my veins. I’d be scared all over again, though, if I see he plans to do Stravinsky’s Symphony in three movements!

©2004 AJM