Mahler 7

I was recently reminded of my still-unlistened-to (and incomplete) Mahler cycle with the Concertgebouw Orchestra under Haitink.

I read an article in Gramophone about the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra and their proud tradition of performing Mahler’s music. Under Willem Mengelberg—who was a friend of Mahler—they were one of the first orchestras outside Vienna to champion his work. I confess, I had no idea about this history. In grad school, I had a brief love affair with the modern-day Concertgebouw, particularly taken with their stellar brass playing. But I’ll admit, it’s been a while since I last listened to them. It’s fun learning this kind of history—it adds to the listening experience. And now I know: Amsterdam is one of the great Mahler capitals of the world.

I’m familiar with the modern Concertgebouw sound, but I didn’t quite know what to expect from the orchestra of the late ’60s. It’s a mixed bag. There are plenty of cringy moments that make you appreciate the technical polish of today’s players. Still, I was struck by the phrasing of the strings, the rich horn tone, and the powerful tutti woodwind sound—these were qualities I loved. The horns, in particular, surprised me—not because I expected them to sound bad, but because I rarely find myself drawn to horn playing in general.

I inherited this cycle—released on Philips—from a former co-worker who was in the middle of a move. Generously, he let me thumb through his collection and take whatever I liked. It was a solid haul. That said, this particular release is far from the best-sounding Philips recording I’ve heard. I don’t really think of Philips as an audiophile label, though they certainly have their gems, and I’m usually satisfied. I don’t hesitate to buy if I like the repertoire or the artist. However, this Mahler recording at times sounded downright awful. A narrow dynamic range and an uneven soundstage really detracted from the performance.

As for Mahler 7—it’s a bit... mid. I don’t rank it among his best, but I’m not anti-Seventh like so many are. The second movement—the first Nachtmusik—is delightful. Maybe a bit conventional, and at times even pop-sy, but the little folk tunes Mahler weaves throughout are endlessly charming. And really, any piece that features a tenor tuba is alright by me.

Hindemith + De Falla

Two records tonight (well, three if you count the Lumineers during dinner).

First, a Columbia of Ormandy & Philly performing Mathis der Maler and Symphonic Metamorphosis (MS 6562). Unfortunately, it’s a '70s pressing and not an earlier 2- or 6-eye pressing. These later pressings don’t sound great, but there are so many wonderful performances on Columbia that I still keep plenty in my library.

Mathis is such a powerful piece, conveying tremendous gravitas from the very first note. Hindemith has this unique ability to sound both ancient and modern at the same time—a duality that works well, considering the work’s inspiration: Matthias Grünewald’s medieval paintings.

Ormandy & Philly is a classic combo and one I’m usually a fan of. However, there is a thickness, richness, and depth of sound that is lacking (the pressing doesn’t help). That said, I’m quite bias toward the San Francisco Symphony recording with Blomstedt. For me, it’s the gold standard for both Mathis and Symphonic Metamorphosis—I have yet to hear another recording that tops it.

Next up: Manuel de Falla’s Nights in the Gardens of Spain with San Francisco and Rubinstein at the keys (LSC-2430). An odd pairing with Hindemith, but I needed an audiophile record to cleanse the aural pallet and this Classic Records reissue sounds fantastic

De Falla’s music is rich with color, although hard to follow at times—the pacing from one musical idea to another occasionally feels rushed. However, it’s nice hearing Spanish music from an actual Spaniard. So much of my Spanish music diet comes from French composers. Their music isn’t entirely inauthentic, but much of it drips with an exoticism that clearly appealed to the Parisian audience at the time. De Falla was Andalusian and his Muslim-Iberian heritage shines through the score in a delightful way.

Sibelius 4 + 5

One of my first vinyl splurges was this terrific box set of the complete Sibelius symphonies with Berlin and Sir Simon Rattle (BPHR 150072). I keep this one separate from the rest of my collection—the clear vinyl and classy box art make for a great “coffee table record.”

Both the recording quality and performance are fantastic. I don’t usually associate Sibelius with Rattle, but the two make a wonderful pair. Berlin sounds incredible as always; they remain my favorite orchestra playing today.

A funny coincidence prompted me to listen to these two symphonies (4 and 5). First, a horn buddy of mine is currently playing Sibelius 5 and sent a picture of his very long-tone-heavy part—welcome to my life! Secondly, I’ve been reading Stephen Hough’s book Rough Ideas, and in it he discusses the two contrasting symphonies. I cannot believe the Fourth is not performed more often. The opening moments of the first movement are some of Sibelius’s best writing. However, I will admit that the finale of the Fifth is hard to beat, though).