The Los Angeles Philharmonic has arrived for two concerts in David Geffen Hall. They are led by their music director, Gustavo Dudamel. The first concert was yesterday afternoon, and the second will be tonight.
On the first program, there was a single work: the Mahler Third. It is the longest symphony (by anyone).
There was a time when I didn’t like it very much. I liked the fifth movement, with its Christmassy chorus, because who can’t? And I liked the sixth, which is the last: that slow, beautiful, involving, transcendent thing. No one can resist it, I would think.
But all the foregoing—the first four movements—I did not really understand. Or see the greatness in. If someone had been willing to sell me an LP of just the last two movements, I would have bought it. But somewhere along the way, the Third became just about my favorite piece of music. All of it.
Music is funny that way, and wonderful that way.
I could not have told you—never—that the Bruckner Fifth would be one of my favorite pieces of music. I could not have told you that I’d be a Wagnerian. A Ring-head. That was a latish development.
One could go on . . .
Gustavo Dudamel has made a name for himself in Mahler. I have reviewed his Mahler recordings warmly. But let me recall a criticism I had of him early in his career.
He was brilliant in pieces that are short bursts—the Roman Carnival Overture, for example. But in longer pieces, he had trouble keeping the music alive. I remember a Beethoven symphony in which the first movement was superb. Thereafter, things were ordinary, at best. The same happened in a Prokofiev symphony.
Anyway . . .
A successful Mahler Third requires a number of things: intelligent pacing by the conductor; excellent individual playing; excellent collective playing; a sense of the sublime.
Other than that, the piece is a cakewalk.
The stage at David Geffen was groaning with players and singers. This was another symphony of a thousand (though it is the Mahler Eighth that has that designation). Dudamel was greeted with huge applause, as at a rock concert (as if I would know). The symphony began with a smudge in the horns—a bad entrance, or onset. There was more smudging from them later on. But nothing unpardonable.
Individually, the L.A. players tended toward excellence. The trumpet ought to receive a medal. He, or she, was both sweet and bold. This playing could not be improved on, in my judgment. The clarinet was appropriately tart. The basses were fabulously growling.
Collectively, the orchestra was in very good shape. From Dudamel, the first movement was muscular, but not too much so. It was clear, sensible, and musical. I could forget Dudamel after a while, which is a high compliment: I could simply listen to Mahler, rather than the conducting.
Dudamel conducted without a score, by the way. Years ago, I heard André Previn say that it was generally a “conceit” to conduct without a score. Well, sometimes it is, I’m sure.
The second movement was just fine. So was the third, except for this: It could have used a greater dose of quivering grace. There should have been more electricity running through certain passages. The movement was rather plain.
To intone Nietzsche’s “Midnight Song” in the next movement was Tamara Mumford, the mezzo-soprano from Utah. She is a very good singer. But she is not ideal for this part. She is a soprano-y mezzo, if you will, and the part needs more of a contralto-y mezzo. Mumford does not have enough voice for it, or the right kind of voice: dark, rich. But she sang the music nicely, obviously.
Dudamel and the orchestra were less good, allowing some imprecision. The “Midnight Song” did not cast the spell it can.
The transition to the “Christmassy chorus” was exemplary. It was perfect. The tempo of this movement was just right. So was its texture—not too heavy, not too wispy. All honor to Dudamel, and various other preparers, for getting all these things right. The fifth movement could hardly have gone better, down to the final “bimm” (as in “bimm bamm bimm”).
In the final movement, he lost me—Dudamel did. The music was simply too slow. Not “daringly slow,” as critics like to say, but too slow. The notes were placed instead of natural. Think of setting a table: You place the fork, you place the knife, you place the glass . . . Place, place, place. So were these notes. They need to arise and flow naturally (at whatever tempo).
I could not concentrate on the music. I sort of wrote it off. I tried to put aside my own preferences and accept the interpretation on the conductor’s terms. I failed. I believe that he warped the music out of recognition and appreciation.
I would have left, but could not think of an un-obnoxious way of doing so. I simply waited, and waited, for the music to end. The climax had nothing for me, because what had preceded it was lifeless.
I trust, and believe, others had a better experience.