Viola players “don’t get no respect,” as the late Rodney Dangerfield would say. They are the butt of endless jokes (sometimes told by themselves). But Gustav Mahler certainly respected them. He has the viola section begin his Symphony No. 10 with an eerie unison song.
The entire symphony is eerie—otherworldly, bizarre, sometimes freaky. It has the stamp of modernity on it.
Now, when I say “entire symphony,” what do I mean? No. 10 was Mahler’s last composition. He lived to complete only a movement of it—the opening Adagio. This is what I mean by “the symphony.”
It began a concert of the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra at the Salzburg Festival on Saturday morning. Conducting the VPO was Andris Nelsons, the Latvian who is the music director of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. He has what seems a close relationship with the Viennese orchestra.
(The VPO, as you recall, has no music director—no permanent conductor—but rather an unending round of guests.)
There is a perpetual question about the conducting of Mahler (and other composers, to be sure): How much should a maestro “shape” the music, or “manage” it? To what extent should the music “arise organically”? In my view, Maestro Nelsons erred on the shaping and managing side, in the early going. But the music would soon become natural.
Mahler’s impishness—his wackiness, his outright weirdness—the VPO players expressed. Strings were not afraid of portamentos. They are a key, and natural, part of Mahler. The pizzicato at the end was poor, but that is all too common, even in the best orchestras.
When he put down his baton, Nelsons asked the viola section to stand. A fine moment—further moment—in the spotlight.
After intermission, there was another Symphony No. 10—a full symphony, by Shostakovich. I have reviewed the VPO in Shostakovich many times, and I tend to ask the same questions, before a performance begins.
Will there be enough “Soviet fear” in the music? Will there be enough grain in the string sound (or will it be nothing but cream)? Will savage sections pack their punch, or will the listener feel like he’s being buffeted by high-class pillows, with satin cases?
In short, is the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra too beautiful—too lush, too luxurious, and too content or satisfied—for Shostakovich?
On Saturday, under Andris Nelsons, the orchestra was very good.
The first movement told a story. The orchestra, the music, was talking to you. What were they saying? What was the story? That is for the individual listener, pretty much, to fill in. The woodwinds were outstanding. Toward the end of the movement, the double basses were duly ominous, and they contrasted with the piccolo. Shostakovich likes to play with (very) low and (very) high here.
As for the second movement—marked Allegro—it is a savage Shostakovich scherzo. The Viennese players were beautiful, as they can’t help being. Yet they still packed a punch (in their own elegant way). The playing was snappy and precise. I thought of the title of a famous piece by John Adams: Short Ride in a Fast Machine. That’s what this second movement was—a short, dangerous ride.
In the final two movements, conductor and orchestra continued to serve Shostakovich well. Maestro Nelsons was knowledgeable and assured. The VPO displayed its talent, both individual and collective. The flute was stylish. The French horn was steady (a huge gift from a player of that instrument). The concertmaster was puckish, in Shostakovich’s fashion, and so was the bassoon. The timpanist gave us a splendidly judged crescendo and decrescendo.
He received robust applause when, after the symphony, Nelsons asked him to stand. Before the ovations were over, Nelsons, if I saw correctly, held up the score. What a genius, Shostakovich (with an ample portion of humanity). Was he, who died in 1975, the last great composer we have known?
We can save that discussion for another time.
