Greetings Gentlemen!

Here is the little bit I posted to the Mahler List. You are welcome to share it with other NWMF people. I will forward it to Geoffrey along with a personal message. I can't tell you what a thrill it was to be allowed to sit in with you guys. Thanks for providing such an overwhemling experience. DL (now for the review)

Yesterday was the long-awaited M6 here in Seattle. There is a story behind it; but first some background. Some of you may remember that last July I wrote about what I felt to be an exceptionally moving performance of Mahler's Sixth. For me it was the musical high point of the summer. The Northwest Mahler Festival Orchestra consisting of at least 100 volunteer players was conducted by Geoffrey Simon in a program that also included works by Strauss and Rachmaninoff. We heard that the Festival was invited to perform the Mahler again as part of the celebration surrounding the dedication of the new Seattle Symphony Hall. The concert was scheduled for September 20, an all-day, free open-house with performances on two stages by dozens of local music groups. Everyone even loosely connected with the orchestra was very excited by the prospect of doing the symphony again, and doing it in a hall that promised to be world class. Simon agreed to fly back for the occasion and the organizational work went forward.

Less than a month ago the Festival Board found out that because of the large number of groups involved, they were allotted only 45 minutes in the main hall. At first there was chagrin and disappointment among the Mahlerites, and some felt that it was a travesty and an insult to be expected to play only parts of a Mahler symphony. Geoffrey Simon however insisted that this was a fine opportunity to demonstrate the orchestra's strength to a wider audience and perhaps to win some new Mahler converts in the process. There followed a friendly debate about which movements to perform given the restrictions of time and aesthetic considerations. Everyone agreed that the last movement was a must. But what else? Some argued for the scherzo and some for the andante. The scherzo would serve as a good opener and get people's immediate attention. The andante had its supporters who simply loved it to death and wanted to hear it again. Simon was leery of starting a program with the andante, especially since the orchestra would never have sat on that stage before and the acoustics might come as a shock. Also it would be difficult for any orchestra to start cold with those first ineffably fragile and emotionally laden notes.

The night before the first rehearsal, Simon met with the Festival organizers and hit on the idea of starting the program with a few short passages from the first movement and the scherzo, followed by the andante and finale in their entirety. The excerpts would serve as a sound check and would give the audience a taste of what they were missing. And this in fact is what happened.

On the day of the concert I arrived well over an hour ahead of time and saw to my amazement that there was a double line of people- thousands of them-extending all the way around the block. I thought such things happened only at rock concerts. A guard told me that it had been that way since the hall opened at 10:00 in the morning, and people could expect to stand in line for at least an hour. There was apparently great curiosity about the new hall, and after all, it was free. I needn't have worried about having an audience.

Groups were scheduled all day in forty-five minute blocks with fifteen minute set-up times between. It was quite a trick getting the huge Mahler orchestra moved onto the stage in time, but somehow they made it. And what a sight it was! Nine horns, six trumpets, four trombones and a tuba on the top riser flanked on either side by a set of timpani. Twenty woodwinds grouped in front of them. Thirty-three violins on the left and masses of low strings on the right. And lying ominously on a table on the far left was the great John Henry sledge hammer.

The program began as planned with excerpts from the first two movements. The conductor gave the audience a brief word about each one before launching into the main attraction: the andante and finale.

Having attended all the rehearsals (including the sectionals), I know the infinite pains that Simon had lavished on the opening notes of the andante, and I was on the edge of my seat to hear how it would go. All I can say is that it was simply ravishing. This movement has always seemed to me to be the most perfectly lovely of all the Mahler compositions; there is a complete absence of the angst and darkness that are so characteristic of most of Mahler's work. Instead we are treated to the Peaceable Kingdom complete with cows grazing placidly on the hillsides and church bells tolling far down the valley. Simon took tempi that gave us plenty of time to leisurely savor the innocent beauty of the phrases, saving everything for the lavish outpouring of pure romanticism in the big tutti at the end of the movement. Here there was no holding back; Simon played the gesture for all it was worth, and the effect was breathtaking. I don't believe I have ever heard that passage played with such passion.

After the pastoral simplicity of the andante, the finale opens into a totally different world. In fact it is hard to imagine a greater contrast. The first two bars rise like a puff of smoke to reveal an ominous and other-worldly vision. Simon placed great emphasis on the ghostly and macabre aspects of the movement imbuing even the strident timpani motive with a sense of impending horror. The church bells return, but this time there is a feeling of hidden menace. The passage that follows (from rehearsal number 105 to 106 in the score) is extraordinary and unprecedented even for Mahler. Suddenly, out of a quietly shimmering background, the horns swoop up to a high D-flat and then glissando insanely down an octave and a half; the trumpets do the same thing a few bars later when for a moment all atonal hell breaks loose. It is meant to be frightening, and Simon made the most of it. This bizarre passage set a standard for expressionism that to my knowledge was not surpassed until Berg composed Lulu. The chorale sections were wonderfully rich thanks to the excellent brass section, and the long introduction ended on a note of nobility.

Simon began the allegro with a brisk, taut tempo which propelled everything forward with an urgent sense of purpose. The tempo did not slacken with the appearance of the second theme group, introduced by the triplet figure in the high woodwinds. Simon pressed on though allowing some flexibility for the expansion of the more romantic melodic material. The cowbells return, and for a moment we think we can relax, but the calm is shattered by a reminder of the surreal bits from the introduction. It is obvious that Simon relishes these threatening outbursts and makes us focus attention on them as though to say: Ah, things are not as they seem!

And so it went, alternating between determined forward strides and devastating hammer blows of fate. Even after sitting through all the rehearsals, I was unprepared for the amount of energy Simon still held in reserve for the performance. The tension never lagged right up to the place where the third hammer blow would have been. When the last, apocalyptic crack of doom suddenly exploded on stage, a small child in the audience shrieked in terror and burst into uncontrollable sobs. You seldom hear such raw emotion in a concert hall, but the child was simply expressing in a very direct way what most of us felt in that final shattering moment. I only hope that he was not so severely traumatized that he will be afraid of orchestras forever after.

There was an immediate standing ovation; Maestro Simon received flowers and was called back three times. The musicians looked happy and flushed with triumph as though they realized that they had done the impossible. Those of us who were too big to cry felt that we had been pulled through an exhilarating, though draining, emotional experience. And then it was all over, leaving me, at least, feeling slightly dazed.

I asked some Festival people what they had planned for next year and learned that Mahler's Second is in the works for early spring. It will be conducted by Eric Hanson, the man who did the wonderful DLvdE here last February. There is a rumor that Geoffrey Simon may be back next summer to do the Eighth. So much to look forward to! Mahler knew that his time would come, but he can scarcely have imagined that so many musicians would volunteer and even pay for the privilege of performing his music way out here on the edge of civilization in a city that barely existed in his time.

David Lamb