The Mozarteum Orchestra presented the final Sunday matinee of its subscription series this year. It’s a fine provincial band, on a par with Rotterdam Philharmonic or the City of Birmingham Symphony or Zurich’s Tonhalle Orchestra (which itself gave me two and a half years’ enjoyment during my time living there from 2000-2002, although I have not had a chance to hear it again in well over a decade).
Salzburg’s own great local cellist Clemens Hagen joined guest conductor Constantinos Carydis and the orchestra for Schotakowitsch‘s cello concerto. Together, they depicted a desolate Russian wasteland, where every soul struggles to survive life in the Evil Empire. Schostakowitsch’s own signature notes D-S-C-H permeated the whole score, pushing forwards as those around him had been liquidated by the brutal regime. Here he was defiant, but kept his head down: soloist and orchestra were never over-bearing, and kept their performance almost restrained, and with an edge to it that Russian performers would understand. The meaning was clear. The principal hornist sat amidst the viole to engage Hagen in more dialogue: was he hiding there as a spy, or was he simply a trusted friend out of place? The music kept this ambiguous, indeed as life must have been in the Soviet Union, or indeed Russia today.
On an ominous note, in the middle of the slow movement a member of the bass section collapsed on stage. The music stopped while he was carried off, and then the movement started over. After the intermission they announced that he had merely fainted and was fine, but the optics added to the somber mood. Hagen tried to cut this with a somewhat more up-beat encore, which sounded like it may have been Bach, but really we needed nothing else.
The Mahler first symphony after the intermission was a bit anti-climactic. The first movement launched with a certain dynamism. But then Carydis decided to insert the so-called “Blumine” movement – the bit Mahler extracted from an earlier work he had ripped up and inserted here, only to decide almost immediately that it didn’t belong here either and so he removed again. When the Norrköpingers performed this symphony here last month, they gave us the “Blumine” movement as an encore and made it work as a stand-alone fragment, but inserting it here demonstrated why Mahler rejected it. This reading was less compelling and also sapped the emotion and drive from the entire symphony. When the usual second movement (now third) came along, the orchestra had not quite recovered from the pointless diversion. For the rest of the symphony, Carydis tried to re-capture the initial dynamism by modulating the volume, keeping some passages unnaturally quiet and then exploding in others. The orchestra responded well, but I still wonder what they might have done had they not lost the momentum in the “Blumine.”