Symphony No. 6

    My sixth will propound riddles the solution of which may be
    attempted only by a generation which has absorbed and truly
    digested my first five symphonies.

    Mahler, in a letter to Richard Specht

    The only Sixth, despite the 'Pastoral'.

    Alban Berg, in a letter to Anton Webern.

Mahler wrote his Sixth symphony between 1903 and 1905, one of the happiest
periods of his life - a fact which few would guess from the relentlessly grim
nature of the music. The first performance was given in Essen, on May 27,
1906.

This work is, to me, the heart of the Mahler canon; the "dark night of the soul"
at the centre of his central instrumental trilogy. In many ways this symphony, if
perhaps not the greatest of the 20th century (and I would certainly be prepared
to argue that it is), is the work which, probably more than any other, captures
the zeitgeist of the times - a remarkable achievement considering that it was
completed when the century was scarcely half a decade old.

Whereas all the other symphonies either end in triumph (1, 2, 5, 7 and 8),
tranquility (3, 4) or resigned acceptance (Das Lied, 9 and 10) the sixth is
almost unremittingly bleak. "Life's a bitch and then you die" just about sums
up this work. Mahler himself was superstitious about conducting this
symphony, and reportedly burst into tears when told, by Richard Strauss,
before the premiere in Essen in 1906, that he should include a funeral march in
the concert, as the Mayor had just died. The finale features three great hammer
blows (usually achieved by hitting a reinforced section of the floor with a
sledgehammer) which represent the three blows of fate which befall the hero of
the symphony - according to Alma Mahler, who is not necessarily the most
accurate reporter, but in this case it seems appropriate enough. The last
hammer blow (which Mahler removed from the published version of the score)
is of course the hero's death.

These three "blows of fate" have been widely regarded as prophetic of the
misfortunes which befell Mahler himself in 1907, when his elder daughter
"Putzi" died of scarlet fever, his own heart condition was diagnosed, and he
was effectively forced to resign from his position as director of the Vienna
Hofoper.

In the period since the last version of this survey I have become more
convinced than ever that one recording of this work stands head and shoulders
above all the rest - the astonishing 1967 recording by the NPO under Sir John
Barbirolli. The incredibly slow tempo which Barbirolli establishes at the very
opening of the work signals what is to come: grim and desolate, this
performance displays no false optimism, and the sense of struggle is
underlined by the very audible grunts and groans from the conductor,
especially in the opening movement.

Yet listen to that opening movement, and you will hear what a stroke of genius
Barbirolli's tempo really is. Not only does it purvey the sense of grim inevitably
of the ensuing tragedy, but it enables him to make the transitions into and out
of the "Alma" theme sections more smoothly than most other conductors,
whose quicker tempi force an unmarked slowing and accelerating at these
points.

"In every Mahler symphony" Barbirolli has been quoted as saying "there are
many highlights, but only one real climax." In this recording I believe that the
climax occurs during the finale, and that Barbirolli's pointing of it is witness to
his profound understanding of the work.

Just before figure 150 in the score (well in my Dover score anyway) the music
seems about to open up: brass fanfares accompanied by martial triplets on the
timpani, and a series of chorale-like chords lead to the final chance for the
music to modulate into a triumphant major.

If this were one of Mahler's first five symphonies - or indeed, if it had been
written by anyone other than Mahler - it is still just possible, even after all that
has gone before, that the work could have ended thus; but by denying that
triumph, and plunging the music ever deeper into the abyss, Mahler, in my
opinion, ceases to be the last great symphonist of the nineteenth century, and
becomes Mahler, the first, and greatest, symphonist of the twentieth.

In a sense this is not merely the pivotal point in this symphony, but the pivotal
point in Mahler's entire output - nowhere else does such a dramatic affirmation
of a psychological change take place within a work. (The undoubted break
between the earlier Mahler and the post-heart diagnosis, valedictory Mahler
occurs between the Eighth and Das Lied von der Erde) Barbirolli underlines
this moment brilliantly, by making an enormous pause at the peak of the
crescendo (this is actually at figure 150) - a pause which is not in the score, but
which simply demands to be made.

Those who collect samples of wilful stupidity may be interested to know that
the latest Penguin Guide gives this two and a half stars, and their only
comment is that the first movement's slow tempo causes it to drag in places.
No comment.

A recent entry into the Mahler 6 stakes comes from Pierre Boulez, admittedly
not everybody's idea of a Mahler conductor - although see above - yet this
would indeed appear to be the first disc in a complete cycle.

The VPO play extremely well for Boulez, who employs moderate speeds in the
outer movements - the first, for example, is decidedly measured, yet not as
slow as Barbirolli - and Boulez brings out more of the inner detail of the music
than most conductors. Ultimately, though, Boulez is let down by the recording,
which generally lacks bite and fails the hammer blows completely - they might
just as well be muffled strokes on the bass drum. Boulez, like Barbirolli, makes
an unmarked pause after the final wind chord has died away, before the final
pizzicato.

The recording by the Danish Radio SO under composer Leif Segerstam
(Chandos) has caused a certain amount of controversy. It was accorded two
reviews in Fanfare, one a four-page rave, the other a four sentence dismissal
(which even trashed - presumably in the interests of completeness - both
orchestra and recording). How could I resist? Segerstam adopts the
medium-to-slow tempo route, and certainly digs very deeply into the music.
His triumph may well be the finale, where he reinstates the third hammer blow.
But whereas other versions which include it never quite seem to cohere,
Segerstam makes it totally convincing.

The problem with reinstating this is two-fold: firstly the third hammer blow is
not where one would expect it to be: at the climax of the final attempt to reach
the major key, where the bottom falls out of the world and the entire orchestra
is drowned by a massive stroke on the tam-tam. The third hammer blow
comes a few bars later, at the top of the series of ascending harp arpeggios.
Richard Strauss could never, according to Bruno Walter, understand why
Mahler 'squandered' such a wonderful effect, which becomes weaker at each
appearance. In this performance the reason is obvious: the final hammer blow
doesn't need to be as powerful, because the "hero" who is felled by it (as
Alma put it) is exhausted by this point.

The final hammer blow is fate almost casually destroying the hopes and
aspirations of Mahler - and by extension of mankind. The more I listen to this
performance the more impressed I am by it. It is coupled with an equally
controversial recording of Todtenfeier ( see above).

Horenstein's 1966 live recording sounds much better in its CD remastering,
and I have had to reevaluate my opinion of it. Before I had found it slightly
disappointing, but now I am convinced of its greatness - as an interpretation.
Horenstein's is a stoic Sixth, perhaps emphasizing the "classical" nature of the
work (four movements, first movement exposition repeat) and being neither as
sheerly grim as Barbirolli nor as over the top as Bernstein -nor, I am happy to
say, as out-and-out hysterical as both Tennstedts. Neither the orchestra - the
Stockholm PO - nor the recording are in the top flight. There are several other
Horenstein Sixths known to exist, some of them from later dates; we can only
hope that one or more will finally surface.

There seem to be three ways to approach this symphony, the conventional
way, with moderate-to-quick tempi, is the most often taken. The best examples
of this are the BPO under Herbert von Karajan (1975), the Chicago Symphony
under Claudio Abbado (1980) now available at mid-price.

Then there is the Bernstein approach: exceptionally, many would say
excessively, quick tempi in the outer movements - you would have to run to
keep up with Bernstein's march. His recent DG remake is slightly less extreme
than his 1960s (Sony) version but you really have to sample either in order to
know whether you can take this view of the work or not. Kubelik (DG) is
almost as fast in the first movement.

The Bernstein approach is taken to its logical - or ridiculous - extreme by
Neeme J绂vi, whose first movement must be the fastest on record. If you can
get through this without laughing out loud (I couldn't) you may enjoy his
approach. This disc is only worth buying for its filler - yes, a single CD Sixth
with a filler - the Symphonic Prelude (see above). And even that is debatable.

It has been suggested that those who first came to this symphony via either
Bernstein's or Barbirolli's more extreme interpretations find it colours their
view indelibly. This may well be true, and certainly has been for me.

The budget end of the market is also getting extremely competitive. Antoni
Wit's set (Naxos) is well worth the money; it is well played and well recorded,
but for around the same price (depending on where you live and where you
shop) you could have Barbirolli.

On LaserLight Hemult Haenchen's version is even cheaper. LaserLight discs
are some of the cheapest on the market, and their 2CD sets retail for the price
of one. Hanechen's Sixth is also very idiomatic, but is let down by a rather
murky recording and some slack playing - especially noticeable in the finale
where either the third or fourth Bb trumpet (maybe they're both at fault) comes
in a bar too early at around 24 minutes. A glaring mistake which is puzzling: the
recording stems from two live performances - did this flub occur on both
nights?

One final semi-recommendation: the Philharmonia/Sinopoli version employs
some similarly controversial tempi to the Barbirolli and is excellently recorded.

All of the above are double CDs, with the exception of Bernstein's CBS
recording, which appears on a triple coupled with his 1966 eighth (see below).

The 1968 Cleveland/Szell has just been reissued by Sony on a single CD.
Although very fine, and highly recommendable at budget price, this
performance is not a patch on the harrowing account I heard him give with the
LSO in London 1969 - now that was a great performance.

Despite much hoohah in certain quarters (the Gramophone again) I really can't
recommend the Tennstedt (EMI). (I recently picked this up second-hand
especially for this survey, in order to confirm my impressions gained from
hearing a live Tennstedt on the radio - see the lengths I'm prepared to go to for
you, dear reader?). This performance strikes me as overblown, less well
recorded than Barbirolli's of 15 years earlier, and ridiculously hysterical in the
finale. There are numerous passages where Tennstedt pulls the tempo about
for no apparently good reason; note that I am not against (excessive)
unmarked rubato per se, but it does need to feel convincing musically; all too
often Tennstedt's rubati in this symphony sound merely mannered.

Unfortunately, but perhaps not surprisingly, the recently-issued Tennstedt live
Sixth (coupled with a live Seventh - see below) suffers from the same
disfigurations as his studio recording, although the recording is far better.

Finally, as I type these words I am listening to the very first recording, from
the early 50s Charles Adler conducting the VSO (I think - it's on tape). A very
fine interpretation, although the playing and recording are something of a let
down. Harmonia Mundi have reissued Adler's Third, perhaps they could do
the same for this - it's an important recording, which, by the way, places the
andante second, because the critical edition of the IGMG, which reversed the
order didn't appear until 1960.