Two Digital Mahler Tenths Reviewed, by Derrick Henry-- Deryck Cooke's final completion of what may be Mahler's greatest symphony.
A Cooke's Tour of Mahler Tenths
Two new recordings offer Deryck Cooke's final completion of a symphony that just may be Mahler's greatest.
Reviewed by Derrick Henry
Gustav Mahler: A prophetic statement
JUST HOW MUCH MAHLER is in Deryck Cooke's "performing version" of the un finished Tenth Symphony? More than you might think. The composer left a four-staff short score of the entire work, with select yet significant indications of orchestration; an orchestral draft of the first half (through bar 24 of the "Purgatorio"), with the first and third movements in a fairly advanced--but by no means final-stage of completion and the second in a more unsettled state; and some earlier sketch material. Obviously missing are many dynamic signs, verbal directions, articulative markings, and intermediary tempo indications; the two concluding movements are not even as signed a basic tempo. Thus, preparation of a performing edition entails very little actual composition; instead, the editor must fill in Mahler's frequently spare textures, conjecture on the intended phrasing, dynamics, and tempos, and bring all this to life through an orchestration as authentically Mahlerian as possible. To quote Cooke, "the thematic line throughout, and something like 90% of the counterpoint and harmony, are pure Mahler, and vintage Mahler at that." Then why do many scholars--including the late Erwin Ratz, long the chief editor for the International Mahler Society--prefer that performances be restricted to the opening Adagio? Why do such notable Mahler disciples as Bruno Walter, Leonard Bernstein, Rafael Kubelik, and Klaus Tennstedt (among numerous others) speak out so strongly against a "realization" of the entire Tenth and refuse to perform anything but that opening movement (itself hardly a fair documentation of Mahler's ultimate intent)? Many of these same authorities endorse and perform without qualm Sussmayr's barely adequate realization of Mozart's Requiem, a work whose final movements were left in far more fragmentary form than any part of Mahler's Tenth. Mussorgsky's unfinished scores (and even some finished) have for years been given in Rimsky Korsakov's re-workings, often extremely free. We listen to completions of the op eras Turandot and Lulu and are grateful for the opportunity. So why the fuss over Mahler's Tenth? Surely no one will contend that any realization of this symphony represents what Mahler eventually would have achieved. As Cooke admits, "Mahler himself, in bringing it to its final form, would have revised the draft-elaborated, refined, and perfected it in a thou sand details; he would also, no doubt, have expanded, contracted, re-disposed, added, or canceled a passage here and there (especially in the second movement); and he would finally, of course, have embodied the result in his own in comparable orchestration. Obviously, he alone could have done all this; the idea that someone else can now reconstruct this process is pure illusion." Yet there is no point in bemoaning what might have been: we should rather, as Cooke emphatically has done, make the most of what we have. To quote Cooke once more: "Mahler's actual music, even in its unperfected and unelaborated state, has such strength and beauty that it dwarfs into insignificance the few momentary uncertainties about notes and the subsidiary additions, and even survives being presented in conjectural orchestration." Close acquaintance has convinced me that, even as it stands, Mahler's Tenth represents one of the major symphonic achievements of the twentieth century.
In fact, this profoundly personal, fascinatingly prophetic, enormously life-affirming symphony just may be his greatest.
Certainly, Cooke's realization is a notable accomplishment, with several strokes of genuine inspiration (such as his scoring for three solo violins near the end). Even so, the Mahler initiate undoubtedly will be able to single out pas sages that sound a trifle inauthentic.
Cooke admitted that he had approached the orchestration from a late-Romantic context. (He had been concurrently immersed in a mammoth study of Wagner's Ring, a project that-in a fitting twist of fate-he never completed). There is room for other solutions; Cooke himself encouraged them. Yet unfortunately, the inordinate attention engendered by his version has virtually excluded some half-dozen other completions from around the world-in particular, the painstaking ones by the British dodecaphonic com poser Joseph Wheeler and the American musicologist Clinton Carpenter. Wheeler's score has received only a few performances, Carpenter's none. Neither has been published; no one has even bothered to copy out the parts for Carpenter's version. Yet both offer viable alternatives to Cooke's, according to the eminent Mahler authority Jack Diether, who played a vital role in inspiring the completion and public performance of the five-movement Tenth. I have heard the Wheeler version, which presents Mahler's music in a bolder, more acidic orchestral garb than does the Cooke; I have not seen the Carpenter score, which, according to Diether, takes substantially greater compositional liberties than the other two.
The interested Mahlerite can see for himself exactly what a realization of the Tenth entails. A remarkably realistic facsimile of much of the material was published in 1924 by the Viennese firm of Paul Zsolnay. Walter Ricke's 1967 facsimile has important additional materials but is much less clear. The 1976 publication of a model critical edition of Cooke's final performing version (Associated Music Publishers/Faber Music) not only includes a few more sketches, but allows one to discern unambiguously what is Mahler and what is Cooke. This last edition also contains Cooke's de tailed background material on the Tenth and his thorough description of his working methods. All four available recordings include illuminating annotations on the Tenth's convoluted history and problems of realization: by Diether for CBS and RCA, by Michael Steinberg for Angel, and by Cooke for Philips.
Steinberg's extensive notes also offer a penetrating discussion of the music.
Eugene Ormandy gave Cooke's version its American premiere on November 5, 1965; his recording followed shortly thereafter. The performance has been summarily dismissed by many recent commentators, but repeated hearings have convinced me of its lasting value. Ormandy tries nothing fancy; it's simply a straightforwardly phrased, briskly paced, superbly played rendition of shattering intensity. Such passages as the anguished fortissimo outbursts in the outer movements and the percussion ending of the second Scherzo are more incisive than in any of the newer recordings; Ormandy's is not a polite reading.
CBS's sound holds up very well-a bit hard on top, with more spotlighting than necessary, but spacious, airy, and vivid, with ample dynamic impact.
On October 15, 1972, Wyn Morris and the New Philharmonia Orchestra premiered Cooke's revised performing version; their Philips album commemorates that occasion. Though Morris has made a number of distinguished Mahler recordings, this is not among them. His extremely deliberate interpretation runs fourteen minutes longer than Ormandy's, and he simply cannot sustain the emotional tension. This massive performance-scrupulously observant, to be sure-is fatally deficient in momentum and thrust and tentatively executed; the second movement, in particular, lacks rhythmic security. Nonetheless, two features are notable: Philips' sound, easily the most natural and realistic of the four recordings, and Morris' left-right division of the violins, which clarifies the exquisite counterpoint and was, after all, the seating arrangement Mahler knew and wrote for.
Deryck Cooke: A notable
achievement
Before Cooke allowed publication of his performing version in 1976, he made a few additional changes-thus the final version heard on the two new recordings (though Simon Rattle incorporates a few changes of his own).
The chief difference between the first edition and the revisions is Cooke's expansion of the orchestration from triple to quadruple woodwinds, in keeping with all Mahler's symphonies save the First, Fourth, and Fifth. He could thus eliminate many uncharacteristic wind and string doublings and achieve a reedier, more idiomatic orchestral coloring.
Though Cooke's final thoughts undoubtedly improve upon his original conception, these later changes are by no means uniformly felicitous. Two such instances in the first Scherzo are noted by Brandeis University scholar Nancy Miller in an enlightening paper, as yet unpublished:
"The paring-down in 1976 of the Trio's opening melody to its skeletal outlines is much less satisfying than Cooke's conjectural idea in the 1964 version, where sustained horn tones added a brilliant touch of luminosity; and the 1976 addition of a contrapuntal line in the second violin to the Trio melody (measures 205-6) has a cumbersome effect, muddling the purity of the principal theme." The careful listener will spot further significant discrepancies. For this reason alone, Ormandy's recording assumes considerable documentary importance.
Rattle, despite his middle-of-the road tempos, achieves perhaps the most individual of all the recorded performances. He responds meticulously to every score direction, pointing up the tiniest detail of dynamics, articulation, and especially tempo. (Note well: Many of these directions are Cooke's, not Mahler's,) Mercurial and attention-getting as it is, the clarification of minutiae at the expense of the broader picture ultimately proves unsettling; it all seems fussy and disjointed, particularly in the quickly paced inner movements. Rattle's outer movements are more successful, perhaps because of their broader pacing, perhaps because there is less opportunity for tempo fluctuation, perhaps because Angel's digital sound is more convincing at low than at high levels. For whatever reason, these movements are eloquently inflected and quite moving; the soft string playing is especially impressive.
Still, the Bournemouth Symphony is no Philadelphia or New Philharmonia. Not that it can't play in time and in tune.
This, in fact, it does better than the New Philharmonia. The problem is in the sheer quality of tone. The Bournemouth aggregation lacks distinctive solo personalities in the winds (which under mines the impact of the inner movements) and tonal weight in the strings (problematic in the outer movements).
Some will object to Rattle's textual changes. He beefs up the harrowing climax toward the middle of the Finale with percussion, though Mahler pro vides no such suggestion. (Rattle points to "a parallel moment in the Second Symphony finale, using side-drums, tam-tam, bass drum, and timpani";
Wheeler's performing version, incidentally, makes far greater use of percussion than does Cooke's.) Rattle retains the frightening military drum stroke at the end of the second Scherzo but eliminates the directly ensuing stroke at the beginning of the Finale, even though both are clearly marked in Mahler's short score.
While I'm not particularly bothered by these alterations, neither am I convinced of their point or effectiveness; Rattle's elimination of Cooke's xylophone seems more persuasive.
At least he does not regard Cooke's version as sacrosanct. Yet there is one in stance where he follows Cooke too literally, and so, misinterprets Mahler's intention: the repeated military drum strokes in the Finale. These strokes-"a great guillotine blow" to Rattle-are consistently played at overpowering volume (so loudly that Angel's high modulation level may cause mistracking on many systems). But the sempre ff direction is Cooke's, not Mahler's; Mahler designated each stroke sf. Further, these strokes were expressly marked "'Diktat, dige gedampfie" (completely damped).
They explicitly recall not an execution, but a muffled drum in a funeral cortege.
Thus, the deep thuds in the other three recordings appear closer to the mark.
On the back cover of RCA's new re lease, in tiny type, appears a curious statement: "Although this entire album has been mastered directly from a digital tape, the first movement, in the interest of preserving a superb performance, was transferred to digital from an analog original." Actually RCA is not presenting a single performance at all, but two performances. James Levine's Adagio was taped in April 1978 and released with his Mahler Fifth; the remaining movements were digitally recorded in January 1980. This, of course, raises a number of aesthetic questions. What interests me most is whether--and if so, how--Levine's older performance affected his conception of the rest of the symphony two years later. Conductors who limit their vision to the Adagio necessarily view the movement in a different light from those who see the sym phony whole. When the Adagio must function as a self-sufficient entity (imagine the effect of performing the first movement of Beethoven's Eroica this way, or the initial movement of any other Mahler symphony), the conductor must impose upon it a conception that is likewise complete in itself. That Adagio cannot be seen as merely the gripping opening chapter in a grand and spacious novel, but must serve as a complete work in its own right. Thus the tendency of many conductors to overplay it, to try to wring from it a full symphony's quota of emotion.
Certainly I sense this with Levine. He draws out the Adagio's tempos so much that it loses a lot of its power and becomes heavy and lugubrious. But in the remaining movements, likewise slowly paced (a decision forced by the tone of the Adagio?), his tempos work.
This 1980 performance is far more sharply characterized, far more biting and pointedly articulated than the 1978 Adagio. Balances are remarkably clear.
The orchestra plays magnificently, though I don't like the heavy trumpet vibrato, not present in Ormandy's Philadelphia Orchestra of 1965. Levine's extraordinary control allows him to make a spellbinding statement of his excruciatingly slow Finale (seven minutes longer than Ormandy's). This recording is well worth hearing for its final pages alone.
If I could keep just one Tenth, I'd stick with Ormandy's. Though he is sometimes stiff and not always punctilious (he doesn't distinguish clearly be tween the Adagio's two main tempos), he conveys a more consistent. unified view of the score than do his successors.
But I surely wouldn't wish to be without Levine's highly internalized, deeply spir itual interpretation. Together, the Philadelphia recordings provide a good idea of the emotional range of the work and an excellent opportunity to compare Cooke's two versions. Someday some one will meld the lyric and dramatic aspects of the Tenth into a coherent whole.
For now, there is an obvious need for new performances and recordings. (Kurt Sanderling recently made a recording for Eurodisc, not yet available here.) I'd If I could keep just one Tenth, I'd stick with Ormandy's; his view is more unified.
love to hear what an orchestra with a more characteristically Mahlerian tone color would bring to the score-the Vienna Philharmonic, the Concertgebouw, or even the Berlin Philharmonic.
And we need to hear a first-class orchestra play Wheeler's, Carpenter's, and any other serious performing version.
There's a lot more to be learned about this great symphony.
Now, about that digital sound. I have complained about the current state of digital recording before, and with in creasing vehemence. Never, however, have I been so outraged. When you deal with overpriced "audiophile" albums that preserve mediocre performances not worth a second listen, it's easy to shrug off sonic shortcomings. Who cares? But when truly important documents are at stake, as here. things be come sticky. The sound of these albums impairs my enjoyment of them. As with almost every digital record I have heard on a high-resolution system, when the volume and density of the music escalate, the sound grows increasingly glassy, buzzy, and disembodied. Timbre and ambience become strangely distorted.
Fatigue sets in quickly. Yet the basic recording quality of both albums, minus digital interference, appears to be rather good-especially the weighty, impactful EMI/Angel. These positive qualities can be perceived most clearly in the quiet string passages, which emerge quite convincingly (and really do get down to ppp levels). Alas, as the dynamics increase, the attractive string sound turns edgy and thin. Intentionally or not, RCA has provided a marvelous comparative opportunity. Its digitally reprocessed Adagio (such chicanery evidently didn't end with ersatz stereo), though not particularly satisfying, sounds noticeably less edgy than the remaining four movements, all completely digital. And the previously issued totally analog version of the Adagio, despite an inferior pressing, sounds most realistic of all-not a demonstration record, to be sure, but free of the timbral and spatial distortions of the digital discs.
RCA's production is far superior to its norm. Yet why should I pay a premium price for digital records, when the regular analog counterpart reproduces far more satisfyingly on my equipment by no means inexpensive? Why is it that each time I improve my system, my digital albums sound worse, my analog al bums better? I'm tired of hearing record companies and digital proponents tell me that all this will change when true digital discs can be marketed. If digital records aren't ready to be marketed now, they shouldn't be sold.
Musicians take heed. Digital recordings are being insidiously priced out of the reach of the general collector while at the same time being assiduously avoided by the true sound connoisseur, who is able to recognize unnatural reproduction when he hears it. If only more recording artists would listen carefully to their products. Artur Schnabel had the right idea. After hearing test pressings of his first recording sessions for EMI (1932), he did not mince words: "Perhaps it would be better for me to return sometime in the future when your apparatus can record and reproduce the piano as I hear it when I am playing." EMI listened.
MAHLER: Symphony No. 10, in F sharp (Cooke final version). A Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra, Simon Rattle, cond. [John Willan, prod.] ANGEL DSB 3909, $21.96 (digital recording; two discs, automatic sequence). A Philadelphia Orchestra, James Levine, cond. [Jay David Saks, prod.] RCA RED SEAL CTC 2-3726, $27.98 (digital recording; two discs, manual sequence). Tape: CTK 2-3726, $27. (two cassettes).
COMPARISONS: Ormandy/Philadelphia (Cooke first version) CBS D3S 774 Morris/New Philharmonia (Cooke rev. version) PHI. 6700 067
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Also see:
1982 Speaker Designs: Closer to Perfection? by Michael Riggs and Peter Dobbin-- A look at 100 new speakers; plus, how four speaker designers view their work.
Historic Beethoven Piano Concertos, Reviewed by Harris Goldsmith--Arabesque's revival of Schnabel's first cycle