The Mahler Symphonies : an owner's manual
David Hurwitz (Amadeus, 2004)

213 pp.  First reading.
Posted 16 December 2005.

For years I avoided Mahler.  In my mind he combined the worst features of arch-romanticism with, if not the worst features of musical modernism, then at least with certain spiritual sicknesses of modernity.  In other words, I thought of him both as a composer who luxuriates in effusive, uncontrolled emotion and is prone to neuroses and faux spirituality.  It seemed a bad combination.  If you had questioned me regarding the grounds for my opinion of the man, I would have had a two-fold response.  First, I had read about Mahler.  Second, I had once heard part of his Symphony No. 8 - an experience I did not soon forget (much to my chagrin).  With its syncretic texts, voluptuous choral sound, and ultra-plush orchestral texture (the musical analogue of fudge, I said to myself as I reached for the off button) it simply confirmed and amplified my prejudices.  There is too much good music in the world, I said, to waste my time with this nonsense, and I happily returned to Purcell, Bach, and Anonymous.

But then it happened that I was discussing music with a friend whose judgment in these matters I trust, and he, in response to my disparaging remarks about Mahler's music, surprised me by responding with a question that upset my easy dismissal.  'Even the songs?' he asked.  I didn't know anything about the songs, so I trundled off to the record shop.  After listening, and listening again, and again, to his Kindertotenlieder, Ruckert-lieder, and Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen, three song-cycles for voice and orchestra, I had to admit that there seemed to be more to Mahler than I had thought.  Yes, they were starkly emotional songs, but they also showed an impressive restraint, and the orchestral sound, dark and moody with plenty of horns, woodwinds, and tasteful percussion, was intriguing.  But, I said to myself, there is a world of difference between a song and a symphony; I can enjoy the one without being beholden to the other.  But is there?  And could I?

I remembered from my reading that many of Mahler's symphonies grew from seeds planted in his songs, and that several of his symphonies even had songs incorporated into them, and that at least one of his symphonies (the offending 8th) was a full-fledged choral work.  Perhaps it was not going to be so easy to maintain a stable barrier between this and that.

The first chink in the barrier appeared when I attended a concert of Mahler's songs about 2-1/2 years ago. One of the songs, a beautiful miniature titled Urlicht, was, according to the program notes, lifted from a passage in his Symphony No. 2.  Very well, I thought, I will go where I am led.  I acquired a copy of that symphony and, much to my surprise, enjoyed it immensely.  After that the barrier began to acquire plenty of holes: first Symphony No. 5, then No. 3, then No. 9 and No. 6.  In time I had pieced together about two-thirds of the symphonies (of which there are 9, or 10, or 11, depending on how you count).

The time was ripe, then, for me to discover David Hurwitz's book on Mahler's symphonies.  Hurwitz is a prominent music critic who runs the classical record review daily classicstoday.com, and evidently a Mahler enthusiast.  He has written an unusually straightforward book about the symphonies.  One of the perils of writing about music is that the temptation to lapse into jargon is ever present: 'the sub-dominant modulates to F-sharp minor before the legato ritornello' and so forth.  To someone like myself who lacks the rudiments of music theory, this kind of writing quickly turns the mind to mush.  The other temptation is not to write about the music at all, but instead to dwell on its biographical context, supposed meaning, and other extra-musical considerations.  Happily, Hurwitz has avoided both of these temptations.  He keeps his focus directly on the music itself, but in such a way that it remains instructive and illuminating for an average reader like myself.  He does this by simply describing, in a kind of play-by-play commentary, what one will hear when listening to each symphony.  It is a simple idea, but remarkably effective.  Here's a sample from the section on the third movement of Symphony No. 2:

Admittedly, this will never win a Pulitzer, but to read it while actually hearing the music is instructive.  This approach is particularly fitting for Mahler's music because it is so temperamental, so complex, and conceived on such a large scale - most of the symphonies are between 60 and 90 minutes in performance - that it can be difficult for a neophyte to follow.  Hurwitz takes care to explain the local musical structure into which these details fit, and also the architectural shape of each symphony as a whole, all without lapsing into overly technical language.  For instance, his remarks on the way in which the orchestral coloring of Symphony No. 5 changes, moving from the dark and martial tones of the brass to the lithe and bright tones of the strings over the course of the symphony, really helped me to better appreciate the symphony as a unified work.

He also takes pains to point out many of the recurring compositional elements Mahler used: the failed or disorganized climax, the funeral march, the ironic or burlesque dance, and his beloved folk songs.  He stresses that Mahler was an innovator in the way he used orchestral texture, rather than specific musical themes, as an organizing principle in his music, and also in the way he made extensive use of percussion to add real interest to his musical canvases.

The book discusses all nine completed symphonies, plus the song-symphony Das Lied von der Erde, but not the incomplete Symphony No. 10, and closes with an appendix about Mahler's use of the various sections of the orchestra.  I followed the book while listening to the symphonies, and found that Hurwitz's descriptions really did help to further my understanding of and appreciation for the music.  In fact, things were going so well that when I arrived at the chapter on the infamous Symphony No. 8, I went out and bought a copy, willing to give it another chance.  What shall I say about it?  Perhaps, as happened with mustard and blue cheese, it is something I will grow to appreciate.

And now, having made this long journey through these ten symphonic landscapes, have I revised my opinion about the value of Mahler's music?  Is it really fair to regard his music as the fevered hyperbole of a decadent neurotic?  I'm thinking about it.

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