I cannot recall a performance of Mahler’s Second Symphony that progressed so prosaically for its first 40 minutes or so, but then rose to so majestic and moving a conclusion. I know that the Resurrection Symphony continually pits fleeting memories of pleasures past against stark confrontations with imminent extinction, before resolving all doubts (at least in Mahler’s mind at that time) with a glorious choral evocation of dead souls rising again in Heaven. In a sense, then, the work itself is a “game of two halves”. But the intensity of this performance seemed to soar by about 500 per cent once the tumultuous finale started.
What explained that? Bernard Haitink is as great a Mahlerian as our era possesses. But he has been down these paths so many times, and I sensed in his pedantic and, at times, slightly pedestrian handling of the first movement almost a sense of “here we go again”. There was much diligently observed detail, particularly some gritty, heavyweight accentuation. But somehow the movement didn’t terrify as it should.
Then there was the BBC Symphony Orchestra’s contribution. One is so used to hearing this work insouciantly flung out by virtuoso bands that the BBC players’ competent but workaday approach and sometimes slightly fuzzy ensemble came as a bit of a shock. It all sounded a little distanced emotionally. That was fine for the Schubertian second movement, where limpid gracefulness is all part of the irony; but the scherzo needed sharper etching.
Yet after that, magic started to happen. The young Dutch mezzo Christianne Stotijn sang a rapt and lyrically phrased Urlicht, marred only by some strident trumpet chords. Then came those baleful off-stage brass fanfares, absolutely spine-chilling as they resonated round the Albert Hall’s cavernous galleries, and we were into the finale.
The combined voices of the BBC Symphony Chorus and London Symphony Chorus produced a gloriously focused sound, even more thrilling at pianissimo, if that was possible, than in the lung-busting final pages. The soprano Susan Gritton soared lustrously. The percussion and brass cut loose (with a superb trombone solo particularly memorable). Haitink himself seemed revitalised. And suddenly we were lifted into a different league of music-making.