{"id":3066,"date":"2024-05-22T00:14:35","date_gmt":"2024-05-22T04:14:35","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/uq\/?p=3066"},"modified":"2024-05-22T17:24:06","modified_gmt":"2024-05-22T21:24:06","slug":"ripeness-is-all-is-the-south-dakota-symphonys-mahler-really-better-than-klaus-makela-and-the-oslo-phil","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/uq\/2024\/05\/ripeness-is-all-is-the-south-dakota-symphonys-mahler-really-better-than-klaus-makela-and-the-oslo-phil.html","title":{"rendered":"&#8220;Ripeness Is All&#8221; &#8212; Is the South Dakota Symphony&#8217;s Mahler Really Better than Klaus Makela and the Oslo Phil?"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<figure class=\"wp-block-embed is-type-video is-provider-vimeo wp-block-embed-vimeo wp-embed-aspect-16-9 wp-has-aspect-ratio\"><div class=\"wp-block-embed__wrapper\">\n<iframe loading=\"lazy\" title=\"Mahler: Symphony No. 3, finale (Ruhevoll). Delta David Gier conducting the South Dakota Symphony\" src=\"https:\/\/player.vimeo.com\/video\/948818197?dnt=1&amp;app_id=122963\" width=\"500\" height=\"281\" frameborder=\"0\" allow=\"autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture; clipboard-write\"><\/iframe>\n<\/div><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p>Many readers have responded to a series of&nbsp;recent blogs&nbsp;in which I\u2019ve pondered the bewildering appointment of Klaus Makela, age 28, to become music director of the Chicago Symphony beginning in 2027. Some have expressed incredulity that I prefer Delta David Gier\u2019s South Dakota Symphony reading of Mahler\u2019s Third to Makela\u2019s with his superb Oslo Philharmonic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>As it happens, South Dakota has just released a&nbsp;livestream video of its Mahler 3. And Makela\u2019s sits on youtube right&nbsp;<strong><a href=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=a6bG3uDRqH4\">here<\/a><\/strong>. So you can make the comparison yourself.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>As<a href=\"https:\/\/www.artsjournal.com\/uq\/2024\/05\/mahler-in-sioux-falls-with-yet-another-glance-at-klaus-makela.html\">&nbsp;<strong>I wrote<\/strong><\/a>: to my ears, Makela\u2019s performance of the vast finale sounds \u201cenraptured by the ardor of youth,\u201d whereas Gier\u2019s sounds \u201cenraptured by the pathos of humanity.\u201d&nbsp;&nbsp;That is: Gier\u2019s is the deeper, more Mahlerian reading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Now that I have had the opportunity to revisit both performances, I find the disparity in impact even greater than I had thought. They are in fact fundamentally different.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>During his years as a New York Philharmonic assistant conductor, Gier heard Leonard Bernstein rehearse Mahler\u2019s finale. It\u2019s marked \u201cLangsam. Ruhevoll. Empfunden\u201d (slow, peaceful, heartfelt). Mahler\u2019s original title was \u201cWhat Love Tells Me\u201d \u2013 \u201clove\u201d here designating&nbsp;<em>agape<\/em>: Christian love for one\u2019s fellow beings. Gier vividly recalls that Bernstein challenged the assistant conductors in the hall to describe the movement in a single word. They all failed. The correct answer was \u201cpain.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Perhaps this exchange says more about Bernstein than Mahler. And yet Mahler\u2019s sublime finale unquestionably recalls the first movement\u2019s catastrophic upheavals. Have a listen to Gier\u2019s reading. From measure one, it maps an interior trajectory gradually intensified on a vast scale, an odyssey of feeling in which pain is revisited and healed. In Makela\u2019s reading, I detect no searing pain, no inner trajectory. The smile he occasionally flashes seems to me inappropriate. And I find myself aware of the push and tug of the conductor\u2019s baton. It is Gier\u2019s performance that sounds organic, egoless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>At the very beginning of the movement, the South Dakota string choir conveys a stirring gravitas. Mahler instructs \u201cmolto expressivo,\u201d \u201cSehr gebunden,\u201d \u201cSehr ausdrucksvoll gesungen\u201d (very expressively sung). His portatos and portamentos, dynamic swells, Luftpause&nbsp;&nbsp;\u2013 all hallmarks of Mahler style \u2013 are more vitally and fully rendered than by the Oslo players. The pianissimo cello song beginning on measure nine searingly intermingles beatitude and sorrow. That\u2019s at 00:36.&nbsp;The second violins, who have been listening, confide a rapt response.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>To hear the Oslo cellos and second violins, go to 1:16:19. These opening measures, led by Makela, sing a portentous song. But Mahler\u2019s existential duress is silenced.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Some people find this Mahler movement too long. The very ending follows a triumphant cadence with another, and another, and another, and another. In Makela\u2019s performance, this sequence sounds distended \u2013 it could end sooner or later. In Gier\u2019s performance, Mahler\u2019s calibrated re-emphases sound right. And the final message is not a smile, but Mahler\u2019s own superscript: \u201cBehold my wounds: Let not one soul be lost.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>If I am beating a dead horse, it must be beaten. Klaus Makela\u2019s Chicago appointment coincides with his concurrent music directorship of Amsterdam\u2019s Concertgebouw Orchestra. Gier has lived in Sioux Falls since 2005. He is a civic force, an agent of communal identity. Again: age matters. He is 62.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>There is no denying that Makela\u2019s is a great talent. As I have twice written: he seems to have been born with a baton in his crib. Orchestras adore him, and no wonder. There is also a panic to find young audiences, to brandish the imagery of youth. It is not his fault that his Mahler lacks ripeness. We should not expect him to simulate a maturity not yet his.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I ponder musical ripeness in a recent&nbsp;<strong><a href=\"https:\/\/theamericanscholar.org\/shostakovich-in-south-dakota\/\"><em>American Scholar<\/em>&nbsp;article<\/a><\/strong>. Should you discover a pay-wall, I append what I wrote. My earlier&nbsp;<em>American Scholar<\/em>&nbsp;article on the South Dakota Symphony and the future of American classical music may be accessed&nbsp;<strong><a href=\"https:\/\/theamericanscholar.org\/ripeness-is-all\/\">here<\/a><\/strong>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>[From \u201cRipeness Is All,\u201d as recently published online in&nbsp;<em>The American Scholar<\/em>:]<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Today\u2019s biggest controversy in classical music is the Chicago Symphony\u2019s appointment of Klaus Makela, who will become music director in 2027-2028. He will concurrently take over Amsterdam\u2019s Concertgebouw Orchestra \u2013 one of the half dozen most eminent European ensembles. He will be all of 32 years old.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>No one can reasonably dispute Makela\u2019s precocious talent. He seems to have been born with a baton in his crib. From a tender age, he trained with a legendary Finnish pedagogue: Jorma Panula. His subsequent professional trajectory has been meteoric.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The attendant outcry takes three forms: that, beyond conducting concerts, Makela will lack the maturity (let alone the time) to furnish institutional vision; that he will be conducting too many pieces for the first time under a glaring spotlight; that, given his youth, his interpretations will lack \u201cripeness.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The third reservation is the slipperiest \u2013 and ultimately the most momentous. It\u2019s long been conventional wisdom that symphonic conductors mature slowly \u2013 that age suits them better than, say, singers or dancers or instrumentalists, all of whom practice demanding physical skills. And many a famous conductor has been most eminent when most old. Think of Arturo Toscanini, whose reputation peaked when he was in his eighties. Or Otto Klemperer, who acquired a commanding eminence gris when he was in his seventies. But what, exactly, does musical \u201cripeness\u201d connote? How is it manifest in performance? And is it imperiled by our ever accelerating world of social media and AI?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I can think of an obvious example of exigent life experience transforming the recreative act. Wilhelm\u00a0Furtw\u00e4ngler\u00a0was with Toscanini the most celebrated symphonic conductor of the twentieth century. Because\u00a0Furtw\u00e4ngler\u00a0was a performer who channeled the moment, his World War II broadcast performances, from beleaguered Berlin, attain an apocalyptic intensity. And his postwar performances, commensurately, are beleaguered by pain. <a href=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=Qmv2IMvlQjI\">His 1951 Radio Cairo broadcast<\/a> of Tchaikovsky\u2019s\u00a0<em>Pathetique<\/em>\u00a0Symphony does not resemble other readings \u2013 including\u00a0Furtw\u00e4ngler\u2019s\u00a0own 1938 studio recording. The difference is the traumatic memory of war. The composer\u2019s autobiographical heartache is transformed into a dire existential statement transcending the personal. The symphony\u2019s most familiar melody \u2013 the first movement \u201clove theme\u201d \u2013 is taken so slowly that it changes meaning: it emanates a terminal Weltschmerz.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But I mainly find myself thinking of an artist I knew well, because I wrote a book about him. My&nbsp;<em>Conversations with Arrau<\/em>&nbsp;(1982) document many eventful meetings with Claudio Arrau beginning in 1978, when he was already 75 years old. Arrau had acquired an elite reputation as a concert pianist prone to tortuous introspection. Earlier in his career, he had been a dazzling virtuoso \u2013 and by all account a voluble conversationist. When I knew him, he had withdrawn from language. I observed:&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cArrau is an effortful speaker. Sometimes, before answering a question, he will draw a breath and look away. His sentences break down when a phrase or name will not come, and the ensuing silences can seem dangerous. . . . It is really not far-fetched to surmise that for Arrau words and music occupy distinct personal realms, and that the pronounced civility of the first moderates the instinctual abandon of the second. His gentle manners, his fastidious attire, the artifacts that embellish his work environment \u2013 these suggest a striving for order whose musical equivalent is his absolute fidelity to the text, and whose adversary is a substratum of fire and ice. To witness Arrau performing the Liszt sonata is to know how thoroughly this substratum can obliterate his normal self-awareness. Even while sleep, the demons cast a trembling glow from behind his mildest public face. And they penetrate the timbre of his voice. . . . Arrau listens to his own recordings with visible discomfort; he perceive the clothes of civility being stripped away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A humbling specimen of Arrau\u2019s mature artistry is <a href=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=Eqxe7HvZmjE\">a 1976\u00a0recording of \u201cChasse neige.<\/a>\u201d This is the last of Franz Liszt\u2019s\u00a0<em>Transcendental Etudes<\/em>\u00a0and, according to many, the most challenging to play. Liszt has fashioned a ruthless study in\u00a0<em>tremolo<\/em>: the rapidfire alternation of notes or chords. To this he adds gigantic skips, upward and downward, in both hands. The tremolos are pedaled \u2013 a smearing effect promoting ambience. At the same time, the more notes the ear discerns, the more exciting \u2013 the more harrowing \u2013 the etude becomes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Arrau\u2019s virtuosity is paradoxically mated with patience. Because even in the midst of&nbsp;&nbsp;chaos he never rushes, the clarity of attack remains exceptional. And because he perfected a technical approach to the piano stressing arm and shoulder weight, his tone remains characteristically plush \u2013 not chipped, not shallow \u2013 regardless of the frantic demands placed upon his fingers. No other rendering of this music, in my experience, is as thick with incident.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But the coup de grace occurs two and a half minutes into the piece, where Liszt \u2013 having unleashed a&nbsp;&nbsp;barrage of oscillating chords pulverizing the extremes of treble and bass \u2013 writes \u201ccalmato,\u201d \u201caccentuato ed espressivo,\u201d and \u201cmezzo piano.\u201d Here the left-hand tremolos cease, replaced by rapid chromatic scales racing upwards and down like dark breaths of wind. Under Arrau\u2019s cushioned hands, the scales are streaked with pain. They momentarily sigh with exhaustion, and with an uncanny sadness of memory. They are the stilled human eye of an inhuman storm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Arrau performed the music of Liszt throughout his long career. He studied with a distinguished Liszt pupil. He revered Liszt, identified with Liszt. He portrayed Liszt in a Mexican bio-pic. His earliest Liszt recordings date from the&nbsp;&nbsp;1920s. But never before the 1960s will you hear anything like Arrau\u2019s recording of \u201cChasse neige.\u201d (Arrau himself once acknowledged to me: \u201cMany people say I\u2019m a \u2018late developer.\u2019\u201d) The very keynote of this interpretation, clairvoyantly extrapolated by an artist already 73 years old, is retrospection. A famous 1840 painting of Liszt, by Josef Danhauser, situates him in a lushly appointed salon. George Sand, Alexander Dumas, Victor Hugo, Nicolo Paganini, and Giacomo Rossini are all in attendance. A large bust of Beethoven sits atop the piano. As a conjurer\u2019s recollection of Liszt in his element, revered by his contemporaries, reverencing his great forebear, Arrau\u2019s \u201cChasse neige\u201d far trumps Danhauser\u2019s painting. Liszt\u2019s \u201csnow storm\u201d resonates and expands; it jars open a bygone world of feeling and experience both conscious and subliminal. It exudes a veritable elixir of memory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Could any young pianist or conductor accomplish such a feat? There are ways. Van Cliburn peaked at 23 when he won the 1958 Tchaikovsky International piano Competition. Upon landing in Moscow, he had asked to be driven to the Church of St. Basil. Standing snowy Red Square late at night, he thought his heart would stop. He identified the Moscow Conservatory, where the competition was held, with his hero Rachmaninoff, who had graduated with a gold medal in 1892. When he visited Tchaikovsky\u2019s grave in Leningrad, he took some Russian earth to replant at Rachmaninoff\u2019s grave in New York. He called the Russians \u201cmy people\u201d and said, \u201cI\u2019ve never felt so at home anywhere in my life.\u201d Living a dream, he moved with a clairvoyant sureness, touching outstretched hands, pledging friendship between nations. Performing Rachmaninoff\u2019s Third Piano Concerto, he built the first movement cadenza \u2013 the concerto\u2019s central storm point, an upheaval of expanding force and sonority &#8212; with utter sureness: the tidal altitude and breath of its crest were dizzying. The leading Soviet pianists, on the competition jury, proclaimed him a genius. Cliburn\u2019s filmed 1958 and 1960 Moscow performances of concertos by Rachmaninoff and Tchaikovsky, nestled on youtube, document a young artist surrendering himself completely to the moment. Never again would Cliburn attain such heights of musical expression. And the Russia he knew, insulated from the West, still re-living its musical past, no longer exists.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>In 1962, the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition was begun in Forth Worth. To date, its most esteemed gold medalist was Radu Lupu \u2013 in 1966, when Lupu was 21 years old. Born in Rumania, he trained in Moscow. His earliest recordings already document an uncanny musical worldliness.&nbsp;&nbsp;As a peerless exponent of Mozart, Schubert, Schumann, and Brahms, Lupu all his life inhabited a bygone world. He shunned twentieth century music. He kept his own counsel. In fact, to the surprise and consternation of the Cliburn Foundation, he had pocketed his first prize and returned to Russia, refusing to undertake the high-profile concert tour prepared for him. Suppose that Klaus Makela had told his manager Jasper Parrott: Thank you very much, but I am not prepared to take over two of the world\u2019s most prominent orchestras. That was Radu Lupu.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The winner of the most recent Cliburn competition is a Korean: Yunchan Lin, now twenty years old. He has catapulted into a major international career. As it happens, one of his acclaimed competition performances was of Liszt\u2019s \u201cChasse-neige.\u201d Y<a href=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/results?search_query=chasse+neige+yunchan+lim\">ou can see and hear it on youtube<\/a>. Lin has great fingers and he has heart. His rendition is riveting &#8212; never glib, never superficial. But it would be vain to look for anything like the scope of Claudio Arrau\u2019s reading. Arrau\u2019s Liszt echoes and re-echoes through corridors of time, a performance for the ages. For that matter: Wilhelm\u00a0Furtw\u00e4ngler\u2019s\u00a0Cairo Radio recording of Tchaikovsky\u2019s\u00a0<em>Pathetique<\/em>\u00a0Symphony revealingly juxtaposes with Klaus Makela\u2019s intensely entertaining\u00a0<em>Pathetique<\/em>\u00a0\u2013 I heard him conduct it with the New York Philharmonic in December 2022. The third movement march, in particular, memorably ignited. But it would be vain to look for anything like the pain and tragedy of\u00a0Furtw\u00e4ngler\u2019s\u00a0reading.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Will Makela and Lim attain ripeness? Consider: Franz Liszt was born in 1811, Claudio Arrau in 1903 \u2013 nine decades later. During the intervening century, many things changed. Nevertheless, Arrau was born (in&nbsp;Chill\u00e1n, Chile) to a world without telephones, without airplanes or cars or radios. Later, he stayed put in Berlin, immersed in the cultural efflorescence of Weimar Germany. He later recalled: \u201cI\u2019m sure that the twenties in Berlin was one of the great blossomings of culture in history. The city offered so much in every field, and everything had a greater importance than in other places. . . .&nbsp;&nbsp;You see, there was a great misery. Many people were starving. There were no jobs. Such times are always fertile. Everything was so difficult that people sought a better life in culture.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And what if Arrau had been born, like Klaus Makela, in 1996? That\u2019s 94 years after 1903 \u2013 about the same time-gap that separated Arrau from Liszt. And yet the century of change ending in 2000 documents an upheaval unprecedented and ongoing \u2013 what the German sociologist Hartmut Rosa calls \u201csocial acceleration.\u201d Writing in 2013 (<em>Social Acceleration: A New Theory of Modernity<\/em>), Rosa lists&nbsp;three \u201cfundamental dimensions\u201d of this phenomenon: technological, social, and \u201cpace of life.\u201d He predicts an \u201cunbridled onward rush into an abyss,\u201d possibly including nuclear or climatic catastrophes. He also predicts \u2013 accurately \u2013 \u201cthe diffusion at a furious pace of new diseases\u201d and \u201cnew forms of political collapse.\u201d Rosa does not highlight the arts. But socially accelerating atoms of human experience today undermine all previous understandings that art is necessarily appropriative; chaotically askew, they support the illusion that, locked in our disparate identities, we cannot know or speak for one another. What is more, a privatized, atomized lifestyle promotes neither arts patronage nor production. Rather, its diversion mode is the soundbite: particulate cultural matter; stranded arts particles.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A month ago my own quest for anchorage inspired me to re-read&nbsp;<em>Buddenbrooks<\/em>&nbsp;(1901). How can one absorb that Thomas Mann was in his mid-twenties when he wrote this novel about a mercantile family history in northern Germany? It\u2019s populated with men and women of all ages, from infancy to late infirmity. How could someone so young absorb so much experience? The only possible answer is that&nbsp;<em>Buddenbrooks<\/em>&nbsp;was written a very long time before social media and cell phones. No sooner did I share my bewilderment with colleagues and friends than I heard back from a prominent scholar who teaches at an eminent university. He had just shared&nbsp;<em>Tristan und Isolde<\/em>&nbsp;with his freshmen and encountered blank stares in response.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Currently, I\u2019m working on a documentary film based on my book&nbsp;<em>The Propaganda of Freedom:<\/em>&nbsp;<em>JFK, Shostakovich, Stravinsky, and the Cultural Cold War<\/em>. So I am making my way through a nine-part Netflix series: \u201cTurning Point: The Bomb and the Cold War.\u201d The archival footage is gripping. Otherwise, this film is an exercise in instant gratification catering to short attention spans. Though an army of scholars has been assembled, the barrage of thirty-second soundbites from a multiplicity of sources pre-empts differing viewpoints. The story at hand becomes a centrist fable, implying a consensus of opinion where none exists: no questions, just answers. And the ubiquity of musical cliche \u2013 the soundtrack, which never stops to listen or reflect &#8212; turns it all into&nbsp;&nbsp;melodrama: Hiroshima, Nagasaki, the Cuban missile crisis, the Berlin Wall \u2013 and Kharkov right now.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Commensurately, cultural memory \u2013 for untold centuries, a precondition for creativity and appreciation of the creative act \u2013 risks becoming a stack of flashcards processed as media clips. Will sustained immersion in lineage and tradition remain an organic prerequisite for composition, interpretation, and reception?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Gloucester, in&nbsp;<em>King Lear<\/em>, counsels: \u201cRipeness is all.\u201d Never has Shakespeare\u2019s observation more resounded as an admonition.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Many readers have responded to a series of&nbsp;recent blogs&nbsp;in which I\u2019ve pondered the bewildering appointment of Klaus Makela, age 28, to become music director of the Chicago Symphony beginning in 2027. Some have expressed incredulity that I prefer Delta David Gier\u2019s South Dakota Symphony reading of Mahler\u2019s Third to Makela\u2019s with his superb Oslo Philharmonic. 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