Leonard Bernstein--the Man Who Invented Mahler

One wonders where Gustav Mahler would be today, both for audiences and performers, had it not been for the intercession on the composer’s behalf in the 1960s of Leonard Bernstein and his New York Philharmonic.

Bernstein didn’t introduce Mahler to the world or even to the New York Philharmonic and its audience.

New Yorkers had already been exposed to the conductor-composer, first by Mahler himself in the early years of the century, then by Bruno Walter and by Dimitri Mitropoulos, Bernstein’s predecessor as the orchestra’s music director.

But the Bernstein image and influence, with the support of CBS’ recording arm Columbia (since absorbed by Sony) and its TV network, turned Mahler from a special-circumstances visitor to a repertory mainstay, to be pursued by every conductor with a name, or those trying to make one.

The primary evidence of Bernstein’s identification with Mahler is his 1960s recordings of the nine completed symphonies, whose latest incarnation, as part of Sony’s mid-priced Bernstein “Royal Edition,” is mandatory listening--and owning--for anyone who professes an admiration for Mahler’s music.

The remastering, employing something called “20-bit technology,” has provided the recordings with previously unsuspected clarity while retaining a pre-digital rough edge that suits the performances and brings us into the concert hall, with real, live musicians. But, blessedly, without the coughers and premature applauders.

Bernstein re-recorded this music with the NYPO and other orchestras during the following decade, and in certain instances exceedingly well, a notable example being the recently released Ninth Symphony with the Berlin Philharmonic, about which more later.

But the ur -New York edition retains its singular place in the history of recording, Mahlerian and otherwise.

To these ears, the loftiest peak remains the Sixth Symphony, recorded in what was then (1967) called Philharmonic Hall (today, Avery Fisher Hall).

The juggernaut march of the opening, interrupted by one of the most grandiose of Mahler’s heartbreaker melodies, has never been as rattlingly, fiercely communicative in other conductors’ more shapely readings. And where else is the slow movement delivered with such pained ecstasy as here (47581, three CDs, with Symphony No. 8)?

The Seventh Symphony was considered unlistenable (one forgets why) before Bernstein sank his teeth deep into its succulent flesh in 1965 live performances and the subsequent recording.

We’ve had convincing interpretations since, from Jascha Horenstein and the New Philharmonia (Music & Arts 727) and just last month from Simon Rattle and a startlingly good City of Birmingham Symphony (EMI 54344), both taped live.

But Bernstein brought us the thrill of “discovering” the Seventh, leading us through its haunted dreamscape with a degree of engagement seemingly beyond the grasp--or realm of interest--of other conductors at the time.

The excitement remains and if, as is now the case, you can get this Seventh as part of an inexpensive three-CD set (47585) that also includes the heavenly 1965 Ninth Symphony and the Adagio from the uncompleted 10th Symphony, you are in possession of a sizable chunk of the best of recorded Mahler.

The remainder of the series is divided as follows: Symphonies 1 and 2 (47573, two CDs); No. 3, with three of the Ruckert songs and the “Kindertotenlieder,” shakily sung by Jennie Tourel (47576, two CDs); No. 4--always a lovely sounding performance, with the still unmatched pointedness and delicacy of soprano Reri Grist’s solo (47579), and the runt of this litter, No. 5 (47580), crudely executed, rather dimly recorded and easily surpassed by Bernstein-Vienna Philharmonic for Deutsche Grammophon.

As for that “recent” Bernstein-Mahler Ninth Symphony, it is in fact a live documentation of the conductor’s sole encounter (October, 1979) with the Berlin Philharmonic, Herbert von Karajan’s orchestra (Deutsche Grammophon 435 378, two CDs).

It is, not surprisingly, gorgeously played, but with the surge, the touch of roughness, that feeling of an orchestra not merely being led but breathing on its own that marks the best of Bernstein-New York and is seldom evident even in Karajan’s live recordings.

Until the finale, tempos are not that different from New York ’65. And in that finale, Mahler’s farewell (or one of them) to life, the 1979 tempo, while slower than before, has more pace and pulse than many another conductor’s faster reading.

For a glimpse of how far Mahler has fallen in New York since the 1960s, sample the most recent New York Philharmonic recording: a live performance of the First Symphony under the orchestra’s current boss, Kurt Masur (Teldec 74868).

Take virtually any spot in Masur and put it up against the comparable moment in Bernstein-Sony--the “Jewish” tune of the third movement is an easy, instructive example--and note how Masur and his wind soloists offer virtually nothing in the way of tempo variation or dynamic shading, while Bernstein and his players bend, sway and weave with exquisite suggestiveness.

It’s the difference between people who are excited by what they are doing and those who are just doing a job.