Starry Editions of Mahler’s ‘Des Knaben Wunderhorn’

Reference is often made to Mahler’s “Wunderhorn symphonies,” Nos. 2, 3 and 4, which utilize texts from the seminal collection of German folk poetry “Des Knaben Wunderhorn (The Youth’s Magic Horn),” compiled during the first decade of the 19th Century.

Usually lost in the discussion and appreciation of the symphonies are their roots in Mahler’s own non-symphonic settings of “Wunderhorn” poems made between 1888 and 1890, first with piano, then in his own orchestrations.

That these gems are rarely heard in concert is hardly a surprise, what with their requirement for a pair of hugely gifted, charismatic vocal soloists. Then, too, a succession of so many short pieces--the songs are from two to six minutes’ duration--doesn’t make for the tidiest live programming.

This is where recordings come in--and “Des Knaben Wunderhorn” lives there in several starry editions. Two celebrated ones from the 1960s have now been reissued at mid-price: one led by Leonard Bernstein (Sony 47590), the other by the relatively obscure--outside the narrow confines of Mahler fan clubs--Wyn Morris (IMP Classics 1035).

Each is a major accomplishment, not in the least for the lofty quality of its solo singing. But the two have little in common, interpretively.

With the then-married team of mezzo-soprano Christa Ludwig and baritone Walter Berry as his impressive soloists, Bernstein leads the New York Philharmonic in what might be called a typical ‘60s Bernstein Mahler symphony performance, markedly subjective in its bending of rhythm and tempo to suit a personal vision.

But this is most emphatically not a Mahler symphony, where personal predilections can be subsumed to an overall structural view and where cumulative effect can be built over a long span, without undue attention to the telling detail.

These 13 “Wunderhorn” songs are as compact and economical as anything by Schumann, Loewe or Wolf. They do not take kindly to the tempo fluctuations imposed by Bernstein on “Des Schildwache Nachtlied” or “Lied des Verfolgten”--both duets--or the baritone’s harrowing “Revelge” and “Tambourg’sell.” In all four examples, the singers are hobbled by the need to apply the brakes and phrase unnaturally at certain crucial junctures.

By hardly interposing himself between the score and his performing forces, which include the London Philharmonic, Morris successfully projects the drama, wit and disingenuousness of these pseudo-folk songs.

In those numbers that illustrate Mahler’s obsession with matters military, Morris, by simply maintaining the beat, communicates the requisite air of macabre menace. The most notable example is “Revelge”--which opens Morris’ version, the composer not having indicated performance order or even the wish to have this regarded as a unified cycle--sung with stunning intensity and dramatic thrust by the late Geraint Evans, offering a rare recorded example of what made him such a forceful operatic presence.

Evans’ partner is Janet Baker, in her vocal prime: less voluptuous of tone, less theatrical than her vis-a-vis for Bernstein. Baker is heartbreakingly direct in “Wo die schonen Trompeten blasen,” the essence of barbed sweetness in the song about St. Anthony’s sermon to the fishes and “Das irdische Leben,” while acting the rational, laid-back counterpoise to Evans’ comic bluster in “Verlorne Muh.”

IMP offers a valuable bonus in the form of Mahler’s first true vocal cycle, the familiar “Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen,” powerfully, ardently sung by German baritone Roland Hermann, again with Morris’ insightfully uncluttered conducting.

A word of warning: IMP has not been able to do much to mitigate the overloading that afflicted the bigger climaxes in the original “Wunderhorn” tape, made for the short-lived Delyse label. The excellence of the performance should compensate for passing sonic blemishes.