With the recording industry in an extended slump, the big classical
labels seem to have largely given up on releasing contemporary performances of
the standard canon. Instead, their focus has turned toward budget reissues or
elaborate remasterings of the treasures in their vaults — performances
already recorded and paid for. After all, the stores are already saturated with
competing versions of the core repertory. Does the public really need another
new cycle of Mahler symphonies?
So it's all the more intriguing that Michael Tilson
Thomas and the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra (SFSO) have embarked on their
own complete, self-produced Mahler cycle. The stakes are high, both artistically
(can the series make a worthwhile 
addition to the crowded Mahler catalogue?) and
economically (can even a major orchestra successfully produce and market its own
recordings without the help of the big labels?). So far, the gamble seems to be
paying off: the very first release in the series, the Sixth Symphony, won the
2003 Grammy award for best orchestral performance.
One reason this cycle has attracted so much favorable attention is the extraordinary chemistry that the San Francisco Symphony and Michael Tilson Thomas (referred to throughout the city as MTT) have achieved together. Earlier in his career, it was fashionable to pigeonhole this conductor as a younger version of Leonard Bernstein (with whom he studied). Yet for all the intriguing parallels — not least the electrifying magic both men have worked with Mahler — MTT has matured into a world-class conductor with his own charisma. He inspires the orchestra, says SFSO associate conductor Edwin Outwater, to realize some of the composer's more adventurous ideas "without being messy, but also without being too clean and ultimately boring."
The entire SFSO Mahler cycle is being recorded live during subscription concerts at San Francisco's Davies Hall. andante contributor Thomas May attended one of the post-concert recording sessions of the Third Symphony in October 2002 — and later spoke with MTT about the special character of Mahler's longest symphony and the process of recording it.
Thomas May: For you, where does Mahler's Third fit within his complete cycle of symphonies?
Michael Tilson Thomas: It's the most heart-on-the-sleeve, songful one of all. The Third has more to do with sustained moods and tempos than anything else Mahler wrote. You can see that in the score's instructions, which cover long spans of music with directives such as "do not go faster," "sustain all the notes," "stay in the tempo" and so on. It's quite in contrast to what one often finds in Mahler scores, where he nearly obsessively asks for mercurial changes.
Here, on the other hand, he's seeing this very big, cinematic scale of
things. Particularly in the first movement, which is basically about two kinds
of marches. One has the kind of confident — "military" would be a
misnomer — and optimistic feeling connected with a happy public
occasion, almost like a graduation ceremony. The other, by contrast, suggests a
funeral oration, in which the trombone solo figures so prominently. There are
several models behind this, ranging from Jewish music [in the trombone's
"cantorial" quality] to Berlioz in the Symphonie funèbre et triomphale,
which has a huge trombone recitative in the second movement.
As always in Mahler, there are so many sides to the music. From the very beginning of the work, Mahler's directions are "powerful and decided" ["kräftig entschieden"] — confident, but in a very songful way. The closest analogy in our culture might be the way entire stands at a sporting event will start singing fight songs in a hugely heart-filled, joyous, yet at the same time slightly defiant style.
But songful [the Third] certainly is: probably more than any other symphony, this one doesn't deal so much in intricate textures. The music is pretty much about melody, descant, harmony, bass line and a rhythm track. You could almost do a solo performance, have me sit here and sing the piece from beginning to end, and you would recognize it one gesture at a time.
TM: Early on, Mahler had devised a program for this symphony, one covering a
sort of evolution of the ladder of being — animals, flowers, humanity,
angels — and arriving at a vision of love. Yet Mahler wavered; he
seemed to consider these descriptions a potential embarrassment. How does a
contemporary interpretation deal with the issue of "programmatic content"?
MTT: Understanding a little bit, through my own experience, of the process involved in composing a piece of music — and please understand, I mean this in all humility — there are initial "takes" you get when the initial germs for a piece come into your mind. Very often they are highly subjective — recollections, associations — that can powerfully shape what the whole mood of the piece will be.
But as you continue to write, other things, larger thoughts and perspectives, take over. Although the flavor of the original inspiring material will remain, the piece comes to mean much more than that. For Mahler and the kinds of programs he originally described, I suspect he probably wanted them for an intimate circle of people who knew how to interpret such things in the light of understanding him as an individual. But I believe he didn't necessarily want the public to be distracted by "Pan awakens" and that sort of thing, but rather to listen to the music and accept it for what they heard. That's what lies behind the sort of conflict or concern he felt.
The large idea or impulse of the symphony is about someone who is trying to stay in D major — to find his way from D minor, where the symphony opens, to D major — in a way so that the major will stick. Of course the music reaches D major at the end of the first movement, but that little turn it makes into flat keys just before this is disturbing. That event is powerful enough that it shakes [the listener's] confidence. A similar process goes on, in various ways, in some of the later movements.
TM: One thing that really struck me is the tempo you chose for the final movement: noticeably brisker than one usually hears, and quite the opposite of the general tendency to take a glacial pace in Mahler's slow movements.
MTT: The concept of overall tempos in all the movements of this symphony and how they relate [is crucial]. I start the last movement the way I do because it leaves more room for the second part of the subject to unfold and be expansive. It contains a little pivotal motif, a turn — really an ornament, similar to the turn in [the finale of] the Ninth Symphony. And like the Ninth, that little motif occurs in passing in earlier movements — for example, once in the first movement in the trombones, then echoed in the cellos before the final march. But in the last movement it's ultimately elevated to become the central musical idea of the piece. The idea that a small motif can be implanted early and then brought to dominating prominence in the course of the work is something Mahler clearly likes. So it has to be made part of the larger [interpretive] plan.
TM: Things can really cohere in this music on a certain level despite the profusion of ideas. For example, near the very opening there is the cradling music that oscillates deep in the bass on the interval of a second — like a rocking motif. I could really hear it connect with the same gesture in the fourth and fifth movements.
MTT: I'm almost sure that musical idea was one of the original inspirations of the piece. The simplicity of that, and imagining the ways the harmony could shift underneath — I find that really one of the most touching things in the whole piece whenever it occurs.
TM: During the playback sessions, when you invited
specific musicians back to go over the music just recorded, I noticed the
special rapport you enjoy with individual colleagues. For example, the first
night you had the principal trombone and some percussion players back simply 
to listen to what they had
played; you gave them minimal comments. How does this process compare to what
goes on in a normal rehearsal?
MTT: I'm fortunate that I work with very expert artistic folk. It's like a director working with an actor of great technique and imagination: you don't want to constrain such a talent by telling him how to speak every word. Ultimately, it is their performance and the sincerity of it will come from whether it's a projection of what they themselves know and feel about life. It's a process of trying to guide them to a point where they can be all they are capable of with maximum confidence.
TM: The playback process also reminds me of how a film actor has to summon up the state of mind for a scene that isn't being shot in sequence. How would you describe what you are listening for, as opposed to when you're in "real time" rehearsal?
MTT: Basically, I'm listening for inflection, quality of sound, levels of intensity. This particular symphony, perhaps more than any other, is tricky because of the huge time spans involved. Your own sense of fatigue and your blood sugar level can affect your perception of things, so that it feels different from the inside, playing it, than it does listening to it. As a performer you have to find ways to pace yourself physically and emotionally to get through it. There's so much slow and sustained music in the piece; there's really no fast movement, no rollicking scherzo. But all of it is quite songful, almost in a Biedermeier, chamber music way at times. The challenge is that you have to be in the quality, the sound, the mood of the music constantly, which isn't easy.
TM: Given the abundance of competing versions on the market, what do you think stands out in your growing Mahler cycle?
MTT: In these last few years, turning back to my own composition has
wielded a greater influence [on my conducting]. It's made me more aware of
sensing in all music what a composer is doing, what the multiple possibilities
are, and how choices made are conscious and specific. [Particularly with
Mahler], issues of freedom of expression, of songfulness, of wonderful,
flexible, coloristic possibilities have become more familiar. With each new
generation [of musicians], the technically daunting aspects of the music recede,
so that it becomes like an inspired sleepwalking. Ultimately, it should sound
not like it's written down but like it is simply
happening.
