The most arrogant summary: In Tartu, Mahler's Eighth Symphony was explored more deeply, while in Tallinn, it was a sparkling event in the music scene.
Vanemuine Symphony Orchestra's season opening concert on August 30th at the Vanemuine Concert Hall. Soloists included Olena Bražnõk (soprano), Silja Aalto (soprano, Finland), Kadri Kõrvek (soprano), Kai Rüütel-Pajula (mezzo-soprano), Annely Peebo (mezzo-soprano), Mati Turi (tenor), Hrólfur Sæmundsson (baritone, Iceland), and Ain Anger (bass), along with the Vanemuine Opera Choir, Mixed Choir Latvija, Tartu University Chamber Choir, Tartu Boys’ Choir, and the Vanemuine Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Risto Joost. The program included Gustav Mahler's Symphony No. 8 in E-flat major.
Anyone hearing Mahler's Eighth Symphony (particularly its beginning) for the first time while delving into the text it is based on might be quite surprised. "Veni, Creator Spiritus," a famous medieval Pentecost hymn with special charisma, might suggest a solemn and devout atmosphere and a prayer emanating from the depths of the soul. In light of old sacred music traditions, one might expect a gradual unfolding and reverent emotions swelling into a plea. However, Mahler's approach is precisely the opposite: a resounding fortissimo, with extreme resonances and power of all voices dominating the opening of the piece and framing the edges of the symphony. I assume it's this pompous brilliance that made the piece suitable for Vanemuine Symphony Orchestra's season opening concert. Such grand ceremony certainly captures the audience's attention and mobilizes musicians to actively engage after the break. The contemplative aspect will also surface, though it takes some time.
Mahler's Eighth seems to radiate grandeur in its entirety. The ensemble is understandably large (leading the initial performance's organizer to advertise it as the "Symphony of a Thousand"), the musical structure rich and complex, and the textual material profound. It's hard to say how the concepts of the aforementioned medieval hymn and the final scene of Goethe's "Faust, Part Two" resonated with audiences during Mahler's lifetime. We know Goethe was Mahler's favorite writer, possibly creating an even denser energy connection. Considering Goethe's romantic verse tragedy, already about a century old at the time of the symphony's birth, it may have felt more relatable and comprehensible in the twilight of the Belle Époque than today, and Mahler directly represented the spirit of his time, meaning the work may have contained now inconceivable and irretrievably lost undercurrents. (Think of all the discussions of gender, creativity, etc., that Mahler also raised as themes.) Unfortunately, the core of the discussed poetry might slip into such vague boundaries of understanding for today's increasingly superficial person that the text is more of a technical tool for the singers than a substantive center for the listeners. Moreover, the pleasantly dim hall of a typical concert setting works against synchronous following of the text, even though the words are perfectly written in both original and translation in the program booklet. Thus, we perceive the general ideas and atmosphere but direct our attention predominantly to the musical processes. This might not need to be taken as too disconcerting: it may be one of many examples of the ever-changing relationship between a piece and its reception.
Mahler's Eighth occupies an interesting ambivalence in terms of music and genre history: on one hand, it is a symphony, which by default is absolute music, yet on the other hand, the involvement (and particularly the weight) of text/vocals places it in the realm of a symbiotic genre that can be named in various ways. Thus, it has been classified as a cantata or even an oratorio, which does not allow words (or messages) to be relegated to secondary status. A hundred years ago, the symphony as a form and phenomenon was experiencing its recurring "phase of near demise." Predictions of its inevitable end have surfaced regularly, but composers have not been deterred. Again and again, a determined creator has emerged, bringing the necessary freshness. Mahler fits into one of those pivotal moments in the evolution of the symphony, where the composer managed to surprise with (almost) every subsequent work. Thus, the symphony became, beyond a spiritual and emotional drama, the author's auditory biography, responding to the events of his life. Life, as we know, changes constantly, even in unwanted directions.
A Great Source of Joy
Whether you follow the symphony's text with a finger or let yourself be carried by emotions, it is an extremely intense journey, a kind of musical marathon. The ability to engage with it partially depends on the familiarity of its sound, where each subsequent listening adds more discoveries. Having had the opportunity to hear the same piece last year performed by the ERSO under Neeme Järvi in Tallinn, I've inevitably developed a series of comparison points.
After all, it involved two entirely different orchestras, distinct soloists and choirs (except for the Tartu Boys' Choir, which participated in both), two acoustically and atmospherically different halls, and so on—all of which shaped the received experience. And I must admit, I found what I experienced in Tartu to resonate with me much more for various reasons. The most arrogant summary: Tartu went deeper, while Tallinn was a sparkling event in the music scene.
The inevitable common trait of the two performances is their striving for grandeur, though whether this should indeed be an end in itself or rather a means to fulfill the composer's intentions is another matter. It is inevitable that reaching the dimensions of the symphony's premiere here is not possible, as neither the Estonia Hall nor the Vanemuine Hall could accommodate a thousand performers. And if we were to ask quietly—should they even try?
From an interview with conductor Risto Joost, it becomes clear that there were about 250 musicians on stage at the Tartu concert, and even with that number, the acoustic level surpassed an imaginable limit. I remember the awe-inspiring yet slightly oppressive feeling when giant choir stands towered on the Estonia stage with a massive number of singers, whose flood of voices threatened, at more tumultuous moments, to overwhelm everything. Now, such pseudo-fear did not arise, yet the choirs' sound power still felt odd to me: up to about fortissimo, I can perceive different lines and timbral contrasts in the texture, but beyond that, it all somehow turns into an indeterminate mass that blocks the ability to distinguish.
I have no doubt that the Vanemuine Opera Choir, the University of Tartu Chamber Choir, and, as a guest, the Mixed Choir Latvija are each suitable for singing this symphony (sincere praise to each choir's conductor for such dedicated and loving preparatory work!), but at times, I found myself, as last year, with the heretical thought that perhaps there was simply too much of everything. The Tartu Boys' Choir joined as a fourth ensemble, but their part proceeded more in its own flow according to the composer's flight of fancy. As a side note, I want to add how utterly charming and dedicated the boys' choir appeared in their completely absorbed role. Singing in the front row is, of course, exhilarating, but waiting for one's turn under all eyes and without the slightest distraction during such a long and complex work is, in today's world, an almost rare achievement!
Mahler's Eighth Symphony also requires eight solo voices to convey its grandiose streams of thought, for which a true powerhouse was assembled. Highlighting anyone individually would seem somewhat inappropriate, as the composer has used them, despite some solo passages, more as an ensemble. Whether it was my physical placement on the right balcony, offering a view solely of the female singers, for some reason their ensembles captured more of my attention. It's not often that female voices harmonize to such a degree with one another, but this time they truly meshed naturally.
The male trio, too, was replete with the expected range of emotions from tenderness to passion, but unfortunately, my attention during their singing drifted more towards the orchestra as they were completely out of my line of sight. With one very significant exception: throughout the concert, I found myself admiring the tenor's exceptionally warm, beautiful timbre that blended in a strangely perfect way with the orchestra. Typically, high male voices in late romantic musical language strike me as overly theatrical, even comically inflated, but this time that voice color was mesmerizing. My gratitude was all the greater when Risto Joost announced during the long applause after the concert that Mati Turi had come to perform the tenor part in place of the ill guest soloist. Even with longer preparation, the achievement would have been remarkable, but coming to help literally at the very last moment made it even more so. I don't want to tediously repeat whether we sufficiently value our talents, but the question cannot be left unasked. Of course, foreign forces bring the necessary diversity, but how precious are our local contributors!
For several years now, the Vanemuine Symphony Orchestra, with additional players for similar special projects, has sounded excellent. It's true that some routine opera performances can be somewhat lackluster and uneven, but there are other reasons for that. Conversely, such special concerts stimulate the performers to make lively efforts and hopefully provide abundant new energy. This time as well, a dear friend in the orchestra shared the excitement of how the logistical issues of visibility and fitting on stage with such a large ensemble pale next to the joy of participating in something so inspiring. Naturally, part of the enthusiasm stems from the captivating nature of a master's music like Mahler's, while the other part grows in the shared creation workshop of synergy. I don't have direct experience working under Risto Joost, but his professional expertise and an always seemingly respectful attitude towards the musicians speak for themselves.
It's undeniable that the heavy involvement of professional musicians often leads to fatigue, which, unfortunately, concertgoers notice. But similarly, the appearance of bliss from inspiration that reflects on the musicians' faces cannot be hidden, especially when the work truly and internally moves them. This kind of engaging concentration was particularly abundant in the long instrumental section of the second part, which always fascinates me the most in Mahler's Eighth Symphony. After the bubbling brilliance, the extensive quieter area becomes remarkably transparent and offers endless points of interest. The polyphony in the first part of the symphony is somehow open and easily graspable, but the tranquility at the beginning of the second part and the subsequent ländler-like pages encourage intense and detail-admiring listening. The parts passing from hand to hand, like intertwined thoughts between conversationalists, are one of Mahler's distinctive features as a genius orchestrator. It appears deceptively simple to execute, but when successful, it is truly captivating.
It's said that the joy of giving surpasses that of receiving, but from the audience's perspective, this isn't really the case. Thank you for the vital opening concert and I wish a rewarding season full of offerings for all participants!