By Michele Merenda
On Thursday 15th March, Maestro Daniele Gatti conducted the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra at the as historic as prestigious Royal Albert Hall. In these rooms played as much historic musicians, of the most various musical genres, against whom who would break Music in water-tight compartments.
Gatti did not fail the appointment: the proposed composer was Gustav Mahler (1860-1911), a post-romantic who was not exactly appreciated by his contemporaries, as his compositions were intended only like a casual whole of sounds. The situation bettered during the first years of the XIX century, but Nazism discredited his music calling it “unlawful”. The name of the Bohemian, grown in Vienna, knew its glory only after the second post-war period.
Thanks to the interpretation of the tenor Detlef Roth, at first beat they played the Songs from Des Knaben Wunderhorn, a very coloured mix of sounds, which much reminded some Middle-European popular sonorities. Roth did not show any embarrassment and sang with great jollity and transport. A very pleasant figure who amused the audience with words about abandoned lovers and ghostly apparitions. At the end, a vigorous shake of hands with the Maestro sealed an excellent performance.
But the big number was the Symphony No. 1: Titan, inspired to the novel by Jean Paul. A symphonic poem in which were used two songs by a globetrotter, for the first and third movement, which gave to the music an interesting popular effect.
Like at the beginning, the sounds of the instruments that were being tuned melted together with the sounds from the audience. But when the bows focused on the same prolonged frequency, the public kept his breath like in a hypnotic state. At that point, the orchestra recommenced. After a beginning with the music starting slowly, note by note the melody extended calm and relaxed. A flow not exactly plain, with squiggles, peaks and decelerations, and then playing hard to get. Gatti mastered the sounds of nature so dear to Mahler, giving the impression of generating them, by a simple gesture of his fingers, in the soul of each musician who was playing them. The music, aristocratic and steady, got to a prelude which gave the listeners a start with sound which sounded like a boom. Energy then set itself free, solemn and irreverent, gifted anyhow with a sort of a typically Austrian sweetness. We could go on with it for long, but we would risk of being mawkish. Well, how to forget the arabesques that, vehemently, transported the audience into a heroic storm. And after came the calmness, with a splendid rainbow that, just because it is destined to disappear, leaves of itself a wonderful remembrance.
Among various blows and answers, the Symphony concludes in triumph. In thunder of claps, Gatti seeks the gazes of the musicians and, smiling, looks like saying to them a very Italian: “Signori, e’ stato un piacere – Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure!”.
After an interminable series of minutes in which the acclamation resounded, it comes to mind that right the Austrians disliked the Italian conductors. An evening, a certain Toscanini changed their minds. Thursday 15th March 2007, Royal Albert Hall: Daniele Gatti, without pronouncing a word, reaffirmed determinate concepts. Just in case somebody had forgotten them.
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