Full house to witness the performance of the Munich Philharmonic under the direction of one of the last maestros who, during the 20th century, approached the category of myth. Of course, Sunday afternoon was not the first time Zubin Mehta appeared at the Palau de la Música Catalana to share his reading of Brahms. We recall, for example, a previous visit leading the Israel Philharmonic. In the present one, within the framework of the BCN Clàssics series, the veteran maestro (87 years old) showed his most endearing side, offering lyrical and communicative versions, less angular and forceful, perhaps, but no less expressive for it.
Slowly and venerably, the maestro advanced towards the podium, accompanied by applause of an intensity that would waver at the moment he climbed to sit on a high stool; a vantage point from which to see and be seen, displaying an efficient economy of gestures throughout the concert. Enough for the orchestra to heed his indications and deliver two marvelous versions of Johannes Brahms's Second and Fourth symphonies.
The luminous optimism of the symphonic work that Brahms largely composed during his 1877 vacation at Lake Worth (Carinthia) contrasts dramatically with its immediate predecessor. His Second apparently flowed effortlessly, its author freed from Beethoven's watchful shadow, in a bucolic context that is sensed from the first bars, with the intervention of woodwinds ---the flute, mainly, as a common thread--- and strings.
Mehta's calm and colorful version revealed all the layers of Brahms's score, elevated by the virtuosity of the Munich PhilharmonicThe drive and dynamic contrast that some conductors choose to impart was not predominant in Mehta's calm and colorful version, which allowed all layers of the Brahmsian score to shine through, elevated from beginning to end by the virtuosity of the professors of the Munich Philharmonic, very accurate in the solos and with an extraordinary commitment from the strings, certainly difficult to find even in leading ensembles (before the pandemic they already delighted us with their Seventh of Dvořák under the direction of Pablo Heras-Casado, with whom we had the opportunity to to converse).
More than in the clash of forces, with the eventual threat of a difficult-to-process roar ---which also forms part of nature--- Zubin Mehta focused on that "kind and at the same time brilliantly elaborated tone" that Clara Schumann, friend and advisor to Johannes Brahms, highlighted after a private audition, prior to the official premiere, in her home in Baden-Baden. While some have wanted to link this symphony to Beethoven's Pastoral due to the program-less evocation of a nature that fructifies in themes as emotional as the one declaimed by the strings in the second movement, later resurfaced with the dreamlike counterpoint of clarinet and flutes, or even to Mozartian symphonism due to the balance of its structure and the aforementioned luminosity, the truth is that Brahms's musical language is absolutely original, endowed with a very recognizable vehemence and a proliferation of moods that seems inexhaustible.
Regarding the clichés about this work, the German composer was, in fact, one of the first to contribute, from irony. In a letter addressed to the publisher of his score, he warned: "My new symphony is so melancholic that you will hardly be able to bear it (…) I think the score will have to be dressed in mourning". He expressed the same to a friend, whom he warned that the members of the orchestra should play with a black ribbon on their arm. The fin de siècle artist that Brahms already is becomes aware of the effect of his work on society and thus seeks a compensatory effect, a way to turn around the prejudices that could condition the listening and acceptance of his work. A notably fluctuating work, with light moments ---Ländler or waltz rhythms form the fabric of this orchestral edifice--- but also of great solemnity, in which the composer's paradigmatic seriousness comes to the fore. Nevertheless, Zubin Mehta maintained the affable tone until the end, and that optimistic finale ---which Clara Schumann described as "a movement that seems written by two young spouses"--- unfolded oblivious to the haste of other readings, spelled out with sumptuousness and richness of detail, expansive even in its closing.
"The structure of this symphony does not coincide with a particular musical form, but it coincides, by virtue of its constant growth, with the creation of life itself," according to Leonard BernsteinThe pairing in the same concert of that symphony, lavish in natural reminiscences, with the Fourth ---the last one composed by Brahms--- presents undeniable attractions, especially regarding the general tone of the work, much closer ---this time, yes--- to melancholy. Also composed in a relaxed context, far from cities, it is a symphony in which the creative power shines forth from the onslaughts of a first movement inevitably tinged with autumnal nostalgia, which culminates leaving a fascinating sense of completion, up to the growing and stormy passacaglia final, with its ancient dance rhythm, yet imbued with pathos romantic, and which in some versions ---we think of the one conducted by Wilhelm Furtwängler--- seems charged with a supernatural energy. Leonard Bernstein, aware of the different rhythmic patterns it incorporates, valued its true transcendence with these words: "The structure of this symphony does not coincide with a particular musical form, but it coincides, by virtue of its constant growth, with the creation of life itself."
If creative genius is inexplicably outlined from the romantic worldview, no less complex is it to put into words the truth of musical interpretation. There are indicators, however, that guide or symptomatically reveal the commitment to what is being created ex novo, as if for the first time ---the harmonized framework of sounds, in a temporal deployment that contracts or expands--- and that reaches the listener, in turn awakening some type of emotional response. One of the indicators, which speak of the understanding of the music being made, can be sought in the attitude of the performers. The professors of the Munich Philharmonic not only lifted their gaze from the score ---perhaps inscribed somewhere deeper--- to seek that of the conductor, but eventually looked at each other with a knowing gesture, aware of creating something unique. A Brahmsian encore ---the most famous Hungarian Dance, memorably incorporated into the barber scene in The Great Dictator---, brought this true festival of symphonism to a close.