Mendelssohn’s « Reformation » Symphony shone with nobility and clarity under Daniel Harding, revealing Beethovenian energy and Brucknerian grandeur. Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde showcased a breathtaking orchestral performance, though vocally uneven, with Harding emphasizing the work’s rhythmic intricacies and vast emotional scope.
PROGRAM:
Munich – Herkulessaal – March 7, 2025
Felix Mendelssohn: Symphony No. 5 « Reformation », Op. 107
Gustav Mahler: Das Lied von der Erde
Fleur Barron (mezzo-soprano)
Andrew Staples (tenor)
Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra
Daniel Harding (conductor)
Munich’s Herkulessaal hosted an evening of striking contrasts under the baton of Daniel Harding, bringing together Mendelssohn’s Reformation Symphony and Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde. Two vastly different works—one rooted in Protestant grandeur, the other in existential reflection—provided an opportunity for the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra to showcase both its precision and expressive depth. Harding, a conductor with a long-standing relationship with the ensemble, led a performance that highlighted clarity, structure, and orchestral brilliance. Yet, while Mendelssohn’s symphony unfolded with elegance and luminous energy, Mahler’s farewell to life proved to be a more complex challenge, vocally and interpretatively.
Mendelssohn’s Reformation Symphony – Clarity, Nobility, and Architectural Grandeur
Mendelssohn’s Fifth Symphony, known as the Reformation, was composed in 1830 to commemorate the 300th anniversary of the Augsburg Confession—a defining moment in Protestant history. Though Mendelssohn himself later dismissed the work, it remains one of his most intriguing symphonies, a synthesis of Baroque counterpoint, Romantic expressivity, and religious fervor.
From the opening bars, Harding established a grandeur and solemnity that immediately set the tone. The first movement is deeply choral, its serenity underlined by strings and double basses of extraordinary depth and nobility. Three times, the Dresden Amen resounds—a motif later immortalized by Wagner in Parsifal as the leitmotif of the Grail. Harding’s control of phrasing ensured that each statement of the theme felt distinct yet part of a larger spiritual arc.
The second movement was a revelation. Taken at a lively, almost dance-like pace, it had an astonishing buoyancy and lightness, almost balletic in its spirit. Harding’s approach here was spontaneous, flowing, and exhilarating, with pastoral woodwinds adding a touch of Beethovenian joy. There were even glimpses of Brucknerian breadth, something that raises an intriguing thought—Harding’s Mendelssohn suggests he could be a fascinating Bruckner interpreter.
The third movement carried a plaintive, songlike quality, though Harding resisted any excessive sentimentality, letting the orchestral textures speak with a natural grace.
The finale, structured as a noble polyphony, unfolded with great expansiveness. It was, in many ways, the most English-sounding Mendelssohn imaginable—one could even hear echoes of Elgar’s symphonic breadth. Harding shaped it with dignity and architectural clarity, bringing out a final choral grandeur that seemed to look back to Bach but also forward to Bruckner.
Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde – Orchestral Brilliance and Vocal Challenges
For the second half, the orchestra returned in a more expansive formation for Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde. As expected, the orchestral playing was outstanding, with the woodwinds—particularly Lucas Spagnolo (flute) and Stefan Schilli (oboe)—offering dazzling color and phrasing. The horn section, led by Pascal Deuber, was impeccable, and Magdalena Hoffmann’s harp interventions brought moments of shimmering delicacy.
Yet, if the orchestra was beyond reproach, the vocal side was more uneven.
Andrew Staples tackled the tenor part, one of the most treacherous roles in the repertoire. The opening movement (Das Trinklied vom Jammer der Erde) demands a voice that can cut through Mahler’s dense orchestration, yet Staples often seemed to be pushing too hard, sacrificing nuance for sheer force. The first phrases lacked fluidity, and the emission felt effortful. As the movement progressed, he settled into a more natural phrasing, but the lack of legato left some passages feeling more declamatory than lyrical. Harding, for his part, might have tempered the orchestra slightly to allow for more flexibility in the vocal line.
In Der Einsame im Herbst, Fleur Barron’s deep, resonant timbre was well suited to the autumnal melancholy of the piece. There were moments that recalled the dark introspection of the Kindertotenlieder, and Harding displayed great sensitivity to the score’s inner tension, capturing the insidious, almost venomous undercurrents that run beneath its surface. Some sections achieved real poetic intensity, though Barron’s interpretation occasionally leaned toward over-dramatization, emphasizing every word and inflection to a degree that, over the span of the work, became somewhat heavy-handed.
The third movement, Von der Jugend, was an orchestral marvel. The instrumental interplay had a brilliant transparency, though Staples’ delivery lacked the biting irony and parodic edge that this movement demands.
The fourth movement, Von der Schönheit, was another orchestral showcase, with a stunning violin solo and razor-sharp string articulation. Harding brought a lively, pictorial quality to the movement, allowing its lyrical and rhythmical contrasts to emerge with striking vividness.
The fifth movement, Der Trunkene im Frühling, marked Staples’ final appearance of the evening. Unfortunately, his contribution did not leave a lasting impression—his vocal lines felt functional rather than revelatory, and in a work that demands an almost existential engagement with the text, he ultimately remained somewhat detached.
Then came the final movement, Der Abschied, the work’s emotional and philosophical summit. Here, Harding’s approach was fascinating. He drew out the irregular heartbeat of Mahler’s score, emphasizing the subtle disruptions in pulse, the rhythmic hesitations, and the sense of time dissolving into nothingness. The oboe line at the opening carried echoes of Tristan’s shepherd song, evoking a dreamlike, detached nostalgia. There was an undeniable sense of resignation in the orchestral writing, and Harding painted this landscape of desolation with unerring precision.
Yet, for all its orchestral excellence, the vocal interpretation lacked the ultimate emotional grip. Barron sang with poise and technical assurance, but her delivery lacked the sense of otherworldly transcendence that makes this music so overwhelming. There were moments where the sheer beauty of the orchestration seemed to overshadow the voice, and despite Harding’s mastery of balance, a deeper emotional edge was missing.
Harding is a brilliant Mahlerian, as evidenced by his acclaimed recordings of the Sixth and Tenth Symphonies, but Das Lied von der Erde still feels like a work in progress for him. The orchestral execution was breathtaking, yet there was a sense that he over-sculpted certain passages, leaning into every nuance and sforzando rather than allowing the piece to unfold with inevitability.
Ultimately, one left the concert deeply impressed by the instrumental performance yet with the sense that a more restrained approach, vocally and orchestrally, could have heightened the emotional impact. Perhaps Harding’s vision of the work will continue to evolve, and with stronger soloists, the full depth of Mahler’s final masterpiece may emerge in even greater clarity.
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