Classical Ear

Mahler is undoubtedly one of my favorite composers.  Fueled by my interest in his work, I researched his life and his music, and wrote the following biography.  Understanding the life and personality of a musician almost always allows you to better enjoy his music.  After writing the following, my love for Mahler’s music only increased.

In the year 1907, a man named Gustav Mahler wrote to his good friend Jean Sibelius: “A symphony should be like the world: it must embrace everything”. Although beginning his musical career on the piano, Mahler is known for composing nine breathtaking symphonies and conducting at some of the world’s most famous opera houses. He became famous for the unequaled amount of expression and ardor with which he wrote his music. Today, we listen to Mahler’s music in awe, and realize that he did indeed “embrace everything”. In his works, we hear turbulent storms, heavenly peace and roaring anger. In his brazen melodies and lush harmonies, we hear the work of a genius. With his groundbreaking innovations and techniques, Mahler heralded the end of Romanticism and the arrival of the Modern Era of classical music.

Gustav Mahler’s first signs of genius appeared in his childhood. Gustav was born on July 7^th, 1860, in the town of Kalischt, Bohemia, present day Kaliště, Czechoslovakia. He was born into a moderately wealthy Jewish family. Gustav was the second of fourteen siblings, yet the first of six to reach maturity.  Shortly after Gustav’s birth, his father, Bernhard, came to own several taverns and a distillery in the town of Iglau, where the Mahler family moved soon after. Iglau was an environment of folk, military and popular music, elements that would influence Mahler’s compositions in later life. Bernhard started paying for his son’s piano lessons in 1866, when Gustav was only six years old. Young Gustav immediately developed a penchant for piano and performed in his first public recital at age ten. By age twelve, he had performed in two more public recitals and had already composed a symphony, Herzog Ernst von Schwaben. When Gustav was fifteen, his talent for music was recognized by the Vienna Conservatoire of Music. Here, he studied harmony under Robert Fuchs and composition under Franz Krenn (Microsoft Corporation, Encarta DVD). During his first two years in the Conservatoire (1876-1877), Mahler won first prize in the annual Conservatoire piano competitions. However, despite his obvious piano expertise, Gustav soon put aside piano and began to focus on composition. In fact, Franz Krenn later became renowned as the professor who sparked Mahler’s interest in classical composition; Krenn posthumously became a famous composer himself. In 1878, Gustav graduated the Vienna Conservatoire with his submission of a Scherzo for Piano Quintet (Sadie, p.506).

One year before graduating, Mahler became a student at the University of Vienna. Although he enrolled in a wide range of classes, he maintained his musical interests. While in the University, he attended lectures given by the well-known Anton Bruckner, a man who would prove to be a prolific influence on Mahler.

Upon graduating the University of Vienna in 1880, Mahler began his career as a music teacher. In his free time, he wrote one of his first significant works, Das klagende Lied (Sadie, p.506). When Mahler was twenty years old, he entered Das klagende Lied in a competition for the Beethoven Prize. Unfortunately, his cantata did not win the prize (Boynick, Classical Music Pages online). At first, Mahler was dismayed; however, his sadness was short-lived. For the next two years, he spent most of his time revising the piece, removing whole movements and adding whole new ones. Mahler even took a break from giving piano lessons in order to spend more time with his composition. During this time, he wrote his second significant work, an opera called Rübezahl. Mahler once claimed: “The important thing is never to let oneself be guided by the opinions of one’s contemporaries, but to go one’s way in life and work unerringly, neither depressed by failure nor seduced by applause.” (Mahler, wikiquote) From his two year period of revision, we see that Mahler was a man of his word. Around 1883, Mahler had a short period of romance, during which he wrote a series of songs that are famous today. These compositions, namely Hans und Grethe and Lieder und Gesänge, marked the end of Gustav Mahler’s childhood (Sadie,p.506).

Around the time that Mahler finished writing Rübezahl, he was offered a job as conductor at a symphonic theater named Bad Hall (pronounced “Bohd”) in northern Austria. Although conducting was a new experience for him, Mahler instantly developed a fondness of it. The artistic standards at Bad Hall were quite low; nevertheless, Mahler not only enjoyed having the power to compose a symphony, but to control the piece as it was being performed. The following summer, he was asked to conduct at the German Landestheater, where he conducted Verdi’s Il Trovatore on October 3^rd, 1881. This was Mahler’s first prominent performance; at this point, critics were beginning to take interest in his style. As years passed, Mahler slowly moved from music hall to music hall, each one increasing his prestige. He moved from the Landestheater to the Stadttheater, Czechoslovakia, to the Carltheater, Austria, and finally, to the Meiningen Hofkapelle Theater in Germany (Sadie, p.507). At the Meiningen Hofkapelle, Mahler conducted one of his personal favorite operas, Der Freischütz. Although the members of the audience were generally pleased with the performance, they disapproved of his unconventional tempos and excessive bodily movements while conducting. This prompted Mahler to write a short dictum called Tradition ist Schlamperei, or ‘Tradition is Slovenliness’. In this, he claimed that he cared about neither his bodily movements nor his unconventional tempos. He asserted that he conducted what he felt in his heart, that he poured his emotions into his music. In other words, Gustav Mahler could not have cared less about tradition. Mahler once said, “If a composer could say what he had to say in words, he would not bother trying to say it in music” (Mahler, wikiquote). Apparently, Mahler had a lot to say—and he was saying it with all his heart (Sadie, p.507).

In 1886, Mahler took the post of conductor in the Neves Stadttheater in Leipzig, Germany, after a brief period of conducting in Prague. In Leipzig, he became known for his productions of Mozart’s Don Giovanni, Wagner’s Tannhäuser, and Gluck’s Iphigénie en Aulide. However, Mahler’s genius was truly recognized in his flawless performance of Siegfried in May of 1887. After this performance, Mahler’s name began to spread throughout Austria and Germany. In 1888, Mahler met with Richard Strauss. Mahler and Strauss, both around the same age, established a friendship that would last until Mahler’s death. Many believe that their friendship was based on competition; however, you can often detect a somewhat Straussian style in some of Mahler’s later works. This suggests that the friendship between them was based on respect for each other’s music. Strauss and Mahler are thought to be the two principle musicians to bring about the end of 19^th Century Romanticism (Sargent, p.358).

Mahler later resigned from the Neves Stadttheater due to an argument with the stage manager. Mahler was a very headstrong person; his musical performances had to be performed to his exacting style. After three months of working on a new opera, Todtenfeier, he was asked to conduct at the Royal Opera of Budapest in 1888. This was a far more prestigious job than any he had previously had. His appointment at Budapest attracted the eyes of many famous musicians around Europe, including the famous Johannes Brahms. By now, Mahler had composed his first three symphonies, a work called Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen, and a compilation of songs called Des Knaben Wunderhorn.

At age thirty-seven, Mahler was offered directorship of the Vienna Opera, the most powerful and exalted musical position in the Austrian Empire. Even the Austro-Hungarian government considered it an ‘Imperial’ post (Sadie, p.510). It was the position all European musicians dreamed of holding. However, Austro-Hungarian law prohibited Jews from holding ‘Imperial’ positions. Mahler, who was never a devout Jew, had, in preparation, converted to Roman Catholicism (http://www.essentialsofmusic.com/composer/mahler.html, p.1). Nonetheless, Mahler never forgot his roots; years later, Mahler stated, “I am thrice homeless: as a native of Bohemia in Austria, as an Austrian among Germans, and as a Jew throughout the world. Everywhere an intruder, never welcomed” (Mahler, wikiquote). Mahler made many changes while director. He changed the Vienna Opera’s repertoire and raised its artistic standards, thereby attracting more listeners than ever before. His most popular repertoire changes included the addition of Lohengrin, Manon, and Cavalleria Rusticana. During the following summers, when Mahler had more time off from work, he composed his fourth through eighth symphonies, Rückert Lieder and one of his most famous compositions, Kindertotenlieder.

In 1902, Mahler fell in love with Alma Schindler, the daughter of an Austrian landscape painter and the stepdaughter of the famed painter, Carl Moll. That year, the couple had their first child, Maria Anna. Their second child, Anna, was born two years later. In 1907, the oldest daughter, Maria Anna, died at the age of five of a severe case of scarlet fever. This shocking event horrified Mahler, casting him into a deep depression. As if his child’s death wasn’t enough of a burden, he soon discovered that he had a latent heart disease, Infective Endocarditis. Moreover, anti-Semitic portions of the press were ruthlessly libeling him every day. It was no surprise when Mahler resigned from his directorship in 1907, further supporting his statement of being “homeless [as] a Jew throughout the world…an intruder”.

Mahler’s unemployment was short-lived; he was extended a generous offer from the New York Metropolitan Opera in 1908 (Boynick, Classical Music Pages online). Mahler, now forty-eight years old, became famous for his performances of his second and eighth symphonies. The American viewers were so fond of his innovative work that he was soon asked to conduct the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. While in New York, Mahler completed his Das Lied von der Erde and his Symphony No. 9, his last completed work (Microsoft Corporation, Encarta DVD).

In 1911, while still conducting in New York, Mahler fell seriously ill. He was diagnosed with a streptococcal blood infection. When the last concert of the season arrived, Mahler got out of his bed to conduct. He conducted in a fever, but performed to tumultuous applause. Soon after, the lethargic Gustav Mahler was taken back to Vienna at his request. He died of his infection on May 18, 1911, at the young age of fifty, leaving his tenth symphony unfinished. Mahler is currently buried next to his daughter, Maria, at Grinzing Cemetery in Vienna.

During his life, Mahler proved to be one of the most gifted composers and conductors of all time. However, much of Mahler’s style can be derived from the techniques of previous musicians. Anton Bruckner, for instance, made his first impression on Mahler in 1877, giving lectures at the University of Vienna. Although he had never been a pupil of Bruckner, Mahler exemplified his great respect by composing a piano duet arrangement of Bruckner’s third symphony. Similarly, in 1910, Mahler donated much of the profits of his own works to the promotion of Bruckner’s (Sargent, p.359). The second greatest influence on Mahler was Ludwig van Beethoven. Mahler’s use of choral and solo voices in symphony reflects Beethoven’s similar procedure in his ninth symphony (Microsoft Corporation, Encarta DVD). Mahler, in fact, became quite famous for his integration of vocal and symphonic music. Mahler’s somewhat simple dramatic tones reflect Wagner’s similar methods of dramatic-musical union. Mahler respected Wagner above any other musician; according to Mahler, Wagner was the only other composer to have “development” in his compositions. Bruckner, Beethoven, Strauss and Wagner were probably the most prolific influences on Mahler; however, Mendelssohn, Schubert, Schumann, Weber and Bach were great inspirations as well. These “secondary” influences are known mostly for providing inspiration from the Romantic Era. Mahler, whose music exhibited romantic and innovative qualities, was an ideal bridge between the Romantic and the Modern Era of music.

Although it is intriguing to study the life of Gustav Mahler, most remember him for his passionate and picturesque music. Mahler is best known for his introduction of the “song cycle”, a multi-sectioned piece that incorporates both symphonic and vocal elements. Mahler’s repertoire of song cycles includes Das klagende Lied, Lieder und Gesänge, Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen, Das Lied von der Erde, Des Knaben Wunderhorn, and Kindertotenlieder. “Lied” is the German word for song; however, a song cycle is usually a string of songs. Each movement of a song cycle employs the words of one particular poet and the music of one particular composer. The movements usually tell a story or pertain to a certain theme (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Song_Cycle, p.1). The lyrics of Maher’s song cycles were painstakingly chosen from an array of foreign literature, including Nietzsche, Goethe and Chinese. A few of his pieces even exhibited proverbs from Roman Catholic Mysticism. (Mitchell, p.210).

Lieder eines Fahrenden Gesellen, or ‘Songs of a Wayfarer’, was written in 1884. Mahler had been working at the Meiningen Hofkapelle Opera House in Kassel. Here, he had an affair with Johanna Richter, one of the singers. The relationship was short-lived, making Mahler feel lonely and depressed. The composer channeled all of his emotions into the song cycle; the lyrics describe a rejected lover who wanders the Earth, searching for the meaning of his life. In the first movement, ‘When My Sweetheart is Married’ (‘Wenn mein Schatz Hochzeit macht’), the lover grieves the fact that his true love is probably already married to another man. He claims that although the world around him is beautiful, nothing can stop him from having sad dreams. The lyrics of the third movement, ‘I Have a Gleaming Knife’ (‘Ich hab’ ein glühend Messer’), describe the lover at his saddest. He compares the agony of lost love to a knife piercing his heart. In the movement, everything around the man reminds him of his love. The music is intense and heartrending. The final movement of Lieder eines Fahrenden Gesellen is ‘Die zwei blauen Augen von meinem Schatz’, or ‘The Two Blue Eyes of my Beloved’. The music of this movement is quiet, gentle and harmonic. The image of his true love’s eyes has caused the “wayfarer” so much grief that he can no longer stand it. He lies down under a tree and lets the flowers fall on him; the piece ends with the man yearning to have a happy life once again. In many ways, Mahler is the true wayfarer in his song, traveling throughout Europe to conduct his music. In many ways, Mahler was reflecting upon himself, searching for his true love. (Mitchell, p.244).

Another good example of the sincerity and emotion in Mahler’s song cycles is the composition, Kindertotenlieder, or ‘Songs on the Death of Children’, written in 1904. The piece chronicles the experiences of a parent whose child has died. In the music, one can hear the parent’s disbelief, denial, intense sorrow and acceptance. The lyrics of this composition, taken from the poems of Friedrich Rückert, are arguably the most beautiful and descriptive of any of the Mahlerian song cycles. In the first movement, ‘Nun will die Sonn’ so hell aufgeh’n’, a soprano sings the following in German:

“Now the sun will rise as brightly

As if no misfortune had occurred in the night.

The misfortune has fallen on me alone.

Yet the sun – it shines for everyone.

You must not keep the night inside you;

You must immerse it in eternal light.

A little light has been extinguished in my household;

Light of joy in the world, be welcome once again.”

(Friedrich Rückert, Kindertotenlieder)

(Translation from German to English by Emily Ezust)

Although it is impossible to adequately describe the music of Kindertotenlieder in words, the above segment of lyrics displays the emotion of the piece. In 1908, four years after completing the piece, Mahler lost his daughter, Maria Anna, to scarlet fever. She was four years old when she died. This horrifying and terribly ironic event cast Mahler into a state of deep depression. Later, he wrote to his friend Guido Adler: “I had placed myself in the situation that a child of mine had died. When I really lost my daughter, I could not have written these songs any more”. The fact that his own daughter died shortly after the song’s completion greatly increases its poignance (Mitchell, p.271).

Aside from his remarkable song cycles, Mahler wrote a total of ten symphonies. Each one of his symphonies is intriguing in its own way. Mahler’s 1^st Symphony, nicknamed Titan, is an extremely powerful piece. It exhibits a double bass solo, something very unconventional at the time. His Symphony No. 2, nicknamed Resurrection, supposedly recounts Mahler’s journey of redemption, from hell to heaven. The symphony, which features a total of ten French horns, began as a work named Totenfeier. Interestingly, Totenfeier was prompted by Mahler’s relationship with Johanna Richter, the same stimulus for his Lieder eines Fahrenden Gesellen. While Mahler intended Totenfeier to be a somewhat smaller piece, it evolved into a grand symphony. (Mitchell, p.412)

Mahler’s longest composition, the six-movement Symphony No. 3, usually runs for about ninety-five minutes. For this reason, it is hardly ever performed in concert. Interestingly, it incorporates the use of a “rute”, or a bundle of sticks used to beat a drum. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rute_(music)). In regard to the use of unusual instruments, Mahler’s 4^th Symphony incorporates the use of sleigh bells, and is, incidentally, his shortest piece. It usually runs for about fifty minutes. (Mitchell, p.413).

Mahler’s Symphony No. 5 is arguably his most famous composition. Although it is one of his more conventional pieces, it unconventionally opens with a funeral march. The musical emotion with which the piece was written is immense. Herbert von Karajan, a famous Austrian composer, once said, “When you hear Mahler’s Fifth, you forget that any time has passed. A great performance of the Fifth is a transforming experience. The fantastic finale almost forces you to hold your breath.” After its first performance, Mahler is reported to have said, “Nobody understood it. I wish I could conduct the first performance fifty years after my death.” Somewhat conceitedly, Mahler here tells us that he is ahead of his time! Even for the greatest conductors and orchestras, the 5^th Symphony is one of the most technically challenging pieces to master. Most performances do not exhibit the full expression of the music; however, a great performance is awe-inspiring. As previously mentioned, Mahler was meticulously precise in his performances. His ruthless perfectionism allowed for his productions of the 5^th Symphony to be very powerful.

Mahler’s Sixth, nicknamed Tragic, has a “grim overall mood and a shatteringly pessimistic outcome”. The piece, on the whole, is a very sinister composition. Nevertheless, there are quite a few periods of happiness and brilliance. The symphony ends with the blow of a sledgehammer and a truly shocking chord played suddenly and very loudly (sfzffff). While Mahler’s Symphony No. 7, The Song of the Night, is not as ominous as the Sixth, it is somewhat dark at times. It is mysterious, yet tranquil. The symphony also incorporates a tambourine. Mahler had never been one for conformity; to him, tradition was ‘Schlamperei’ (Mitchell, p.414).

Symphony No. 8 has been called the Symphony of a Thousand due to the unusually large orchestra it calls for—literally one thousand performers. It is one of the largest orchestral pieces ever created; the effect is stunning (http://www.essentialsofmusic.com/composer/mahler.html, p.2).  Mahler’s 9^th Symphony is the last one he was able to complete before his untimely death. Many say that this is the most descriptive of all his symphonies, that it encompasses all of the beautiful aspects of his music. It is one of Mahler’s most harmonious works. His Tenth has been aptly nicknamed his Unfinished Symphony. Numerous composers have created artificial finales for the Unfinished Symphony. Most conductors, however, refuse to perform them (Sadie, p.508).

Because of his innovations, Mahler is among the most important romantic composers; he is also known as one of the most influential pioneers of post-romantic and post-modern musical techniques. Mahler, in almost all of his famous symphonies, was obsessed with “counterpoint”. Counterpoint is a musical technique involving the simultaneous sounding of different melodies. Two or three melodies will play all at once, melding into one wholesome and beautiful sound. Often in his music, one melody’s end will begin another. Mahler also became known for his use of unusual instruments. He used the mandolin, the harmonium and the post horn, an extreme oddity for his time. Traditionally, a postman would blow on his horn to announce the arrival of the mail coach. Postmen were not musicians, and yet Mahler required that they play in his symphonies. During Mahler’s lifetime, the post horn underwent much development: slides and buttons were added, its shape was changed, and the amount of skill needed to play it greatly increased. Consequently, the post horn became what we now know as the French horn (Microsoft Corporation, Encarta DVD).

Both Wagner and Mahler are known for their conducting innovations as well. They separated themselves from the musicians, standing in front of the ensemble to conduct. They conducted their own pieces, a very uncommon practice, and introduced the conducting baton as a means of keeping steady rhythm during a piece (Microsoft Corporation, Encarta DVD).

By breaking the conventional traditions of Romanticism, Mahler opened new doors to different forms of tonality, or relations to a certain pitch or tone. He used such complex techniques as non-functional tonality and atonality, both of which purposefully create dissonance. These techniques opposed the extremely romantic and tonal music of the time. However, much of Mahler’s music remained strictly tonal. In fact, Mahler is known for his simple and frank melodies. Unlike many other famous composers, he did not shroud his melodies with excess sound—he instead highlighted them in his pieces. Countless critics have called him simple and naïve for this reason. While Franz Schmidt called his music ‘mawkish’, ‘tasteless’ and ‘sentimental’, Vaughan Williams described Mahler as “a tolerable imitation of a composer”. Despite these condemnations, many enjoy the emotion that is displayed in his raw and untainted melodies. This style influenced such composers as Strauss, Schoenberg, Shostakovich and Zemlinsky.

Mahler once claimed: “What’s best in music is not to be found in the notes”. In other words, there is more to music than tonality, pitch, instrumentation, scope, dynamics or tempo. It is what the music evokes within you that is truly important. Mahler used his love, his anger, even his sadness to create and conduct his music. If we reflect upon those emotions, perhaps we will be able to better understand the genius of Gustav Mahler.

Last Thursday, I went to the ballet, Romeo and Juliet, and didn’t like it.  I don’t normally go to the ballet, but I threw caution to the wind that night.  When I came home, I tried to figure out what I didn’t like about it, and broke it down into its individual components:

Was it the dancing? – Perhaps.  I’ve never really liked dancing.  It’s always seemed to me that there is only a finite number of maneuvers one can make, and that the only way to make it more interesting is by putting more and more dancers on the stage.  (Unlike music, where the possibilities are endless.)  But that’s only my ignorance speaking… I know that there is certainly more to dance than meets my eye: passion, interaction, and so on.  I simply have never been able to appreciate it at all.  I suppose I’m just not sophisticated enough to appreciate it.  Or maybe I don’t know what to look for.  Regardless, I didn’t particularly like the dancing when I went to see Romeo and Juliet on Thursday evening.

 The music, by Sergei Prokofiev, was not particularly awe-inspiring either.  Although the melodies were undeniably original, the music in general did not inspire any strong emotions within me.  It struck me as shallow and meager.  Particularly jarring was the inclusion of a tenor saxophone in the ensemble.  It fit as well as a square peg fits into a circular hole.  (What in gods name was Prokofiev thinking when he put a tenor saxophone into a ballet?)  During one of the two intermissions, I began a conversation with the woman sitting next to me, who brought up an interesting point.  She told me that she’d always liked the music because “the melodies are whistle-able,” and that she always finds herself whistling the themes of Romeo and Juliet on her way out of the hall.  Although many would disagree with her – claiming that the musical value of a work involves so much more than its memorability — her opinion was quite valid.  In fact, I discovered it to be more than valid, as I began to whistle the tunes as I exited the concert hall as well!

What have I learned from this experience?  The ballet is for some, and not for others.  I suppose I’m just more of an “opera addict” than a “ballet buff”.  But the important thing is that I tried it.  This is all that I preach: have an open mind!  Take that leap of faith across the perilous chasm of musical ignorance!  Go to your first opera!  Go to your first ballet!  And if you don’t like it, at least you can say that you tried.

Avery Fisher Hall, NYC   —   June 20, 2007

Last night’s Strauss-Mahler program at Avery Fisher Hall featured the accomplished diva Deborah Voigt, and the New York Philharmonic, conducted by Lorin Maazel.  In the first half of the evening, we heard 4 short operatic pieces by Richard Strauss, followed by an even shorter encore.  The second half brandished Mahler’s Seventh Symphony, which unfortunately, was not as well received.

The night opened mysteriously with the song Befreit (”Set Free”), a melancholy yet tender piece of music.  Shifting between major and minor modes allowed Strauss to create a shadowy atmosphere, and coupled with Maazel’s expert instruction, the effect was astounding.  Deborah Voigt — looking wonderfully elegant – opened her heart to the audience, singing a soothing poem by Richard Dehmel.  Her voice glided across the concert hall, ripe with emotion.  Yet, the song was over in the blink of an eye: five minutes, more or less.  In fact all five of Strauss’s works were small tableaus, picturesque visions, rather than full-blown pieces.  The next song, Lied der Frauen (”Song of the Women”, the longest of the five, lasting 8 minutes) was furious and ominous, yet still smooth and flowing.  It was during this song that I took my first criticism: at times, the orchestra seemed to overpower Voigt.  This is not to say that Voigt’s tone was muddled, or that her delivery was weak.  The unbalance in volume was probably due to a combination of faults: perhaps Voigt’s projection was not her best, and perhaps the orchestra was a bit blaring.  Speaking as an orchestral performer — a french horn player — I can honestly say that it is easy to get caught up in the emotion of a piece, and consequently overplay.  With a piece as riotous and moving as Lied der Frauen, I can’t be too eager to deal out judgement.  The music rocked back and forth, like a raging storm, that finally calmed and concluded softly.  Next was the four-minute jewel, Morgen! or “Tomorrow!”.  It featured a violin-harp duo, with Voigt gliding amongst them.  The connection between the instrumental soloists and the diva faltered a bit though; at times it seemed as if the two weren’t absolutely in sync.  Connection is invaluable in an orchestra, especially when it is condensed into a pair of soloists.  This is not to say that the performances themselves weren’t flawless.  The violinist played astoundingly well, earning thunderous applause after the song.  Next to be performed was Fruhlingsfeier or “Celebration of Spring”.  To me, the piece seemed to be defined by flight.  Voigt, together with flute and piccolo soloists, gave wings to the entire orchestra, and with flawless intonation.  Maazel gave a clean, sudden ending to the song, leaving the audience awe-stricken, yet somewhat unsatisfied.  The piece, after all, was a mere 6 minutes long.  After all the excitement and anticipation of seeing Deborah Voigt onstage, I was pleased but unsatisfied.  For Voigt, this was quite a “short gig”.  The audience cried out in admiration, provoking another short yet beautiful encore, the song Zueignung.  This last song felt almost like a psalm — inspiring and powerful.

Now lets move on to the Mahler.  Before I begin, let me first explain that I am a Mahler-freak.  I believe that he was a living, breathing god of music.  And yet, I had never actually heard his seventh symphony until this concert.  I was practically holding my breath before it started.  Despite my excitement, I was able to continue writing my notes during the performance.

The symphony was in five movements; each movement is said to symbolize the progression from dawn to dusk, giving the piece its unofficial title, Song of the Night.  Mahler saw this to be a false name, and frankly, so do I.  The five-part symphony was so spontaneous, and even humorous, that I had trouble consolidating it into one whole image.  The symphony began mysteriously, featuring a tenor horn solo (very odd and revolutionary, especially for Mahler’s time) that was executed perfectly but still felt a bit out of place.  I noticed a high concentration on melody — signature of Mahlerian music.  Maazel and the New York Philharmonic are hardly strangers to Mahler by now; his style was well recognized, and seemed natural to the performers and the conductor.  Not only the tenor horn, but rather the whole brass section played flawlessly, and Mahler’s high concentration on brass made the symphony seem heavy, weighed down.  It was almost theatrical.  The music passed between the brass section and the string / woodwind sections, a transition that was urged along by Maazel’s insistent conducting.  The orchestra applied grace and passion at all the right moments, yet something greater was amiss within the performance: the constant, relentless melodies lacked direction.  Sometimes, there was no clear destination, just an endless horizon, making the piece seem long and somewhat burdensome.  It seemed as if Mahler used his seventh symphony to play around with different effects (oh, what a revolutionary he was…)  The symphony seemed almost like an experiment — Mahler’s chemistry set, if you will.

Much to my dismay, quite a few members of the audience walked out during Mahler’s Seventh.  Here’s the bottom line: although I enjoyed the Mahler, I must admit that it was harder to appreciate than most of his other symphonies.

Most newcomers to opera tend to step into the theater with little enthusiasm and low expectations.  This is no surprise, what with all the nasty opera-related rumors these days!  So, before I begin this article, I’d like to dispel some of those rumors.  Madama Butterfly is not just for girls, Die Fledermaus has nothing to do with singing mice, and opera singers are not just fat ladies wearing horns and pigtails.  Take my word for it– opera is one of the most passionate artforms out there.  Going to the opera is not some kind of strange and outlandish excursion.  So before taking that first journey to the opera house, that leap of faith across the musical abyss, shed any prejudices to opera that you may have had.  Now let’s continue, because there are a few things that anyone should know before taking their seat at the “Met” (which is short for the Metropolitan Opera House of New York City).

1. Start off with a “lighter” opera before moving into the “heavy-duty” stuff.  Some operas are just so intricate, modern, or simply long, that your faith in opera will be totally shattered if you start off with one of them.  I once saw a production of Il Travatore where the scenery consisted of huge shreds of black and white cardboard that were torn at the edges… I can’t imagine an opera-newcomer enjoying that.  Here’s another example: a production of Götterdämmerung can take up to five hours.  Seeing Götterdämmerung as your first opera would be like jumping into a pool of ice water without dipping your toe in first.  Here are some great choices that would be perfect for a first visit to the opera: Aida, Tosca, Pagliacci, La Boheme, Rigoletto, Cavalleria Rusticana, and Madama Butterfly.  I’m sure there are many others that would make good “starters” but those are just a few that I came up with on the spot.  In the end, just make sure that your entry into the world of opera is smooth, not jarring.  After all, you’ve gotta walk before you can run.

2. When in doubt, go with Verdi.  Giuseppe Verdi (1813-1901) wrote a staggering total of 35 operas in his lifetime, and is regarded by many to be the greatest composer of Italian opera who ever lived.  His operas are truly timeless.  Personally, Verdi is my favorite opera composer of all time.  When I see a Verdi opera, everything else is shut out of my mind and I become completely immersed in what I’m hearing.  In my opinion, no opera beats a Verdi opera.

3. Although this may vary from opera house to opera house, try to dress a little nicely.  An opera is not a football game, so don’t come in jeans and a t-shirt.  Men should try to wear a tie and a blazer, or at least just a collared shirt.  I am not a woman, but I suppose that women should wear a dress or whatever the female equivalent of a shirt-and-tie might be.  Don’t get the idea that the opera is some sort of Grand Ball — no need to get out the glass slippers.  It’s just that people seem to lend you a bit more respect when you’re dressed nicely for the occasion.

4. When the lights dim, a deep voice will probably say, “Please turn off all cellphones and recording devices.”  But what the invisible man won’t tell you is to PLEASE UNWRAP ALL YOUR CANDIES BEFORE THE SHOW, OR DON’T EAT THEM AT ALL!!!  You won’t ever know how annoying it is to have someone slowly unwrapping their mint during the opera until it happens to you.  Yes, it’s happened to me.  And yes, I’ve had to turn around and tell the man to stop– I didn’t wish to embarrass him, but he certainly would have embarrassed himself more if he’d continued to unwrap that god-forsaken candy.

5. Please turn off all cellphones and recording devices.  Well, recording devices are bad, but cellphones are MUCH WORSE.  I can’t even imagine the horror of having my cellphone go off during a performance.  I might just drop dead.  Don’t let that happen to you.  Do yourself a favor, and turn off the phone.  Even if you’ve turned it off, just double check.  I’m sure your girlfriend would love to hear your new ringtone at some other time.  You get the point.

6. Don’t whisper, we can all hear you.  Opera houses were made to allow sound to travel very easily.  Don’t try to fool the laws of physics, because you won’t win.

7. In operas, it is surprisingly common for all the main characters to die in the end.  This is not Hollywood.  Don’t expect many happy endings.  And another thing: it usually takes an extremely long time for someone to die.  In La Traviata, Violetta dies of tuberculosis.  But before she dies, she sings a full-blown aria (showing no signs of tuberculosis whatsoever).  It’s breathtakingly beautiful, but undoubtedly ironic.  Opera deaths are slow and painful, but spectacular all the same.

8. Many people are scared of going to the opera because they’ve adopted the strange belief that it is absurdly expensive.  Fortunately, the opera is probably less expensive than you think.  If you take a look at the Metropolitan Opera’s website, you’ll see that ticket prices can range anywhere from $24 to $168.  Thirty bucks doesn’t seem too great a sacrifice in return for a seat at one of the greatest opera houses in the world.  As for the more expensive seats– save those for a special date or a generous gift.

9. Read the concert program.  It’s teeming with interesting information about the opera, the composer, the singers, and the conductor you are about to see.  Knowing about an opera before you see it is quite valuable.  Not only will you be expanding your knowledge of the musical realm, you will be gaining insight into the production that may double your enjoyment.  After a few operas, you’ll start to recognize names.

10. Try to relax and enjoy!  If it’s your first time at the opera, don’t act as if you’re trying to impress anybody.  You’re not the one putting on the show.  Just sit back and make believe you’re in a movie theater.  A very large, elegant, quiet, clean movie theater, where cell phones never — ever — go off.  Going to the opera is one of my favorite things to do.  Nothing beats sitting in the Met, with a smile on my face, letting the music wash over me like waves on the beach.

Remember, it’s not over until the fat lady sings… but she won’t necessarily be fat.