Still the enigma among Mahler symphonies, or is it that commentators still miss the point, or that the work as a whole is simply not good music? This live account, from a dedcated Mahlerian, does not readily provide answers, but makes speculation the more worthwhile.

A central factor in interpreting the Seventh Symphony is its form, each movement a sonata-rondo derivative that proceeds in circular rather than linear fashion. The outcome: a symphony which repeatedly turns back on itself, tying up loose ends across rather than between movements. Kubelík understands this so that, for instance, the initial Langsam, purposeful rather than indolent, is integral to what follows it. Similarly, the expressive central episode (8'43") is no mere interlude, but a necessary stage in the E/E minor tonal struggle around which the movement pivots. Kubelík catches the emotional ambivalence, if not always the fine irony, of the first Nachtmusik's march fantasy, while the Scherzo not only looks forward (as note writer Erich Mauermann points out) to La valse but also recalls the balletic dislocation of 'Un bal' from Symphonie fantastique. The second Nachtmusik is neither bland nor sentimentalized, just kept moving at a strolling gait, its course barely impeded by moments of chromatic emphasis. The underlying élan of the 'difficult' finale is varied according to each episode, with the reintroduction of earlier material (12'26") felt not as a grafted-on means of unity, but a thematic intensification before the affirmative reprise of the opening music: 'victory' in the completion of the journey rather than in the arrival.

Drawbacks? The extremely high-level radio broadcast, coupled with the frequent sense that Kubelík has rehearsed his players only to the brink of security, gives climactic passages a certain desperate quality — much of the detail is left to fend for itself. The six-note col legno phrase in the second movement is never played the same way twice, while the balance in the fourth movement does the guitar few favours. Yet there is a sense that this is the personal reading Kubelík was unable to achieve in the studio, before he either changed tack or lost the interpretative plot in his bizarrely laboured New York account. In their different ways, Bernstein, Haitink and Rattle are each more 'realized' as interpretations, but overt spontaneity may count for more in this Mahler symphony than any other.

Still the enigma among Mahler symphonies, or is it that commentators still miss the point, or that the work as a whole is simply not good music? This live account, from a dedcated Mahlerian, does not readily provide answers, but makes speculation the more worthwhile.

A central factor in interpreting the Seventh Symphony is its form, each movement a sonata-rondo derivative that proceeds in circular rather than linear fashion. The outcome: a symphony which repeatedly turns back on itself, tying up loose ends across rather than between movements. Kubelík understands this so that, for instance, the initial Langsam, purposeful rather than indolent, is integral to what follows it. Similarly, the expressive central episode (8'43") is no mere interlude, but a necessary stage in the E/E minor tonal struggle around which the movement pivots. Kubelík catches the emotional ambivalence, if not always the fine irony, of the first Nachtmusik's march fantasy, while the Scherzo not only looks forward (as note writer Erich Mauermann points out) to La valse but also recalls the balletic dislocation of 'Un bal' from Symphonie fantastique. The second Nachtmusik is neither bland nor sentimentalized, just kept moving at a strolling gait, its course barely impeded by moments of chromatic emphasis. The underlying élan of the 'difficult' finale is varied according to each episode, with the reintroduction of earlier material (12'26") felt not as a grafted-on means of unity, but a thematic intensification before the affirmative reprise of the opening music: 'victory' in the completion of the journey rather than in the arrival.

Drawbacks? The extremely high-level radio broadcast, coupled with the frequent sense that Kubelík has rehearsed his players only to the brink of security, gives climactic passages a certain desperate quality — much of the detail is left to fend for itself. The six-note col legno phrase in the second movement is never played the same way twice, while the balance in the fourth movement does the guitar few favours. Yet there is a sense that this is the personal reading Kubelík was unable to achieve in the studio, before he either changed tack or lost the interpretative plot in his bizarrely laboured New York account. In their different ways, Bernstein, Haitink and Rattle are each more 'realized' as interpretations, but overt spontaneity may count for more in this Mahler symphony than any other.

Still the enigma among Mahler symphonies, or is it that commentators still miss the point, or that the work as a whole is simply not good music? This live account, from a dedcated Mahlerian, does not readily provide answers, but makes speculation the more worthwhile.

A central factor in interpreting the Seventh Symphony is its form, each movement a sonata-rondo derivative that proceeds in circular rather than linear fashion. The outcome: a symphony which repeatedly turns back on itself, tying up loose ends across rather than between movements. Kubelík understands this so that, for instance, the initial Langsam, purposeful rather than indolent, is integral to what follows it. Similarly, the expressive central episode (8'43") is no mere interlude, but a necessary stage in the E/E minor tonal struggle around which the movement pivots. Kubelík catches the emotional ambivalence, if not always the fine irony, of the first Nachtmusik's march fantasy, while the Scherzo not only looks forward (as note writer Erich Mauermann points out) to La valse but also recalls the balletic dislocation of 'Un bal' from Symphonie fantastique. The second Nachtmusik is neither bland nor sentimentalized, just kept moving at a strolling gait, its course barely impeded by moments of chromatic emphasis. The underlying élan of the 'difficult' finale is varied according to each episode, with the reintroduction of earlier material (12'26") felt not as a grafted-on means of unity, but a thematic intensification before the affirmative reprise of the opening music: 'victory' in the completion of the journey rather than in the arrival.

Drawbacks? The extremely high-level radio broadcast, coupled with the frequent sense that Kubelík has rehearsed his players only to the brink of security, gives climactic passages a certain desperate quality — much of the detail is left to fend for itself. The six-note col legno phrase in the second movement is never played the same way twice, while the balance in the fourth movement does the guitar few favours. Yet there is a sense that this is the personal reading Kubelík was unable to achieve in the studio, before he either changed tack or lost the interpretative plot in his bizarrely laboured New York account. In their different ways, Bernstein, Haitink and Rattle are each more 'realized' as interpretations, but overt spontaneity may count for more in this Mahler symphony than any other.

Les dates de ces concerts inédits nous ramènent à une époque de relatif consensus interprétatif, antérieure en tout cas à l'irruption des « nouveaux beethovéniens ». Le phrasé, le poids, la densité que met Kubelik dans l'Adagio molto de la 2e suffisent pour s'en convaincre. Un chef up to date recourrait sans doute aujourd'hui à un autre type d'articulation, d'accent, de rebond rythmique. Ce qui n'aurait rien que de très normal, puisque, depuis, notre regard s'est déplacé. Mais voilà : dès l'entrée de l'Allegro con brio, dont il souligne le rythme en frappant du pied, Kubelik s'envole sans rien perdre de sa chaleur. Et, durant toute l'exécution, les phrasés espressivo incarnent une narration toute de vie et de relief, dont la combativité résulte d'une volonté expressive subtilement retranscrite par un orchestre réactif, et non d'une simple mécanique de la dynamique. Les deux derniers mouvements, très enlevés, pugnaces, sont d'une vivacité exubérante, Kubelik embrasant la fin de l'Allegro molto - ce à quoi le public parisien (le concert a été enregistré en 1971 au Théâtre des Champs-Elysées) répond avec élan.

La « Pastorale » revient à plus de classicisme. Mais la continuité de la pulsation, la flamme intérieure jamais démentie, la façon dont le quatuor porte la narration, la luminosité de la polyphonie, toutes ces caractéristiques vibrent avec une nécessité plus grande que dans l'enregistrement studio DG de 1973, avec l'Orchestre de Paris (dans le cadre de son intégrale Beethoven à neuf orchestres, cet ensemble est en cours de reparution en collection allemande « 2 CD »). Plus généralement, les deux exécutions soulignent la force de l'entente qui unit Kubelik à son orchestre bavarois – ressort important de la spontanéité humaniste de ces lectures –, et combien la présence du public peut susciter chez le grand chef une inspiration renouvelée, ce qu'a bien montré le cycle Mahler entrepris chez le même éditeur (d'autres Beethoven en concert existent sous sa baguette).

S'essayant à cette mise en perspective, il n'est pas question de suggérer de revenir à un passé qui serait forcément « supérieur » ; chaque époque, par grands cycles, produit ses propres vérités. Mais, par comparaison, ces documents mettent en lumière ce qui, chez certains « nouveaux beethovéniens », sépare parfois le discours affiché du passage à l'acte... alors qu'ils dénient parfois imprudemment la présence chez leurs grands aînés de ce qu'eux-mêmes tentent de réinventer.

Mois après mois, toutes les clés pour comprendre les chefs-d'oeuvre du répertoire : histoire, enjeux, guide d'écoute et repères discographiques.

[...]

Plus que de simples outsiders, deux Tchèques ont su retrouver les racines bohémiennes de Mahler : Kubelik, dont le live lyrique et véhément (Audite) est bien préférable à la version de studio, exactement contemporaine (DG), et le trop oublie Vaclav Neumann [...].

Mois après mois, toutes les clés pour comprendre les chefs-d'oeuvre du répertoire : histoire, enjeux, guide d'écoute et repères discographiques.

[...]

Plus que de simples outsiders, deux Tchèques ont su retrouver les racines bohémiennes de Mahler : Kubelik, dont le live lyrique et véhément (Audite) est bien préférable à la version de studio, exactement contemporaine (DG), et le trop oublie Vaclav Neumann [...].

It’s really a pity that this disc is just a reissue of a performance previously available in DGG’s set of complete Mahler symphonies conducted by Kubelík, as there’s so much I’d like to say about it that’s probably already been said, so I shall reduce my comments to the minimum.

Being personally very fussy in regard to symphonies including singers, I’ll automatically reject performances with defective voices even if the conducting is considered to be the best ever. For this reason, I don’t own the otherwise fantastic performances by Jascha Horenstein and Klaus Tennstedt, and never will, just as I don’t own or even listen to most recordings of the Beethoven Ninth made after, say, 1980. Solti’s famous studio recording of this Mahler symphony had, perhaps, the best eight singers amassed in one place, but they were recorded separately from the orchestra, which created a flat, two-dimensional sound I find offensive. That being said, I am partial to the recordings by Leopold Stokowski (1950), Bernard Haitink (the earlier recording with Cotrubas, Harper, and Prey), and Antoni Wit, in which the defective voices are, to my ears, less annoying than in the others, and generally just one bad voice per ensemble.

The fact that Kubelík, who never pushed his name or fame and in fact retreated from a publicity machine, was able to entice these eight outstanding singers to Munich for this performance says a lot for how much he was respected as a musician. The one name not universally feted at the time was tenor Donald Grobe, and ironically he produces the finest singing of this very difficult music I’ve ever heard (James King with Solti notwithstanding). Kubelík also managed to get truly involved and exciting singing out of Martina Arroyo, and that in itself is a miracle. (He did the same with Gundula Janowitz in his studio recording of Die Meistersinger, though overall his conducting on that set, like most of his conducting in a studio environment, lacks the full power and emotional commitment of his live work). Sometimes the singers are a little off-mike, coming only out of the left or right speakers, but that’s a condition of the original microphone setup and can’t be changed.

Undoubtedly the most controversial aspect of this performance is its full-speed-ahead tempos, particularly in “Veni, Creator Spiritus,” which Kubelík dispatches in a mere 21 minutes. (Don’t believe the designation of 21:30 on the CD box; 25 seconds of that is silence with audience coughing before part II.) But, shockingly, it doesn’t sound terribly rushed most of the time, there are few dropped notes, and the whole thing has the ecstatic quality of a satori. If you happen to be allergic to fast tempos in Mahler, then, this recording is not for you, but if that’s not a problem you’ll find this the greatest Mahler Eighth ever issued. I’ve hereby retired the Haitink recording from my collection; good as it is, it doesn’t have Kubelík’s overwhelming emotional impact. Since not every performance in the Kubelík set is of equal quality (no conductor’s integral set is consistently great), I encourage you to add this disc to your collection. Audite’s 24-bit remastering brings out every detail of this performance with stunning warmth and clarity. I’d compare the sound favorably to any all-digital Eighth on the market.

Mahler Fifth is a reminder that you can have everything in Mahler – intricate texturing, characterful playing, purposeful phrasing and a cumulative impact which leaves you breathless with exhilaration. Only Bernstein, also captured before an audience, can do the same, and although Kubelik pulls some very theatrical stops out as the clouds part in the second movement and the light fades from the scherzo. His generally faster-moving picture tells a very different story.

Mahler Fifth is a reminder that you can have everything in Mahler – intricate texturing, characterful playing, purposeful phrasing and a cumulative impact which leaves you breathless with exhilaration. Only Bernstein, also captured before an audience, can do the same, and although Kubelik pulls some very theatrical stops out as the clouds part in the second movement and the light fades from the scherzo. His generally faster-moving picture tells a very different story.

Mahler Fifth is a reminder that you can have everything in Mahler – intricate texturing, characterful playing, purposeful phrasing and a cumulative impact which leaves you breathless with exhilaration. Only Bernstein, also captured before an audience, can do the same, and although Kubelik pulls some very theatrical stops out as the clouds part in the second movement and the light fades from the scherzo. His generally faster-moving picture tells a very different story.