In recent years Sakari Oramo has established himself as a Mahlerian of distinction and tonight’s realisation proved a quietly audacious mix of trends old and new. Not that there was much attempt to emulate the self-conscious high seriousness (and/or melodramatics) of a Bernstein or a Tennstedt. This Sixth was no more authentically ‘Tragic’ than that of Sir Simon Rattle at the Proms. The forces were large – ten double basses – but not as large as in some performances – just the one undoubled celesta and two (out of a possible four) harps. The violins were bunched together in the manner of Stokowski or Henry Wood.
Oramo’s initial march was very much on the swift side, albeit with a real snap to the rhythm so that, taken on its own terms, nothing felt forced or rushed. Once or twice, the excellent BBC players gave the impression of expecting a less precipitate tempo, the celesta left behind at one point. There was, however, always a properly Mahlerian edge to the sound with lines well delineated. The absence of the first movement exposition repeat was a surprise. So too the old-school ordering of the inner movements, returning to the sequence as Mahler first imagined it rather than that which he adopted in performance. Oramo’s scherzo didn’t dawdle either so it was left to the slow movement to provide repose. Here the conductor elicited an unusually detailed response from the strings, sometimes paring back the sonority with minimal vibrato, elsewhere giving the music its head with a more vibrant kind of fervour. Long expressive slides were encouraged. The climax was ecstatic.
The finale struck me more as a gruelling concerto for orchestra than a satisfying conclusion to a symphonic argument, let alone a meditation on life’s set-backs and the oblivion that waits us all. That said, I am unable to say whether the interpretation was at fault given the blunt, shallow acoustics of the hall. The original third hammerblow (plus associated instrumental variants) might be thought of a piece with the chosen running order and its restoration here was a rare opportunity to hear what difference it makes. Does Oramo agree with Sir Mark Elder’s suggestion that the following music is ‘so much an elegy, an expression of mourning, that it doesn’t make sense without it’? All three blows sounded effective, possibly using a raised bit of platform invisible from my seat – this was not one of those spectacles in which a specially constructed box is raised up so that everyone can see it. Instead drama was provided by the percussionist wielding the giant hammer. Losing his footing on the cramped Barbican stage, he almost toppled over after his first strike.
Mahler’s work was given on its own. There was no clapping between movements and no premature ovation. So why the slight sense of anti-climax? Despite a brilliant showing by the BBC Symphony Orchestra, one did not come away profoundly shaken.
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