For more information please contact organizer of the concert.
1 / 6
Mahler’s symphonies appear not only in the recording schedule of the Czech Philharmonic or in its Prague season, but also on tour. In Graz, on two consecutive concerts they will play the Sixth Symphony, in which the composer attempted to depict his wife Alma. Leading the top Czech orchestra will be its chief conductor Semyon Bychkov.
Symphony No. 6 in A minor
Semyon Bychkov conductor
For more information please contact organizer of the concert.
Celebrating both his fifth season as Chief Conductor and Music Director of the Czech Philharmonic and his 70th birthday, Semyon Bychkov will celebrate his birthday with three concerts in November pairing Beethoven’s Fifth with Shostakovich’s Fifth. It is a season which opens in Prague with the official concert to mark the Czech Republic’s Presidency of the EU and continues with concert performances of Dvořák’s Rusalka as part of the Dvořákova Prague International Music Festival. Later in the season, Bychkov will conduct Rusalka at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden.
Bychkov's tenure at the Czech Philharmonic was initiated in 2018 with concerts in Prague, London, New York and Washington marking the 100th anniversary of Czechoslovak independence. With the culmination of The Tchaikovsky Project in 2019, Bychkov and the Orchestra turned their focus to Mahler. In 2022, Pentatone has already released two discs in the ongoing complete symphonic cycle – Mahler’s Fourth and Fifth Symphonies.
Bychkov's repertoire spans four centuries. The unique combination of innate musicality and rigorous Russian pedagogy ensure that his performances are highly anticipated. In addition to being a guest with the major orchestras and opera houses across Europe and the US, Bychkov holds honorary titles with the BBC Symphony Orchestra – with whom he appears annually at the BBC Proms – and the Royal Academy of Music from whom he recently received an Honorary Doctorate. In 2015, he was named "Conductor of the Year’ by the International Opera Awards.
Bychkov began recording for Philips in 1989 and released discs with the Berlin Philharmonic, Bavarian Radio, Royal Concertgebouw, Philharmonia Orchestra, London Philharmonic and Orchestre de Paris. Subsequently a series of benchmark recordings with WDR Symphony Orchestra Cologne included a complete cycle of Brahms Symphonies, together with works by Strauss, Mahler, Shostakovich, Rachmaninov, Verdi, Glanert and Höller. His 1992 recording of Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin was BBC’s Radio 3’s Building a Library recommended recording (2020); Wagner’s Lohengrin was BBC Music Magazine’s Record of the Year (2010); and Schmidt’s Symphony No. 2 with the Vienna Philharmonic was BBC Music Magazine’s Record of the Month (2018).
In common with the Czech Philharmonic, Bychkov has one foot firmly in the culture of the East and the other in the West. Born in St Petersburg in 1952, he emigrated to the United States in 1975 and has lived in Europe since the mid-1980's. Singled out for an extraordinarily privileged musical education from the age of 5, Bychkov studied piano before winning his place at the Glinka Choir School where, aged 13, he received his first lesson in conducting. He was 17 when he was accepted at the Leningrad Conservatory to study with the legendary Ilya Musin and, within three years had won the influential Rachmaninov Conducting Competition. Denied the prize of conducting the Leningrad Philharmonic, Bychkov left the former Soviet Union in 1975. He returned in 1989 as Principal Guest Conductor of the St Petersburg Philharmonic and, the same year, was named Music Director of the Orchestre de Paris. In 1997, Bychkov was appointed Chief Conductor of the WDR Symphony Orchestra Cologne, and in 1998, Chief Conductor of the Dresden Semperoper.
“My Sixth poses riddles that can only be solved by a generation that has received and digested my first five symphonies”, declared Gustav Mahler about his new symphony in 1904. And he was largely right about that.
Especially to those closest to the composer, it was incomprehensible that during the happiest period of his life he should write music of such hopelessness—at the same time he was also composing the last two songs of the cycle Kindertotenlieder (Songs on the Death of Children). After all, he had finally succeeded at securing the post of music director of the Vienna Court Opera, he had married the girl of his heart’s desire, Alma Schindler, and he had fathered a second daughter. However, it seems that only now, in moments of pure joy, all the things he had previously borne within him were now surfacing, like frustration, the public’s incomprehension, the struggle against pettiness and mediocrity, and antisemitic comments. It is said that he himself gave the symphony the title Tragic, but then he decided to leave the interpretation up to the listeners, so he withdrew the title. Despite fleeting hints of brightness and optimism, the composition is as uncompromising as the dramas of classical antiquity or of Shakespeare. “How can such a good soul express so much cruelty and harshness?” one of Mahler’s friends later asked, and after Mahler introduced the symphony to his wife Alma, she wrote: “None of his earlier works had sprung from the depths of his heart the way this one did. We both wept that day. The music and what it foretold moved us deeply.” Mahler believed artists to be capable of powerful intuition, so after the fact he perceived his Sixth Symphony as an ominous premonition of the personal tragedies that were to come: in 1907 the Mahlers lost their four-year-old daughter Maria, doctors diagnosed the composer’s heart defect, and he left his position at the theatre under unfavourable circumstances.
Mahler began writing the work in the summer of 1903 in the little Austrian village Maiernigg on Lake Wörthersee, where he had house built along with a hut for composing. He wanted quiet (he was even disturbed by the sounds of birds singing or of dogs barking far away) and, above all, the peace he lacked when dealing with day-to-day operational matters at the theatre in Vienna. For a third summer in Maiernigg, he was able to enjoy communion with nature, taking walks and jotting down in his notebook the ideas that are said to have come to him as direct inspiration from the landscape. The following summer he complained for a while about a lack of inspiration, but his elan returned after a quick excursion to Lake Misurina in the Sexten Dolomites, and he finished the symphony.
The Sixth Symphony conceals more than darkness. It is also the result of a compositional approach that was unusual for its day. The musicologist Kurt Blaukopf described this fittingly: “What Mahler caused with his innovations can be compared only approximately with the revolution that Art Nouveau caused in the visual arts.” As the 19th century was dying away, in this composition one senses the new century boiling just beneath the seemingly romantic surface. And the public was not ready for this at the time.
In this work, Mahler built upon his previous symphony from 1902, and once again he concentrated the fundamental message into the finale. He also tried to liberate himself completely from the piano, at which he usually sketched out his compositions, then filling in the “fabric of the other voices” on the basis of the bass line. The instrumental parts, unplayable on piano, demand superior players equipped with the technique of soloists. The voice leading of the individual lines is also remarkable, reflecting the thorough study of Bach’s counterpoint, which Mahler recast in this symphony into something we might call comprehensive polyphony. The voices overlap, merge, separate, collide… At the beginning of the 20th century, this must have sounded like total chaos to many people. Incidentally, this was not the first time; in 1898 after the Prague premiere of the First Symphony, the composer’s future wife Alma Marie Schindler wrote in her diary that it was “nerve-wracking noise”. Mahler described his approach in the summer of 1900, when he and some friends were walking in the woods and heard the voices of a fair in the distance: barrel organs, swings, a rifle range, a military band, and a men’s choir. He was fascinated by what it all sounded like jumbled together, and he reacted spontaneously, saying: “Once long ago in my early childhood, something like this in the woods near Jihlava had a peculiar effect on me, and it left an impression on my memory. It does not matter whether polyphony consists of noise, as is the case here, or of a choir of a thousand birds, the roaring of a storm, the splashing of waves, or the crackling of a fire…”
Also arising from this is his approach to sound. In Mahler’s earlier compositions, there is already an apparent attempt to give instruments a character that differs from what listeners were accustomed to, with ethereal flutes, grotesque clarinets, and mournful bassoons. In the Sixth Symphony, the size of the orchestra is also greatly increased (e.g. two harps, celesta, eight French horns, four trombones, tuba) with the addition of a large quantity of percussion instruments: two pairs of timpani, bass drum, triangle, rute, tam-tam, bells, glockenspiel, slapstick, and hammer—which he wanted to have a particular kind of non-metallic sound, making the impression of the fateful, dull blow of an axe. Making this sound is a great challenge for the percussionist, requiring a special wooden instrument and an appropriate wooden base that is struck. According to the composer, the cowbells heard before the final part of the first movement symbolise extreme loneliness, the only earthly sound that rises to the heights to which the soul departs. In order to ensure that orchestras would realise his conception of the symphony properly, the composer provided detailed performance instructions in the score. He demanded absolute precision, for example stating that fast tempos must never exceed the limits of audibility. The problem was that such demands were not always in accordance with the acoustics of the concert halls of the era…
The symphony was progressive for its day, and packaging it in the traditional four-movement layout was a brilliant move. The composer had already confused audiences in his symphonies with vocal solos, unusual movement lengths, or funeral marches as introductions. Here, however, he lets himself be firmly constrained, unlike Debussy, his junior by just two years, who opposed the symphony as a superfluous genre. Mahler does experiments, searching for his own unique unity in diversity, but he does not renounce architecture as such. In the first movement, he introduces an optimistic second theme, perhaps a depiction of Alma, he lets the Scherzo keep its dance character even if it is a depiction of a dance of death, he conceives the lyrical Andante as light in the darkness, and then the epic finale arrives, nearly half an hour long, bringing utter defeat. It is here that the hammer plays its blows of fate. The composer drags us down to the depths so he would be able to rebound and rise to eternity in the works that followed. The only point about which he was hesitant was the order of the two inner movements, which he changed just before the premiere (Andante – Scherzo).
In 1920, the Dutch conductor Willem Mengelberg became the first to return to the original order of the movements (Scherzo – Andante) on the basis of a now famous telegram from Alma Mahler, in which she reported that towards the end of his life, the composer’s inclination was to revert to the original version with the Scherzo as the second movement. That is how the Czech Philharmonic has recorded the symphony with the conductors Václav Neumann, Zdeněk Mácal, and Vladimir Ashkenazy. The order of the movements is still disputed among experts, and one of the conductors who favours the opposite order is Sir Simon Rattle.
The Sixth Symphony was premiered on 27 May 1906 in Essen with the composer conducting. The performance was a tremendous success, and the public called Mahler back to the stage six times, but critics from the German-language press reacted with much less enthusiasm, calling the music an “unpleasant maze of polyphony”, the laughable product of a “degenerate imagination”. The Frankfurt critic Rudolf Louis called the symphony the work of a “master of crooked lines and sonic antics.” On the other hand, the Viennese critic Julius Korngold, the father of the composer Erich Wolfgang Korngold, praised the symphony’s form, singling out in particular the finale as “a colossal structure built upon a thoroughly thematic style, having at the same time a strict unity of feeling. Mahler designates this feeling as tragic. The new symphony surpasses its predecessors for the sturdiness of its structure as well as for realism and nerve-wracking intensity. It functions like an alarm. Friend and foe rush to arms.”