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One pleasant perk of being an orchestra conductor is that you get applause simply for showing up.
But what he got, both before and for a full seven minutes after leading Mahlers Symphony No.
His Mahlers Ninth crackled and heaved.
He tinged tragic passages in velvety black.
The brass glared like a reflection off a skyscrapers skin.
The scores million details spangled the surface, all competing for simultaneous attention.
If you listened beneath that glittering crust, though, the impression of clarity dissipated.
The 90-minute symphony begins with a slow tread and quiet flutters coalescing into melody.
you’re free to feel the piece composing itself, waking to anxious, existential questions.
Its often described as an adieu, since Mahler wrote it shortly before his death in 1911.
Or maybe he just likes to gun the engine.
I sympathize with his impatience.
