More than a mere coincidence, this was a spooky conjunction - and therefore
suspect.  Years ago, when Michael Tilson Thomas planned his Mahler cycle
with the San Francisco Symphony, he scheduled four public-performance
recording sessions of the Sixth Symphony, beginning on Sept.  12, 2001,
yes, "the day after."

All Mahler, of course, is appropriate for emotional, dramatic occasions,
but the Sixth is perhaps the most uniformly and consistently tragic.  It
was this almost too perfect scheduling twist of fate that made me uneasy -
how do you live up to its promise and demand?

On Tuesday, with all Civic Center buildings closed, the Symphony couldn't
rehearse.  On Wednesday, the performance went on as scheduled, but I didn't
attend.  Reports say that MTT said a few words and the audience sang "The
Star-Spangled Banner" before the performance, which was received with rave
reviews.

By tonight's third performance, appropriately enough, there were no special
observations, only a note in the program:  "The world of the Mahler Sixth
is violent and tragic, and though moments of transcendent beauty unfold at
its center, this symphony offers no simple answers.  No work of art can
speak to this week's events but the Mahler Sixth offers us a focus as we
gather our thoughts and emotions.  With this music, we remember the victims
of September 11, 2001."

I entered Davies Hall with high expectations and lingering doubts,
feeling protective about the orchestra facing the challenge, hoping that
nothing will go wrong because any one small thing can mar such an occasion.
Getting to the seat, my heart sank when I noticed a very young child
sitting directly in front of me.  Fortunately, it turned out to be Laura
Baez, the six-year-old who attends concerts where her father - Symphony
clarinetist Luis Baez - plays, and she automatically goes to sleep in 10
minutes.  Still, it was a close shave.  Nothing must go wrong.

About one minute into the Allegro, I suspended all thinking and
automatically filtered out anything not connected with the music.  This was
Mahler with the inevitability, the certainty, authenticity you experience
when Simon Rattle conducts the best orchestras in the world.  That good.
Tempo, balance, colors, all the details, yes, but something more:  singing
from the heart, albeit a broken one.

MTT's wonderful recent performances of the Mahler Fifth and Ninth were
taking their place behind this one - as rough, visceral, merciless,
powerful a performance as I have heard (Bernstein, Solti, Karajan, Abbado
recordings included), not as beautifully or flawlessly played as others,
more in anger than sorrow, with a manic intensity that took the breath
away.  Literally.  This was a giant straddling Beethoven and Shostakovich,
with anguish and grief on the scale of the event it spoke to, a century
after its creation.

At the end of the movement, if I didn't feel unable to move, I would have
tried to leave.  I sat limp, drained, with my mouth open.  There was no
misguided attempt to applaud, not one in an audience of 2,800 - not even
whispers or noises of approval.  Just silence.  Laura was not sleeping;
she sat bolt upright, staring at the stage where - she knew - something
extraordinary has taken place.  A few seats away, Francis Ford Coppola
looked as if something just hit him over the head.  Well, it has.

The Scherzo picked up where the first movement left off, it and the
Andante cast their still-strange spell with masterful playing.  There were
other awsome moments, such as a simple forte being turned into a volcanic,
underground explosion, shaking the hall.  The Finale (which has as much
"filling" as the last movement of the Seventh) was as fine as it can be.
But nothing came close to the impact of the first movement - nothing could,
more because of the nature of the work than of the performance.  MTT and
the entire orchestra, every one of them, played it all to perfection at
this, their third go at it.  They brought in the work in 91 minutes
(including breaks).

When the cycle comes out on CD, look for the Sixth's first movement:  it
must be the entire Friday performance, un-patched, un-"corrected," it
must be left exactly as it was.  On the other hand, there is one more
performance, Saturday evening, and if you're anywhere near Davies Hall,
don't miss it.  Lightning CAN strike twice.

Janos Gereben/SF
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