Richard Morrison's article in The Times said:
>Mahler, after all, is a teenagers' composer. His music is best savoured
>when you are 18, at which point it exactly fits your world-view: that life,
>love and death are heroic adventures, worthy to be celebrated in music of
>heaven-storming grandeur.
Oddly enough, Mahler was my entrance into classical music. I was swept
away by the sheer power and pure sound of Mahler's music. I was a
teenager, a college freshman.
>Hear the same pieces when you are 37 or 47, and it is liable to be a case of
>emotion recollected in sterility. By then, most of us have found life to be
>neither heroic nor tragic: rather, it's paying the mortgage and muddling
>through. The rollercoaster ride hasn't happened. We can still thrill to
>Mahler's huge emotional odysseys, but the thrill is rooted in escapism or
>nostalgia.
True enough, I am 45 and Mahler no longer has a strong grip on me. I now
prefer the wit and economy of Haydn. Still. . .
>old habits die hard. I still check my diary each time I see a Mahler
>concert advertised.
Funny he should mention that when I am boarding a plane in a few days to
hear the Cleveland Orchestra perform the Ninth.
>And the Eighth Symphony is the greatest event of them all.
I would not go that far. Its big and grand, but very incoherent as far as
I am concerned. Mahler was stretching and reaching without ever grasping
anything (same with his 7th).
>Mr Bryan Adams so memorably wrote, I'm 18 till I die.
Who is Bryan Adams? And why would anyone want to be 18 again? But then,
after reading this essay, guess what I listened to over the weekend?
Thanks, John, for posting this article.
Mark
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