Dead men tell no tales, so the old adage goes. Posterity often finds, on the other hand, that their unfinished works have much to say.
Whether by the likes of Nabokov, Michelangelo, Schubert, or Brian Wilson, the romance of incipient expression struggling against the void has long exerted a powerful grip on the collective imagination. In the realm of classical music, perhaps no other unfinished work has generated more interest—and debate—in the recent past than Mahler’s Symphony No. 10.
Its tale is one now well-known to many listeners, with details of what actually occurred during its genesis now inextricably blurred within the mists of posthumous legend. What is certain is that its performance pre-history came to a definitive end when English musicologist Deryck Cooke revealed his first “performing version” of Mahler’s sketches on a BBC program commemorating the centennial of the composer’s birth. Since then a veritable cottage industry of Mahler Tenth completions and editions, some wildly unlike each other, have proliferated: ranging from the austere conservatism of Cooke and Joe Wheeler, to the opulent re-composition of Clinton Carpenter.
Into this crowded field steps Michelle Castelletti, Maltese-born conductor, singer, and composer, whose own version of the Tenth represents a “third way,” eschewing both the radical interventionism of Carpenter and the perhaps excessive reticence of Cooke. Far from distancing herself from the notion of “completion,” Castelletti embraces it.
Her edition also adds a surprising, un-Mahlerian wrinkle to the tale of the Tenth: it is the first one to be scored for chamber orchestra. Consequently, the reduced forces highlight this symphony’s foreshadowing of musical developments to come from the likes of Schoenberg, Schreker, and Eisler.
Listeners can hear Castelletti’s edition for themselves thanks to a recent recording issued by BIS, with the Lapland Chamber Orchestra under the direction of John Storgårds. The results are, at least to this initially skeptical Mahlerite, surprisingly persuasive.
I contacted Dr. Castelletti last month and she graciously answered my questions about her new edition of the Mahler Tenth, a symphony whose legacy seems to be as much a reflection of its composer’s intentions as it is increasingly of our own current aesthetic preoccupations.
“Hail to the future conductor who will change my scores,” Mahler once exclaimed. Castelletti rises to this challenge, meeting it with a Mahlerian mixture of boldness and scrupulousness that could very well have impressed the man himself.
Néstor Castiglione: At the end of the 20th century, unfinished works, particularly from the Late Romantic era, began to exert a powerful hold on the imaginations of musicians, scholars, and the listening public. What do you believe accounts for this phenomenon?
Michelle Castelletti: The element of “discovery” is innate. [In our time there have been completions of] Puccini’s Turandot, Bruckner’s Ninth Symphony, and Elgar’s Third Symphony; but there were others from other eras, too, like Mozart’s Requiem, attempts at Beethoven’s Tenth Symphony, or Mahler’s own retuschen of Bach, Beethoven, and Weber. The Late Romantic era was so big, rich, and bold; a period which grew so much harmonically, reaching out to the 20th century, that there [remains] a vastness to discover, with plenty of space for “what ifs” and interpretation.
N. C.: The inspiration for your own performing version of this symphony has been the similar arrangements of Mahler and Bruckner that were made for the Society for Private Musical Performance (Verein für musikalische Privataufführungen (VfMP)) by the likes of Schoenberg and Erwin Stein. Why was this so?
M. C.: I believe that Mahler's writing was moving towards a different sound. One need only listen to his Eighth Symphony, followed by Das Lied von der Erde and the Ninth to hear that progression. I also felt that the sparseness of the texture adds an element of transparency that makes all the individual lines clearer. A chamber orchestra allows for this to happen. To be honest, though, the whole idea came to me more from a research angle while doing my Ph. D. It was my absolute obsession with Mahler, coupled with my love for color and orchestration, which led my Ph. D. supervisor, Prof. Paul Max Edlin (himself a great Mahler fan, as well as an orchestration expert), to suggest having a look at the Mahler Tenth. I never turned back. It became more than just a project. Even my closest friends called Mahler “the man in my life!”
The period was also one in which there seemed to be more interest in large works arranged for chamber orchestra, with other symphonies, including some by Mahler, being arranged in [this way in] recent years. In terms of instrumentation, I wanted to try to re-create the sound of the VfMP, also because I thought it added to the authenticity of it; of a sound world that both Mahler and Schoenberg were familiar with and part of. For example, the harmonium I wrote for is the Mustel 1902 Harmonium, with two manuals and with 4’, 8’, 16’, and 32’ stops. This is contemporaneous with the period [with the period of the Tenth’s composition]; a double-manual Art-Harmonium by Mustel, Paris 1902 has been used for other re-orchestrations, such as Erwin Stein’s chamber orchestra version of the Mahler Fourth and the Schoenberg/Riehn version of Das Lied von der Erde. It felt like becoming part of that glorious fin de siècle Secession era. There were also already a few completions for full orchestra, all quite different from each other. Mine was going to be the only one for chamber forces.
Apart from all of this, [a chamber orchestra arrangement] also made me feel closer still to Mahler’s own sketches. I felt that I could pair up and interpret his intentions better with a chamber orchestra […] Having said that, I have loved not only completing the symphony, but orchestrating it as well. Aside from the detective work with the manuscripts, it was the part of the process I enjoyed most.
N. C.: How long did your project take?
M. C.: The whole project took a few years. Initially, I spent more time studying Mahler's other works, the arrangements of the VfMP, and getting used to Mahler's modus operandi: his handwriting, identifying the different inks, locating the various sketches; as well as analyzing other completions, and seeing what I would do and say that would make a difference to what was already available. The process was almost a cross between trying to be a historian and musicologist on one hand, and a composer and orchestrator on the other.
N. C.: How challenging was it to not only reduce this symphony to chamber orchestra size, but also convincingly realize Mahler’s sketches? Were there certain passages that were particularly challenging to render in this form?
M. C.: My intention was to re-create this symphony for chamber orchestra, retaining the authenticity found in the composer’s manuscripts, and combining it with the fuller sound achieved by Rudolf Barshai, rather than the thinner textures of Deryck Cooke’s version. Thus the various contrapuntal lines and colors are allowed to form a coherent structure that are permeated with Mahler’s resounding voice.
Luckily, the structure was there: there is a continuous line from beginning to end. Some passages were more difficult than others to realize, particularly when there was only one line, but there is information in the score from which one can glean Mahler’s intentions, or at least an interpretation of them. It was useful to look at various other editions, too. There are also different versions of the same sections by Mahler in separate sketches. One can use this material in different ways. I tried to understand what came first, sometimes through the manuscript paper, or through the different inks, and instructions left by Mahler. Contrapuntal continuity was of the essence, as was the orchestration. There were also some sections which needed more thought in terms of the reduction, particularly in the first movement, which is the most complete out of the symphony’s five. The harmonium’s ability to become a kind of “chameleon” in sound helped enormously in the Adagio’s famous climax chord, for example. I balanced this with the more percussive sonority of the piano at points. Throughout I was always attentive to the sonority I thought Mahler was wishing to convey.
N. C.: Because of the political situation in Central Europe at the time, the VfMP arrangements were borne out of economic need. Listeners today, however, can easily and affordably listen to various recordings of the Mahler Tenth for full-sized symphony orchestras. Is there a need for a Mahler realization that arguably runs contrary to his intent?
M. C.: Yes, I believe so. Of course, the economic reason still holds for the live performances. Nothing ever beats that. However, I also truly believe that this is more than just about economics. Mahler’s later works seem to me to call out for a leaner realization. Their internal lines become clearer, more exposed. The transparency thus achieved allows the real essence of the work to speak louder than in any other way. It is delicately veiled, making it translucent, almost like Sanmartino’s Veiled Christ sculpture. The inner workings are revealed, just like Mahler’s manuscripts reveal his inner life, with their personal “verbal ecstasies” scribbled on its pages and exposed to the world. This is the composer putting his very soul down on paper. I believe the chamber orchestration makes that even more visible.
N. C.: Among the greatest challenges this symphony poses to scholars aspiring to complete it is that its counterpoint, so crucial in late Mahler, is threadbare or non-existent in the sketches. At the same time, they must also consider the composer’s deliberate thinning of textures in his late music. How difficult is it to discern when to fill in these textures?
M. C.: I have tried to remain faithful to what I believe Mahler was wanting to say. However, there is an element of "me" in this completion, especially with “color”, and, as you rightly say, in counterpoint. I did also study the other completions. Thanks to the Austrian National Library, all the symphony’s extant sketches were at my disposal. Therefore, I was able to see where Mahler had changed his mind, where he was thinking about [certain problems], what he had scribbled, and what he wrote over. Different colored inks helped to discern what came first, and his different “takes” and sketches allowed for deeper insight. There was also the fact that some passages had a similarity to previous ones and that made it easier, perhaps, to make informed [guesses]. After a lot of internal deliberation and discussion, with an allowance for sensitive artistic license, I have tried to put on paper what I believe Mahler himself might have done.
N. C.: Previous editors such as Deryck Cooke and Joe Wheeler chose to restrain their efforts, essentially going no further than providing a performable version of Mahler’s sketches as he had left them. How has your approach differed or agreed with theirs?
M. C.: Whereas Cooke remained totally faithful to what was written, and, say Carpenter really indulged himself, if one may say so, I tried to provide a balance: making it performable, yet allowing myself the freedom to color idiomatically.
N. C.: How have you allowed yourself more flexibility in realizing these sketches for performance?
M. C.: As we know, Mahler was meticulous in his detail. I tried to maintain the same level of detail that I believe he would have done himself. Color and instrumentation, including Mahler’s use of what were in his time considered unusual percussion instruments; his use of con legno, mutes, gestopft, and portamento; the culture of vibrato around the fin de siècle period; weight, balance, register, texture, and dynamic proportions, had to be carefully analysed. The architecture, the over-arching form and shape of the symphony, as well as the complexity of emotion this work carries, helped inform my reconstruction of a symphony which, in my opinion, is overwhelmingly autobiographical, excitingly bipolar, and plainly futuristic.
At the forefront of my thought always was Mahler, whose name is synonymous with contrasts; the man in whose compositions pain, the grotesque, and the sublime co-exist. My journey [into this symphony] has been a fascinating [delving] into a composer’s mind; a captivating, an enthralling and literally absorbing adventure into the often underestimated power of autobiography in music. Different orchestrators have tackled these from different angles. I have tried to look at it through Mahler’s eyes, through his mind. I have identified with the situation to the extent that I was almost swallowed into this other world, a world that took my emotions to an extreme. Even in his most passionate cry of the Tenth Symphony, Mahler remains unfaltering: the cruelty of his situation; the anger, tenderness, anguish, torment, the clinging onto hope, the longing for beauty to re-emerge, and the acceptance of it all. His [inscriptions] are almost as powerful as his music–maybe to be read by the one who has caused him so much pain?
N. C.: How involved was John Storgårds and the Lapland Chamber Orchestra in your realization of this symphony?
M. C.: The project was a collaborative effort. Yes, this completion is mine, but [Storgårds] went through the score forensically. We had long, deep discussions, and even changed things together. The musicians were there with parts and pencils, too, and we discussed many things. It was a beautiful experience. Being in the recording booth with Rob Suff from BIS for the week is an experience I will never forget. We just listened and questioned. Korundi House of Culture has exceptional acoustics, but BIS made the recording incredible. I can also never thank Universal Edition enough, especially Eric Marinitsch who started it all in the first place.
N. C.: Why do you believe that Mahler’s Tenth has drawn such intense interest from audiences and musical professionals alike?
M. C.: It is an extraordinary work with a fascinating background story to match, not to mention music, which, for me, epitomizes the pain/beauty paradox. It is also, arguably, one of the unfinished works which has generated the most dispute, not least because of factors surrounding this composition, such as the psychological turmoil of the composer at the time of composition, the discovery of new sketches and material, the scribbles in Mahler’s handwriting in the marginalia of the score, the opposition against the reconstruction of the symphony, initially [condoned] by Alma Mahler.
I also believe it to be one of the most passionate outbursts of emotion in the world of music. It could never be left in a drawer—that would be sacrilege!