Luogo e data di registrazione		Krannert Centre of the University of Illinois (USA) - maggio 1972
	Registrazione: live / studio		studio
	Producer		David Harvey
	Recording engineers		Kenneth Wilkinson, Gordon Parry
	Prima Edizione LP		Decca ffss | SET 555 | (1 LP) | durata 64' 47" | (p) 1972 | Analogico
	Edizione CD		Decca | 414 066-2 | (1 CD) | durata 64' 47" | (c) 1986 | ADD
	Note		The Decca Record Company Limited, London

SOLTI - DECCA: SILVER JUBILEE This recording was made to celebrate the25th year of Solti's association with Decca as an exclusive contract artist. The many Decca recordings he has made since 1947 have included such classics of the gramophone as his Ring Cycle and Rosenkavalier. A musician of wide sympathies, his recordings have included opera (notably Wagner and Verdi), symphonies of Beethoven, Mahler and Schumann and composers of his native Hungary, Bartók and Kodàly. It is with great pride that Decca look back over an association that has produced such magnificent results, and with eager anticipation that we look to its future. DAS LIED VON DER ERDE Das Lied von der Erde begins Mahler’s "last period". All artists undergo a process of evolution in their creative activity: Beethoven's "three styles" correspond to three ages of man, to three stages of his thought and to three evolutionary periods. In this respect Mahler's case is somewhat unusual, since his creative life was conditioned by his career as an interpreter, man of the theatre and administrator. At the age of 20 he discovered his style and personality in Das Klagende Lied, an immediate and almost miraculous revelation, for even its instrumentation is entirely original, despite Mahler’s complete lack of orchestral experience. Four, and then eight years later, two other important works confirmed this early promise: in 1884 came his Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen, with orchestral accompaniment (*) and then in 1888, his First Symphony (and the first movement of the Second). At the age of 28, therefore, Mahler had few important works to his credit. Over-whelmed by the difficulties connected with his work as Director of the Royal Hungarian Opera, he only started composing again in 1892 in Hamburg, where he wrote the orchestral Lieder of the Knaben Wunderhorn. Finally he arranged to spend his long summer holidays at Steinbach, where he worked in an isolated hut on the edge of a lake, and the Second and Third Symphonies were composed there during the next four years. His appointment as director of the Vienna Opera again interrupted his creative work for two years. In 1900 he decided to spend his summers at Maiernigg, on the Wörthersee: resuming his "Sommerkomponist" (Summer composer's) existence, he finished his Fourth there and from then on composed his symphonies at regular intervals: he completed the most elaborate of them all, the titanic Eighth, in a remarkably short space of time, one single summer. The first four symphonies are usually grouped together in a first creative period, known as that of the Knaben Wunderhorn. Thus this "first period" lasted almost twenty years, from the Klagende Lied to the Fourth Symphony, while the second, consisting of the three "instrumental" symphonies, V, VI, VII, only lasted for four! The Eighth, a hymn of love to all mankind, unique in its conception, form and style, is in a category of its own, in which the ardent individualist, faithful to romantic tradition, speaks in the name of humanity. Mahler had gone as far as it was possible to go in this direction and now fate was to open up new perspectives both for the man and for the artist, forcing him to consider the inner world of human suffering. Despite his miserable childhood, despite the romantic literature which had nourished his youth, despite such tragic works as the Sixth and the Kindertotenlieder, Mahler never gave way to morbid introspection, because of his many activities as interpreter and administrator. An enthusiastic reader of Dostoievski, he believed sorrow and human misery to be inescapable realities. He was not "unhappy" in the usual sense of the word, despite the countless enemies who surrounded him, despite the failure of his works, despite the scorn and hatred which he aroused. In 1907, when he was only 47, fate dealt him three cruel blows which perhaps he had already subconsciously anticipated in the three hammer-blows of the Finale to the Sixth Symphony. First Putzi, his favourite daughter, died of scarlatina and diphtheria; then a doctor diagnosed valvular malformation of Mahler’s heart. The third blow was his departure from the Vienna Opera. This was a great misfortune, for he was as much a man of the theatre as a composer, and he loved, as well as hated, his stage activities. In ten years he had made the Vienna Opera one of the great centres of European music and he knew that no comparable task could ever be accomplished elsewhere. At the end of the summer of 1907, faced with the ruins of his past, he read a little book which he had just received from Theobald Pollak, an old and faithful friend who kept a paternal eye on both Mahler and his wife, for Jakob Emil Schindler, Alma Mahler's father, had earlier procured for him a good administrative job. The book was a selection of Chinese poems translated into German verse by Hans Bethge. Pollak had suggested that they could be set to music and Mahler found much in common between the poems and his presentstate of mind. Though he had been deeply shaken by recent events, Mahler did not feel that all was over for him. He left Vienna for New York, where he conducted all winter at the Metropolitan Opera, and appreciated the many encouraging aspects of his new work: there was a broad-minded outlook and lack of prejudice in the new world; there was financial security which he needed to compose in peace and live in comfort with his family. Certainly he met with bitter artistic disappointments in New York, but he came to terms with life and gradually regained his strength. The real crisis came in June 1908, when he settled in Toblach, in the southern Tyrol, and for the first time had to forego his greatest summer joys: no more swimming or rowing, no more long walks or bicycle tours. "Not only have I changed places", he wrote to Bruno Walter, "but I must alter my whole way of life. You cannot imagine how painful this is for me. For many years I have been accustomed to taking strenuous exercise, to wandering in forests and over mountains, and boldly wresting my ideas from nature. I would sit down at my desk only as a peasant brings in his harvest, to give shape to my sketches. Even my spiritual troubles disappeared after a good walk (especially a climb). Now I must avoid all effort, watch myself constantly, walk as little as possible. At the same time, living as I do in solitude and concentrating on myself, I feel more clearly everything which is wrong with my physical condition. Perhaps I am looking on the dark side, but since I have been here in the country I have felt less well than in town, where distractions occupied my mind." Almost every year Mahler went through this kind of crisis when he turned to composing after having worked as an interpreter for several months. But the change had never been so difficult. Bruno Walter, on the advice of a Vienna doctor, Feuchtersleben, tactlessly suggested a journey to Scandinavia; this infuriated Mahler: "What is all this nonsense aboutthe soul and its sickness? And where should I go to cure it? ... To find myself I need to be here alone. For, ever since I have been seized by this panic, I have tried only to direct my eyes and ears elsewhere. To rediscover myself, I must face the terrors of solitude ... I have in no sense a hypochondriac's anxiety at the thought of death, as you suppose. I have always known that I must die ... but all at once I have lost the serenity and clarity which I had acquired. Once again I am "faced with nothingness" and at the end of my life I have to learn how to walk and how to stand upright all over again. As far as my "work" is concerned, it is most depressing to have to unlearn everything. I cannot work at my table. I need outside exercise for my inner exercises. Your doctor's advice is of no use to me. After a gentle little walk my pulse beats so fast and I feel so oppressed that I don't even achieve the desired effect, which is to forget my body ... As superficial as it seems, I repeat that this is the greatest calamity which I have ever known: I have to start a new life as a complete beginner." According to Frau Alma, this was the most dismal summer the couple ever spent, since all excursions and all attempts at amusements failed lamentably. "Anxiety and sorrow" followed them everywhere. Only his work saved Mahler, and it was thanks to it that he "rediscovered himself". As at Steinbach, he issued strict instructions not to be disturbed. He became so immersed in his work that one day he returned home, pale and breathless: the little maid Kathi had shown the way to the Häuschen to a visitor representing an American piano firm, who had shouted from a distance: "Hello, Mr. Mahler." Mahler had felt as if ”dashed down from the towers of Vienna cathedral". On another occasion, a jackdaw, pursued by a falcon, broke a pane of glass and took refuge in a remote corner of the little room, which was suddenly filled with bird cries and beating wings. l\/Iahler came back to earth with a start and only realized what had happened when he saw the jackdaw and the broken glass. Like all romantics, Mahler was an optimist, and was much shaken by this contact with Nature's cruelty. He finished the second part, Der Einsame im Herbst, at the end of July; then the third, Von der Jugend on the 1st of August; then the first, Das Trinklied vom Jammer der Erde on the 14th; then the fourth, Von der Schönheit on the 21st and finally the last, Der Abschied on the first of September (1). His summer visitors found Mahler much changed: he was calmer and more patient; he had accepted his fate. The spiritual experience which he had just undergone is fully expressed in Das Lied as well as his new discovery of the world's beauty. "I was full of zeal (and you will thus realize that I have become acclimatised"). I cannot say  myself what the whole thing will be called. I have had some good moments and I believe this is quite the most personal thing I have done up to now". In these terms he wrote to Bruno Walter to announce the work's completion; immediately afterwards he started sketching the Ninth Symphony. During the winter, having returned to the Metropolitan Opera, he copied the sketches and finished the orchestration. The work still lacked a title. He considered "Song of the Sorrow of the Earth”, and then, one day at the Savoy Hotel, he jotted down on a sheet of paper "Song of the Earth, from the Chinese". He added all the present titles, with the exception of the fifth section, to which he gave the same name as the poem, Der Trinker im Frühling (The Springtime Drinker); the final title was to be Der Trunkene (The Drunken Man) (2). On the same page he wrote ”Ninth Symphony in four movements", which proves that the two works were simultaneously conceived. The final title, "Symphony for tenor and alto (or baritone) and orchestra" only appeared later. Either Mahler did not at once realize the "symphonic" character of his cycle, or he hesitated to call it a symphony, because neither Beethoven, nor Schubert, nor Bruckner had outlived this fatal number nine; superstition was responsible for this attempt to outwit fate. For a long time it had been Mahler’s principle never to set "great" poems to music, since they are already perfect on their own. Thus he always searched for texts which music could complete or reveal. It is not surprising that Bethge attracted his attention, for his concise and refined Chinese poems recalled those of Rückert, who drew his inspiration from oriental sources and had inspired many of Mahler’s songs. Nevertheless, why did Mahler express in symphonic terms thoughts of such an intimate and personal nature? No doubt the Symphony was his form of expression and the orchestra his instrument, and the poems awoke many echoes of his past, thus the whole work became the symphonic embodiment of mankind's tragic destiny. The 24 year old poet who wrote, in Cassel:         Und müde Menschen schliessen ihre Lider         Im Schlaf auf’s Neu, vergess'nes Glück zu lernen! (3) could not fail to be moved when he read in Bethge (Mong-Kao-Jen)         Die arbeitsamen Menschen         Geh'n heimwärts, voller Sehnsucht nach dem Schlaf. (4) This was not an unconscious rapprochement: Mahler did in fact alter "arbeitsamen" to "müden" and inserted from his youthful poem the phrase "vergess’ nes Glück und Jugend neu zu lernen". Mahler, the eternal wanderer ("fahrende Gesell") was "three times without a country: a Bohemian among the Austrians, an Austrian among the Germans, and a Jew among all the other peoples in the world". He was also isolated as an artist among human beings and was naturally drawn to Wang Wei’s poem:         Wohin ich geh’ ? Ich wandre in die Berge         Ich suche Ruhe für mein einsam Herz, (5) Since he knew no Chinese, Hans Bethge (1876-1946) used French, German and English translations for his adaptations of 83 variously dated poems (6). The charm of the originals is quite faithfully preserved although here and there the adapter added a     (1) Only the date on which he finished the fifth section is unknown, since the manuscript has not been found.     (2) This page belongs to Dr. Hans Mildenhauer, of the University of Washington, Seattle, U.S.A.     (3) And weary men close their eyes to find again, in sleep, forgotten happiness!     (4) Weary men wend homewards - Longin g for sleep.     (5) Whither I go? I go, I wander in the mountains - I seek rest for my lonely heart!     (6) The poems of the second, third and fourth parts are to be found in Judith Gauthier's anthology Le Livre de Jade; others in Poesies de l'Epoque Tchang by Count Hervey     Saint Denis. few romantic touches which cannot have displeased Mahler. Among the poets translated by Bethge, the most famous is Li-Tai-Po (701-762), academician and high official at the Imperial court, and above all a poet of genius who could express perfectly in words both the most powerful and most delicate feelings, 'His contemporary, Wang-Wei, painter and poet, expressed sentiments which were even closer to Mahler: in his farewell poem, which ends the work, he longs for peace (”Ich suche Ruhe für mein einsam Herz") (7). Tchang-Tsi, in the second piece, exclaims: "Mein Herz ist müde" (8). In the first, Li-Tai-Po sings of the shortness of life and its sorrow ("Dunkel ist das Leben") (9). The lonely Tchang-Tsi contemplates flowers bent over by autumn storms (Mahler had the same vision in 1895 while composing the innocent minuet in the Third Symphony). As in the first Lied eines fahrenden Gesellen, a bird announces the coming of Spring to Li-Tai-Po (fifth section) in the very words used by the 20 year old Mahler in the poem he sent to Anton Krisper and the libretto of his opera Rübezahl.' ”Der Lenz ist da, der Lenz ist kommen". (10) The Chinese poems of the Chinesische Flöte also praise both the Earth, which gave the work its title, and Nature, one of Mahler's greatest sources of happiness and inspiration: in the Third Symphony, this love took on an almost pagan and pantheistic form, but even at the age of 17, Mahler already emphatically invoked the spirit of the Earth in one of his letters: ”O meine vielgeliebte Erde, wann, ach wann, nimmst du den Verlassenen in deinen Schoss. (11)" "The world fills me with joy! How beautiful it is!" he said to Ernst Decsey in Toblach during the summer of 1909. This joyous ecstasy counterbalances the sombre and disillusioned mood of the Lied von der Erde. I know of no other musician who composed only Lieder and Symphonies, two apparently irreconcilable genres. This double vocation remains the central, fundamental problem of Mahler's style. In it there is a kind of osmosis, a mutual enrichment of two different trends. Their essential characteristics can be approximately defined and contrasted as follows: Lied Voice always in the foreground Melodies complete in themselves and seldom altered Accompaniment based on simple figures Elementary static form, strophic and akin to Rondo Piano and Voice Symphony Melodies and countermelodies Variable melodies constructed around motifs No realaccompaniment Complex Sonata form developed dynamically from motifs Orchestra Even in his youth, Mahler constructed his Lieder with exceptional care and used unusually strict methods of composition: he already constructed and developed motifs and never improvised to suit the texts. He intensely disliked Hugo Wolf’s Lieder which he considered formless. On the other hand, lyricism, so successfully introduced by Schubert into the symphony, counterbalanced in Mahler's work the German tradition and the dynamic trend of Beethoven and Wagner. A work such as Das Lied appears at first sight to be of a purely lyrical nature, yet on closer examination it turns out to be as much the work of an architect as of a poet. Yet Mahler's orchestral style remains deliberately vocal, even for such instruments as brass and percussion. Mahler's first symphonies drew much of their substance from his Lieder: the First, the Second, the Third and the Fourth borrow themes and even whole movements from them. In the succeeding symphonies the relationships and exchanges are more subtle, but equally clear. With the Song of the Earth, Mahler became the innovator of a new form which was both an amplification of the Lieder cycle, a "Symphony of Lieder" and a Symphony in the usual sense of the word. Though the work as a whole breaks new ground, some passages in Das Lied von der Erde recall earlier compositions. The kleine Lampe in the second part recalls that of the first Kindertotenlied; in the three graceful intermediate sections Mahler's style is not unrelated to that, half-naïve, half caricatural, of the Wunderhorn Lieder. Here the symphonist no longer defies fate as in the Fifth and Sixth Symphonies. Like Schubert in the Winterreise, he is resigned to his destiny, with all its joy and bitterness, its happiness and disillusion, and its end which is the same forall men. From a technical point of view, the novelty of the work is     (7) I seek rest for my lonely heart.     (8) My heart is weary.     (9) Dark is life.     (10) Spring is here, Spring has come.     (11) Oh my beloved Earth, when, oh when wilt thou take the forsaken one unto thy bosom? striking. A new method of composition had gradually been evolved by Mahler: in Das Lied he constantly alters and varies his motifs, inspired by life never to repeat himself. Now everything, even the accompaniment, is melodic. The "linear polyphony" of the Lied von der Erde sometimes seems to hover between heaven and earth, and points strikingly towards Schönberg's "all thematic" or ”perpetual variation" techniques. Thus the fundamental problem of music, that of unity and diversity, has found a new solution. A single passage in the first section reveals the essential features of this technique: Here we have three principal motifs: (a) (A G E) which is the motto of the whole work, its inversion (a’), the ascending motif (A') on which the tenor enters (the last three notes are none otherthan (a') ) and finally the work's initial fanfare (A). No more theme or accompaniment here: motifs are modified, augmented, diminished, entwined or superimposed in a style which is more contrapuntal than harmonic. The structure of the work is simple and exists in other Mahler symphonies: the first and last movements are separated, as in the Seventh, by Intermezzi. The first Lied into which the eminent Mahlerian Deryck Cooke has read the essential features of Sonata form, appears to me rather as a strophic Lied in which each stanza contains variations. The andante is followed by three intermezzi or scherzi and for the first time since the Third Symphony, by a long, slow Finale, probably modelled on that of the Walkyrie, rather than on the variation-Finales of Beethoven's Sonatas op. 109 and 111. The first movement is dynamic, but its outbursts of joy are somewhat forced, since the poet sings of drunkenness as a supreme remedy for all ills. The second movement is a sombre autumnal reverie: the poet longs for rest and eternal peace. The three next movements recall a happy past. In the last, Der Abschied, the musician widens and amplifies the meaning of the poem, seeming to say farewell to life. The mood alternates between boundless sorrow and lyrical ecstasy caused by the contemplation of nature. The conclusion transcends all reality: it is a promise of eternal life, a kind of "redemption through suffering". We are far from the Christian idea of resurrection which provided the Second Symphony with its glorious ending: the redeeming light seems to come from Nature; Mahler wrote the text himself:         The beloved earth everywhere         Blossoms in Spring and grows green again!         Everywhere and eternally the distance shines brightand blue!         Eternally... Eternally... Mahler kept the finished score of Das Lied von der Erde for two years: the work touched him so deeply that he spoke little about it. He did however give the manuscript to his favourite disciple, Bruno Walter. When Walter returned it, moved beyond words, Mahler only pointed to the Abschied: “What do you think of it? Is it at all bearable? Will it drive people to do away with themselves?" Then he smiled and showed Walter some rhythmic difficulties in the same piece: "Do you have any idea how to conduct this? I haven't!" Before he could make up his mind to have the work performed, Mahler died. Six months after his death, it was Bruno Walter who conducted the first performance in Munich, on the 20th of November 1911, in a concert dedicated to Mahler's memory. Few posthumous messages can have ever borne more striking witness to the genius of a departed master. (*) One of the earliest manuscripts proves that the accompaniment was immediately conceived for orchestra. by Henry-Louis De La Grange Translated by Johanna Harwood © 1967 The Decca Record Company Limited, London