The Simón Bolívar orchestra in London (1): Mahler's Third

Mahler – Symphony No. 3. 

Marianne Crebassa (mezzo-soprano); Tiffin Choirs Children’s Choir; London Symphony chorus; Simón Bolívar Symphony Orchestra of Venezuela / Gustavo Dudamel (conductor). 

Barbican Hall, London, 15 January, 2025

The Simón Bolivar Symphony Orchestra of Venezuela has certainly been in the news of late, with pianist Gabriela Monteiro particularly vocal in the wake of the recent election. 

But they are here, celebrating half a century of El  Sistema, in the first of two concerts at London’s Barbican Centre, and for sure it was the music that mattered. Performing to a sold-out hall, Dudamel inspired his players to a memorable performance that occasionally attained white heat. Gone are the days when London was wall-to-wall Mahler, so performances, especially of behemoth works such as the Third Symphony, are all the more cherishable. 

Dudamel has of course recorded the Third Symphony, with the Berliner Philharmoniker in 2014, and with Gerhild Romberger as the vocal soloist. He conducts from memory (as he did the Fidelio with the Los Angeles forces some seven months ago; see my review here). Not a cue was missed, and it is clear that he knows the score inside out. Attenion to detail is paramount. 

Although the orchestra flooded the stage with hardly any space over, placement was careful, with double-basses on the extreme audience left (behind the firsts, grounding the sound). Offstage contributions, too, were far from monodirectional. And the mezzo soloist, Marianne Crebasa, was placed to the conductor’s right some way back on the stage. 

Mahler’s Third is huge, its dimensions reflecting its ambitions, basically a portrait of life itself, from the long first movement (originally entitled ‘Pan,” the gloriouslty sexual pagan Nature God). Dudamel ensures that, while individual contributions might be superb (almost too many to mention), all is heard as parts of one large argument. That is not to imply an overly structuralist view: the marches, the fanfares (all of which point Mahler in the direction of Charles Ives) are honoured. There is beauty here, but there is palpable frenzy, too. Dudamel’s major achievement was to enable so much detail to shine through, even with such an orchestra at full tilt, and in the Barbican’s notorious acoustic. Just one quibble, and one that would recur: the leader, who plays the solo violin part sounded rather abrasive throughout the symphony; here was little sweetness to his sound. 

Dudamel’s way is swift hroughout (perhaps even swifter than in his Berlin recording). He left very little gap after the first movement, certainly in comparison to some performances I have seen. It was in the Tempo di Menuetto that the wind players shone, not least the oboist (asked to control the instrument in its tricky low register; Joseph González). Grazioso is the mot juste here, and how impressively the Venezuelan players turned tempo on a sixpence.  

From minuet to ”scherzando”, for the third movement. The second movement was initially marked as of the “flowers of the meadow”; this is the “animals of the forest”. Plenty of pre-echoes of the Fourth Symphony, of fairytale jauntiness here, the brass descending line clearly underlined as borderline outrageous. Again, Ivesian juxtapositions were the rule, now on a smaller canvas. And as if to echo the comments about the individuals’ technical excellence, there was a stunning offstage posthorn solo from Pacho Flores. 

It is a huge leap from the cumulative (well over 15-minute) energy of the third movement to the slow neighbour-note oscillations of the opening of Mahler’s setting of Nietzsche (from Also sprach Zarathusra : “O Mensch”). Marianne Crebassa is a stunning singer; others may be creamier of voice (she is a mezzo, not an alto) but her sound is extraordinary and she was completely at one with Mahler’s portrait of woe, launching with a notably cool “O Mensch” before landing on the full import of “Tief ist der Weh” (Deep is the pain). 

Discipline extended to the choruses, too. Plural, of course: Tiffin Choirs as the children’s choir and the London Symphony Chorus. The children in particular were astonishing of attack, and blissfully clear of diction (no need to check the German from the programme at all). Against this was micro-managed orchestra; detail, and an ongoing pulse that was unstoppable (Dudamel’s Berlin recording sags somewhat here). They stood for quite some time into the sixth movement, so as not to interrupt the shift from one to the other. 

And so, to the great finale. “Slow, peaceful, with feeling” instructs Mahler. Dudamel is not one to linger in Bernstein-like fashion, and this did move nicely along, the strings notably sweet at the opening. And the flowering towards the radiant end was certainly rousing; but in between the tension seemed to sag. This should be overwhelming, emotionally, and on that, it fell short; the long-range thought and hearing that this movement required seemed lacking. Certainly, the two timpani players were a tremendous sight in the final bars, but they seemed thrilling more though volume, spectacle and exactitude than from considered build-up.  

The audience standing ovation was instantaneous, perhaps as one might expect. These young players are extraordinary, without doubt; as is Mahler. And of course, it is the music that matters, miles away from political turmoil and scandal. The orchestra remains in London for one more night: Thursday night’s concert, cut from a very different kind of cloth puts music by Ricardo Lorenz (Todo Terreno) and Gonzalo Grau (Odisea) against Tchaikovsky’s Fourth Symphony.