At Stern Auditorium, I had the exceptional pleasure to attend three terrific concerts—presentedas a part of Carnegie Hall’s current festival, “Fall of the Weimar Republic: Dancing on the Precipice”—on consecutive days—beginning on the evening of Friday, March 1st—featuring the outstanding musicians of the Vienna Philharmonic, under the extraordinary direction of Franz Welser-Möst.

 

The initial program opened exhilaratingly with a marvelous account of the great Anton Bruckner’s magisterial final symphony, the Ninth. The first movement starts with a quiet, Wagnerian fanfare and the music quickly attains a towering grandeur, imbued as it is with a soaring Romanticism. Proto-Mahlerian passages alternate with quieter, often enigmatic, sections; the music is not free of eccentricities, such as a highly agitated episode midway through. Given its extravagant length, it’s not entirely surprising that, structurally, it often seems amorphous, until its powerful ending. The Scherzo that follows is energetic and propulsive—almost menacing—with softer, appropriately playful interludes; its sprightly Trio is almost Mendelssohnian in character. The concluding Adagio begins with another Wagnerian prologue, succeeded by much music of a meditative or tragic cast, and closes peacefully.

 

The second half of the event was also striking: an accomplished performance of Alban Berg’s intriguing Three Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 6. The initial Prelude is uncanny and dramatic, finishing abruptly, while the ensuing Round Dance is also mysterious, with almost sinister inflections, and is somewhat aggravated in mood. The concluding March is perhaps even more agonistic in character, building to a stunning close.

 

The concert on the next evening began with an effective version of Paul Hindemith’s admirably scored, if challenging Konzertmusik für Blasorchester, Op. 41, from 1926. The Konzertante Ouvertüre has a ludic, if also fraught, quality and the quirky, ironical second movement consists of six variations on the German folk song, “Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter,” while the work ends with an exuberant March. More remarkable was a sterling rendition of Richard Strauss’s dazzling 1946 Symphonic Fantasy from Die Frau home Schattten—itself a supreme operatic masterpiece—which builds to a sumptuous finish.

 

The second half of the concert was also strong, starting with a superior reading of Arnold Schoenberg’s difficult but not unrewarding Variations for Orchestra from 1928, the composer’s “first orchestral work to employ the 12-tone method,” according to the program note by Jack Sullivan. Unforgettable, however, was a vigorous realization of Maurice Ravel’s mesmerizing La valse, completed in 1920. Sullivan explains:

 

As early as 1907, Ravel was haunted by the idea of creating a gigantic apotheosis of the Viennese waltz, a work to be called “Vienna” that would glorify the waltzes of Schubert and the Strauss family. But by the time he got around to composing the piece—at the behest of Sergei Diaghilev, who had already produced hisDaphnis et Chloé—the culture he wished to celebrate was collapsing into the abyss of World War I.La valsebecame not simple glorification but, in Ravel’s words, the depiction of a “fantastic and fatefully inescapable whirlpool.” Glitter and opulence are part of the scenario, but so is “the impression of a fantastic whirl of destiny.”

 

He adds, “According to the scenic directive appearing with the score”:

 

Clouds whirl about. Occasionally, they part to allow a glimpse of waltzing couples. As they gradually lift, one can discern a gigantic hall, filled by a crowd of dancers in motion. The stage gradually brightens. The glow of the chandeliers breaks out fortissimo.

 

The final program, on that Sunday’s afternoon, was possibly the finest of all: a brilliant execution of Gustav Mahler’s astonishing final Symphony, the Ninth. The initial Andante comodo—which movement Berg thought was the “most glorious he ever wrote”—has a quiet opening that eventually becomes highly agitated for much of its length and includes some curious passages before concluding gently. The second movement, which begins slowly but acquires a brisk rhythm, has something of the sardonic quality of the Ravel. The satirical Rondo-Burlesque that follows is tumultuous—but with an ethereal Trio—and closes emphatically, while the Adagio finale is incandescent, with a celestial ending.

 

The artists, deservedly, were enthusiastically applauded.