The Most Dangerous Ding Dong

Here’s one of our favorites, David Hurwitz, on a new recording of Mahler’s Fifth Symphony:

Having enjoyed David Zinman's Mahler cycle to date, I came to this release with high expectations. What a disappointment! This is a lame, undercharacterized performance. It has one thing going for it: a nice clarity to the string counterpoint (and this work has lots of it), but this is a purely technical issue since emotional expression seems not to be high on Zinman's list of priorities. The opening funeral march is about as flat-footed as they come. Its two big outbursts don't so much climax as simply fizzle. This "wet noodle" approach positively kills the second movement. Could anyone call the opening "vehement", as Mahler demands, or is it simply neat as a pin? At nearly 19 minutes the scherzo sags badly well before its quiet central section. The adagietto is pretty (when is it not?), and the finale has the most string counterpoint and so bounces along reasonably well; but the final chorale has the weakest brass playing on disc combined with a tempo that starts off too fast but winds up too slow. The ample acoustic further blunts the music's impact.

Positively scathing. But, David’s not done yet!

The most dangerous thing about this whole production is the cover...

Hmmm. Dangerous cover. Hmmm? What could he possibly be talking about? What could possibly be dangerous AND on the cover? I suppose if the cover was laced with arsenic, then it could be dangerous. Or if the cover was fabricated out of used needles, then it could be dangerous.

This just doesn’t make sense, though. He must be talking about an image. So what image could possibly be dangerous?

(possibly the first full-frontal male nude to grace a Mahler symphony album).

Oh. A penis. A ding dong. How stupid of me (slaps forehead with palm).










Figure 1. Paleolithic police sketch artist's rendering of suspect album cover.
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This is Dirty

Even if Jesus was the visiting soloist, I don’t think he would have received a more “glowing” (wink, wink) review. I mean, it’s only a fucking concert, for Simon Morely and David Friend’s sakes!

Israeli violinist Vadim Gluzman, who makes his home in Chicago, almost pleads with you to watch him.

Let me guess, he takes off an item of clothing after each phrase. No. No. That would be more like a dare.

During extended measures of rest, he sways with eyes closed to the orchestra as he ponders re-entry.

I was close. And the rest of you should get your minds out of the gutter.

When he arrives at a fermata, he bends back like Jimmy Page holding out a pulsating sustain on a Telecaster.

Envious, anyone? (Empiricus, get your mind out of the gutter.)















(Not a Telecaster. Photo by Richard E. Aaron/rockpix.com)

[He] attacked the challenging concerto not from the standpoint of a virtuoso but of a probing artist.

Ah. Artists probe, virtuosos...play their instruments well. Why do I feel like I’m watching a scrambled TV channel?

I know! Because imagery is a bitch and, when done poorly, I can read it like this.

Coming soon: Artists who quote this stuff on their resumes, then probe like Jimmy Page after pondering re-entry.
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