Carnegie Hall

Across nine massive works and an incomplete 10th, Gustav Mahler created one of the most enduringly powerful symphony cycles in all of music. Full of iconic moments, larger-than-life (and fervently argued) stories, and innovations (formal, conceptual, and in their approach to instrumentation), this body of work offers enough emotion and substance to enjoy and study for a lifetime. Some of music’s greatest luminaries have done just that—including Leonard Bernstein, who made history as the first conductor to record the full symphony cycle. See him lead all 10 works on Carnegie Hall+ or explore upcoming live performances of Mahler’s symphonies at Carnegie Hall.

This is our beginner’s guide to each of these great symphonies, which features clips of Bernstein conducting the Vienna Philharmonic and the London Symphony Orchestra in his iconic interpretations, including Mahler’s “Resurrection” from Ely Cathedral, as well as notes on some fascinating details to guide your listening experience.

Symphony No. 1

Now recognized as one of the all-time great first symphonies, Mahler’s First underwent an unusually protracted period of revision—transformation, even—before reaching its final form following its premiere. What we know as Symphony No. 1 was once a firmly programmatic work titled (among other iterations) “Titan,” and its initial audience reception was underwhelming at best.

The shimmering, pastoral awakening and energetic folk dance of its first two movements were well-enough received, but Mahler reportedly lost listeners during the ironic funeral march of a third movement, in which a languid, minor-key transposition of the popular “Frère Jacques” (or “Bruder Martin”) was a source of particular consternation. Today, the controversial movement is widely appreciated for its effective use of contrasts—both musical and thematic—and is recognizable as an early reflection of Mahler’s unending rumination on mortality.

Mahler’s Symphony No. 2 contemplates life and death on a cosmic scale, culminating in an ecstatic hymn of resurrection. To create a moment in music that is widely and colloquially—casually, even—referred to as “the death shriek,” is no small feat, and yet this symphony is ultimately defined by its climactic reassurances and uplift into spiritual glory. “I think there is no one who can resist it,” Mahler humbly asserted after hearing early rehearsals. “One is battered to the ground and then raised on angel’s wings to the highest heights.”

Mahler’s Third may be the longest symphony ever written by a major composer, but don’t let that daunt you. A gargantuan first movement is followed by five that are significantly shorter and refreshingly distinctive, offering listeners an incredible breadth of musical ideas to uncover. Even at its premiere, the colossal work didn’t outstay its welcome; a standing ovation of more than 15 minutes followed the performance—likely influenced by the profound impact of the sixth and final movement, one of music’s all-time greatest climaxes.

From its sleigh-bell opening to a final movement that depicts a child’s vision of heaven (with a notable emphasis on food), the Fourth Symphony carries an air of innocence not often associated with Mahler’s works. It is the shortest of his symphonies—lasting just under an hour—and the orchestration is notably more delicate than in his preceding works.

Within this relatively accessible creation lie numerous idiosyncrasies to discover. The second movement, a scherzo, features a solo violin tuned a full tone higher (a country fiddle, as played by a folkloric representation of “Death”), while the fourth movement’s combination of solo voice and orchestra was a groundbreaking conclusion to a symphony. The soprano is most often sung by a woman, but certain conductors—including Leonard Bernstein—have elected to utilize a boy soprano, lending the closing minutes an even greater sense of childlike wonder.

The Fifth is the first in Mahler’s trio of purely orchestral symphonies. It’s a fitting development as the composer moved more forcefully away from assigning them (or publicly acknowledging) explicit programmatic significance. However, its most famous movement—the serene Adagietto that features only the string section and a harp—is widely believed to be a love letter to Gustav’s wife, Alma, and her reaction to it reportedly didn’t disappoint.

As heard throughout Mahler’s symphonies, musical references and even direct quotations abound—both from his own works (the trumpet call from the Fourth returns here as the work’s opening fanfare), and to those of other composers (the first movement also responds to the iconic four-note theme of Beethoven’s Fifth).

Where Symphony No. 2 led listeners to coin the term “death shriek,” Symphony No. 6 gives us the famous “Mahler hammer”—a name derived much more literally. Many critics at the time mocked yet another of Mahler’s audaciously novel ideas, but the large hammer employed in the finale remains unforgettable and transfixing today—almost comically theatrical in concept, yet performed with the earnest commitment deserved of this great work. See Mahler’s Sixth in concert if you can, and certainly watch a video of a performance; the anticipation built as the hammer is raised makes for a uniquely captivating moment.

Symphony No. 7 is the most enigmatic and rarely performed of the Mahler cycle, but the composer himself called it his finest work. Across its evocation of nature, a many-layered nighttime, and a “bright day” of a finale, its emotional and thematic variety is remarkable—even by Mahler’s standards.

Its middle three movements (of the five total) form a particularly interesting core: an eerie scherzo bookended by a pair of mysteriously unsettling and restrained Nachtmusiks (with the second one being especially notable for its effective use of mandolin and guitar). What this three-movement middle sequence lacks in overt symphonic thrills, it more than makes up for in dreamlike intrigue and subtle, impeccable orchestration.

The last of Mahler’s works premiered during his lifetime, the unusually optimistic Symphony No. 8 was an immediate critical and popular success. Following a trio of purely instrumental symphonies, the Eighth marked the return of choral music to the composer’s symphonies—and on a much larger scale than ever before.

Nicknamed the “Symphony of a Thousand” (despite the composer’s disapproval), it’s an immense work that remains one of the largest productions in the symphonic repertoire. Indeed, when Leonard Bernstein recorded it for his pioneering cycle with the Vienna Philharmonic, the Vienna Konzerthaus stage was enlarged to fit the sprawling cast.

Conductor Franz Welser-Möst calls Symphony No. 9—Mahler’s final completed symphony—“the strongest, most impactful farewell ever written in music.” It’s a transcendent, emotionally arresting work that illustrates the extent to which a conductor’s approach to interpretation shades the meaning and listening experience of a performance. This symphony has been extensively recorded throughout much of the 20th and 21st centuries, and we recommend that listeners go back through time and compare the differences—some of them subtle, some shockingly significant—between the work’s numerous iconic performances.

Mahler completed only one movement of his Tenth Symphony: its first, the moving Adagio. Many composers and musicologists have done exceptional work to complete the full symphony based on Mahler’s extensive drafts and notes, but the Adagio alone has enjoyed remarkable longevity as a concert piece.

While some conductors conclude their Mahler cycle with the Ninth Symphony, and others yet perform one of the posthumously completed versions of the full Tenth Symphony, many prominent conductors conclude their symphony cycle with this single movement. It is a haunting and fitting ending to a monumental body of work preoccupied with the meaning—and experience—of life, death, and eternity.

Photography: All photography courtesy of the Carnegie Hall Rose Archives.