Overview
Richard Strauss and Gustav Mahler are two composers who often occupy the same space in our minds and our textbooks. Born just four years apart in the mid 19th century, both played pivotal roles in the evolution of symphonic music. Many view them as the final figures of Romanticism, ushering in the modern era of composition. Both expanded on traditional symphonic forms, pushing the boundaries of orchestration, scope, and tonality. By the end of their careers, they had stretched western tonality to its limits, leading some to declare that there was nothing left to explore in tonal music, and sparking the modern quest to explore new ways of organizing pitches.
Both composers are known for writing monumental works, some lasting over an hour, exploring grand stories and wringing enormous sound from the orchestra. They were also deeply invested in vocal music, with Strauss composing many operas and Mahler writing numerous song cycles. Both held prominent positions as conductors of major orchestras.
But they differed greatly in their approach to art and life. Strauss gravitated towards epic narratives and myths from Greek and Biblical traditions, while Mahler’s music was more personal, less programmatic, and focused on exploring grand conceptual themes rather than telling stories. Strauss preferred his music to have narrative arch, while Mahler focused more on evoking particular feelings or moods. Strauss’s compositions are intricate and highly contrapuntal, reflecting his technical skill, while Mahler crafted simpler melodies, often drawing from his Jewish roots, and offering an intimate look into his inner world.
Even their personalities contrasted; Strauss was extremely confident in his abilities while Mahler grappled with self-doubt his entire life. Nevertheless, the men had a close, if complex friendship, keeping in regular contact for more than 20 years, and proving on repeated occasions to be staunch advocates for each other’s music. Of their relationship, Mahler once said, “Strauss and I tunnel from opposite sides of the mountain. One day we shall meet.”
In this program, the two great composers ruminate on death. Even in their ends, their paths diverged: Mahler, plagued by health issues, died at just 51, while Strauss lived well into his eighties. Both were born during the active years of Brahms, Tchaikovsky, and other romantic greats, but Strauss lived to see the end of World War II and the profound shifts in the world that accompanied it. Yet in their distinct reflections on mortality, both demonstrate a profound nostalgia, lingering on tender melodies that seem to capture the beauty of a life remembered.
Four Last Songs
Richard Strauss (1864-1949)
Run Time: Approx. 24 minutes
Though it is unclear whether Strauss knew the Four Last Songs would be his final composition, the works—named posthumously for their place in his catalog—are undeniably songs of farewell. Near the end of his life, Strauss had become increasingly unsettled by the rapidly changing world around him. The end of World War II had ushered in new post-romantic tastes, and though his own groundbreaking writing had played a large part in developing this new sound, he felt his own work had become less relevant than it once was. He was also extremely distraught by the destruction of the Munich National Theatre, where his father had once played horn and where he had seen the premieres of many of his own operas. Perhaps aware of his age and growing nostalgic for his earlier years, Strauss turned away from the experimentation that defined his late period and returned to the lush Romanticism of his youth.
His imagination was first captured by the poem “Im Abendrot” (“In the Evening Glow”) by Joseph von Eichendorff, which became the final song in the set, after which he added “Spring,” “September,” and “While going to sleep,” all by Hermann Hesse. Both poets address death with delicate metaphors—the changing of the seasons, the closing of one’s eyes for rest—and Strauss illustrates the texts with an equally light touch, coloring phrases like “Leaf upon leaf drops golden” with gently descending phrases but never becoming overwrought. The songs unfold like a curtain slowly closing on the final act, beginning in “Spring” with energy and a bit of anticipation and gradually laying down in a tranquil slumber.
In the final line of “Im Abendrot”, the soprano asks, “Is this perhaps – Death?” Her question is answered in the orchestra with a quote from Strauss’s own tone poem Death and Transfiguration, written when he was just 20 years old. It’s widely believed that these were the last notes he ever committed to paper. “It’s a funny thing,” he later remarked on his deathbed, “dying is just the way I composed it in Death and Transfiguration.” For a composer whose catalogue includes epic tales like Don Quixote, Alpine Symphony, and A Hero’s Life, in which he casts himself as the swashbuckling protagonist, it seems only fitting that he would compose himself such an exquisitely rendered closing scene.
If readers will indulge a personal note: Four Last Songs appears on the bucket list of many orchestral musicians, including mine. While countless artists have captured the nuances of the human experience, this work occupies a higher plane. The melodies seem to simply float away—heartbreakingly wistful plumes of sound—rising from earth, the sonic embodiment of saying goodbye. One cannot help but hope that Strauss was indeed correct in his assertion that death is just as he composed it.
Symphony No. 5
Gustav Mahler (1860-1911)
Run Time: Approx. 75 Minutes
Mahler once remarked that a symphony should contain the universe. His monumental fifth symphony certainly achieves that lofty goal and offers a snapshot of the composer’s inner universe. Often characterized as a brooding, turbulent man, Mahler certainly reflects his own personality in his music, which consistently reaches the outermost edges of human feeling.
The composition of the Fifth Symphony, which took place between 1901 and 1902, was influenced by two contrasting events. First, Mahler fell seriously ill and nearly died, forcing him to confront his own mortality. Second, he entered a whirlwind courtship with Alma Schindler, whom he married after just four months. Although Mahler generally eschewed narrative arcs in his music, this symphony vividly illustrates the inner turmoil and emotional journey he likely experienced following such a dramatic brush with death.
The work unfolds in five movements, grouped into three parts. Part One, consisting of the first and second movements, begins with a Trauermarsch (Funeral March), announced by a solo trumpet that introduces one of the movement’s most significant themes. The motif, built upon a rhythmic pattern of three fast, repeated notes followed by a longer note (short-short-short-long), bears a striking resemblance to the famous theme from Beethoven’s fifth symphony. These repeated figures, reminiscent of a knock at the door, often evoke the sense of fate or the inevitability of death. The movement develops in this vein, until after another repetition of the trumpet’s opening call, it erupts in a great burst of protestation. But it quickly quells, seeming to resign itself to its fate.
The second movement unfolds in nearly the opposite manner. Clinging to the violent outburst of the first, it the orchestra ignites in a fit of fiery rage before giving way to tender moments of deep longing. However, the calm cannot last, and each time, it succumbs once again to frustration. Strikingly, after the tumult of the preceding movements, Mahler introduces the first moments of triumph and true joy near the end of Part One with a brass chorale. So different is this from anything heard so far that it seems to ask the first hint of a profound question: what is the human response to mortality?
The third movement, which occupies the entirety of Part Two, is the longest of the work. Marked Scherzo, it represents a dramatic shift in mood, offering an exuberant dance inspired by both Austrian peasant dances and the more refined Viennese waltzes Mahler would have conducted. The movement is also a profound expression of his Jewish heritage. Due to the rampant anti-Semitism of the era, Mahler had to convert to Catholicism to assume the position of director at the Vienna State Opera. Nevertheless, his Jewish roots found their way into his music, often in klezmer-inspired melodies, and, in the case of the fifth symphony, the use of the horn section to emulate the shofar. The shofar is an ancient rams-horn instrument used for Jewish rites and is most closely associated with Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year, during which it is to be sounded 30 times per day. The sound of the horn, for many, is reminiscent of a human cry and is said to be symbolic of the soul’s desire to return to its creator.
The joyful dances begin to spin into a frenzy, becoming untamed and perhaps a bit dangerous until they are interrupted by wild calls passed around the horn section—the sounding of the shofar. As the section falls away, the calls continue in the solo horn, who plays a prominent role throughout the work. Though the call of the horn sounds a bit ominous, the movement on whole is an exuberant declaration of his desire to, in the face of death, turn towards the joy of life. This movement ultimately turns the tide of the entire symphony; everything that follows is colored by a new profound determination to live.
The fourth movement offers a respite from the grand drama of the previous three. It is also one of Mahler’s most well-known and beloved works and is often performed as a standalone piece. It was written as a declaration of love to Alma, whom he married during the work’s composition. Here, all but the strings and harp take rest.
The fifth and final movement begins with a triumphant solo horn, setting the stage for a conclusion bursting with energy. It culminates in a powerful reiteration of the moment of triumph from the second movement, perhaps offering an answer to the question it posed earlier: Yes, indeed, the response to death is an unwavering embrace of life.
The triptych Mahler lays out leaves no doubt that in the face of his brush with death he was deeply shaken but determined to combat the sorrow of mortality with an unrestrained zest for life. While he would go on to experience further tragedy and continue to grapple with these grand existential questions, the Fifth Symphony stands as a triumphant ode to the human spirit.
-Valerie Sly, 2025