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320 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2010
"How does Mahler pack so much emotion into so trite a word? The 'Ewig' enigma resisted me for years until a chance sighting at a 1988 exhibition in Vienna cracked a subconscious code. It was the fiftieth anniversary of Hitler's Anschluss and, among the artefacts, was a photograph of a railway station festooned with a banner: 'Der ewige Jude', the eternal Jew. Of course, 'Ewig', pronounced as eh-vish, has a specific connotation in the German mind. It is the Eternal Jew, the one who killed Christ and is condemnded to wander the beloved earth, a touchstone of Christian theology. In 1940 Joseph Goebbels makes it in the title of a film whose purpose it is to justify genocide. 'Ewig' and Jew are linked in the German mind. 'Ewig' in The Song of the Earth is the old Jew in Gustav Mahler, the alter ego, the primal Mahler that he manages to rediscover as his life enters its closing phase. it is the sound of catharsis, for Mahler and for all who listen to The Song of the Earth.
Its healing power cannot be overstated. One summer, most of it spent over a sick child, I flew to Edinburgh for the festival, only to be told on arrival there was a problem at home. 'Wait half an hour,' said my wife, when I offered to fly back. By the time she called again the crisis was over. I stayed on, in a wretched state. There was a sold-out concert that night of The Song of the Earth, just what I needed. Talking myself into a manager's seat, I sat through an uneven performance, missed top notes from the tenor and an Usher Hall too hot for the strings to stay in tune, but when the 'Ewig's came around the effect was irresistible. Life, I knew, would go on. My child would overcome her condition. Mahler had tapped determinedly into our human resilience, our infinite capacity for self-renewal."