Among the events is a special free concert by conductor Alan Gilbert (a client of my company) and the New York Philharmonic of Mahler’s Symphony No. 2, which bears the subtitle “Resurrection.” Alan and the orchestra will perform this iconic symphony at Avery Fisher Hall on Saturday, September 10; it will also be simulcast onto a big screen on the Lincoln Center Plaza and broadcast on radio and television that night and on the evening of Sunday, September 11. Information about obtaining tickets for the concert is available here.

Mahler’s “Resurrection” Symphony was first performed in 1895. The inspiration for the work came from music that Mahler heard at the funeral of Hans von Bülow, a conductor he revered. It’s a massive and utterly awe-inspiring work, which begins with an often-terrifying funeral march and ends, more than 80 minutes later, with a blazing choral hymn celebrating the ultimate rebirth of the spirit. The adjective “life-changing” is overused to describe many things, but Mahler’s Second genuinely has that kind of transformative power. Some fans of the symphony have a religious, almost cultish devotion to it. For many orchestras and conductors, it is a musical Everest, a benchmark, and a go-to piece for momentous occasions. It is simply one of the greatest works of art ever created, and it is exactly the music that we need to listen to right now.

A decade of war, and now more than two years of extreme economic hardship — much of it caused by wanton greed — has left America with a profound hope deficit. Approaching 50 years old now, I look back and realize that a full decade of my life has been lived deep in the shadow of 9/11. My memories of that terrible day are still painfully vivid, but my desire for the country to move beyond fear and sadness, and fully into the light of hope and renewed possibility, is very real and very intense. Mahler’s “Resurrection” Symphony can help us.

For all its titanic reach, dramatic force and visceral power, Mahler’s “Resurrection” has some unforgettable moments of repose that provide great salve for the ravaged soul. My favorite is the fourth movement, “Urlicht” (“Primeval Light”) — a tender song of innocence sung by the mezzo-soprano. Here’s one of the greats, Janet Baker, singing it with Leonard Bernstein conducting the London Symphony Orchestra:

You don’t need to be a religious person to be overtaken by the sincerity and sweetness of this music. “Man lies in greatest need! Man lies in greatest pain!” she sings at the beginning. Look around us: that’s the world we live in, partly because of our inherent frailty as mortals, but also because so many of us have acquiesced to the pain and need around us, victims, as we often are, of our own self-absorption. But Mahler’s “Urlicht” takes us beyond all of this, beyond blame and worry, and squarely onto the road of redemption. “I am from God and shall return to God!” she sings. And, for me, these simple words are cause for enduring hope.

The New York Philharmonic has called its September 10 performance of Mahler’s Second Symphony, “A Concert for New York for the Tenth Anniversary of 9/11 — In Remembrance and Renewal.” Mahler’s “Resurrection” Symphony suits this occasion perfectly, and I hope that the work’s message of rebirth and transcendence will resonate long after the occasion for which it has been programmed.

This post originally appeared at Huffington Post.

One piece that didn’t make the playlist then was Sergei Prokofiev’s Alexander Nevsky, but arriving at our place in Upstate New York this past Friday night immediately brought this work to mind. The house had been idle for a couple of weeks so the temperature inside was in the high forties. Outside, under a brilliantly bright moon, the temperature hovered at zero. The moonlight bouncing off the snow lit up the countryside in luminous silver. Looking out from the living room windows, Prokofiev’s score began to play subconsciously in my mind, and in no time at all I was perched in front of a fire, sipping scotch and listening to “Nevksky” at a rather high volume.

Prokofiev wrote the score to the classic 1938 film of the same name by Sergei Eisenstein (if you haven’t ever seen it, rent it immediately), and later re-arranged the music as a concert cantata for mezzo-soprano, chorus and orchestra. It’s a scintillating score in either version. At times it is dark, ominous and brooding; at others times it is as thrilling, action-packed and uplifting as any music ever written.

Briefly told, Alexander Nevsky is a historical epic that brings to life the exploits of a great 13th-century leader who turned back the enemy hordes and protected mother Russia from certain annihilation. Though Stalin and Hitler began World War II on the same side of the fight, Nazi Germany soon invaded Soviet Russia and, after fighting that was disastrous for both sides, Germany was repulsed — a major turning point in the war. The patriotic allegory presented by Eisenstein’s film wasn’t lost on the Soviets, and in 1941 Eisenstein and his collaborators on the film were awarded the Stalin Prize.

The wintry associations of Alexander Nevsky — the film and the music — are many, beginning with the biting, desolate-sounding chords that open the score. In general, Prokofiev’s acerbic harmonies can hit the ears like bitter air searing the inside of your nostrils, and none more so than in this score. The second section of the cantata, “Song of Alexander Nevsky,” quietly introduces the glorious hymn that will appear and reappear at key moments through the action, and with shattering impact in the great finale.

Perhaps the most famous section of “Nevsky” is the “Battle on the ice,” and here Prokofiev whips up maximum excitement and raw physical power. The chorus wails, the brasses snarl, the percussion explodes — it’s terrifying here, exhilarating there.

The lament that follows in the next section, “The field of the dead,” is heart-breaking. Here, a mezzo-soprano sings in hushed, haunting tones about the bloody devastation that soaks the snowy expanse: “Here lies one hacked by swords,/here lies one pierced by an arrow./Their red blood has watered/the beloved land, our Russian land.”

The final section, “Alexander’s entry into Pskov,” begins with a grandly-scored and lustily sung reprisal of the main hymn theme. The celebration reaches dizzying heights of exultation as the chorus and orchestra head to the final climax: “Rejoice, sing, mother Russia!”

There are so many fine recordings of “Nevsky” that you almost can’t go wrong buying it. My long-time favorite has been Claudio Abbado’s classic recording with the London Symphony (DG), but others led by Neeme Järvi (Chandos), Valery Gergiev (Philips) and André Previn (Telarc) should please all the same.

Several years ago, I heard the Boston Symphony play the score to a showing of the film at Avery Fisher Hall. It was one of the most exciting concert experiences I’ve ever had, and I hope someone will repeat the enterprise here in NYC in the not too distant future.

The original movie is available in its entirety thanks to OpenFlix on YouTube. Enjoy!

Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder (“Songs on the Death of Children,” in English) feature texts by the poet Friedrich Rückert that try to transform the incomprehensible horror of losing a child into some kind of meaningful and endurable experience. The first song “Now The Sun Will Rise as Brightly” notes that an individual’s grief does not darken the entire world and that the sun — symbolizing life — rises again even after our most grievous losses.

In the second song, “Now I See Well, with Such Dark Flames,” the parents are asked to understand that fate draws the child away towards a reunion with the cosmos: “These which now are just eyes to you, In nights to come will be but stars to you.”

The third song, “When Your Dear Mother,” is most like the story in Rabbit Hole. Here, the father can’t believe that the child is no longer beside the mother when she comes through the door. A major tension in the film arises from the respective parents trying to understand how and when to preserve the memories of the child: do you clean out his room, or preserve it as it was for as long as you own the house? There are no answers.

The fourth song, “I Often Think They’ve Only Gone Out,” is about willful denial of a reality too painful to confront. “It’s a lovely day, oh don’t be anxious, They’re only out taking a long walk.” But even here, Rückert tries to find a way out of the cycle of grief: “They’ve only gone off ahead of us…We’ll catch up with them on yonder heights.”

The final, song “In This Weather, In this Tumult,” is storm-driven, with nature lashing out in terrifying fashion as a symbol of its power over the human condition. Repeatedly, the parent wonders why any child is put into harm’s way, only to realize that no parental love is strong enough to keep a child entirely safe. After four stanzas featuring the parent lamenting fiercely over his/her powerlessness, the storm subsides, revealing, it seems, a tranquil, star-filled night. Here the parent lets go of his particular grief and finds comfort in the eternal and universal: “In this weather, in this storm, in this tumult, they are resting, as if at home in their mother’s house, Not frightened by any storms, Sheltered by God’s hand.” After all of the anguish that has preceded it, the song somehow ends in quietly radiant calm.

Unlike the children in Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder, or the child in Rabbit Hole, the people who died — including a 9-year-old girl, Christina-Taylor Green — or were gravely injured in the shooting in Arizona were harmed deliberately by another human being, adding a level of pain and anger to the senseless loss that none who haven’t experienced it could possibly imagine.

Late Saturday night, after spending hours watching the coverage on CNN, I turned off the TV and played Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings on the stereo and dedicated it in my mind to Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and the rest of the victims of the Arizona shootings. I don’t know the role music will play in helping to heal the souls of those immediately affected by what has happened in Arizona. But for now, the rest of us can only be grateful to have the genius of Mahler and Barber and countless other composers and artists who have heroically transformed senseless human suffering into food to nourish our world-weary souls.

(This post originally appeared in the Huffington Post, published on January 10, 2011)

Nathan Gunn is a man of many talents and passions, as his responses to our “20 Questions” reveal. His compelling stage presence and musical versatility have given him star billing in a plethora of operas around the world, ranging from contemporary and 20th-century works to Mozart’s masterpieces (from December 21 through January 6 he reprises his acclaimed Papageno in the Met’s English-language family version of The Magic Flute). Singing with orchestras and in recital, the Grammy-winning baritone takes on some of the great concert and song repertoire, and also makes frequent excursions into musical theater fare, including, most recently, celebrated semi-staged performances of Camelot with the New York Philharmonic and Showboat at Carnegie Hall, as well as a Sondheim 80th birthday gala (also with the NY Phil) that recently came out on DVD. An avid sportsman and enthusiastic reader, Gunn’s charisma – yes, you saw him in People magazine’s “Sexiest Men Alive” issue in 2008 – is undeniable. He’s also a dedicated family man who stays close to his mid-western roots.

1. A few works of classical music that you adore:

Barber’s Adagio for strings; Debussy’s Claire de Lune; J.S. Bach’s The Passion according to St. John; The finale of Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro; Messiaen’s Vingt regards sure l’enfant-Jesus; Scriabin’s Five Preludes, Op. 15.

2. Classical music recordings that you treasure:

I enjoy classical music live more than on recording, but Fritz Wunderlich singing Dichterliebe is surely extraordinary. I would have loved to have heard him live.

3. Favorite non-classical musicians and/or recordings:

The Bill Evans and Tony Bennett Album; Nat King Cole Christmas Songbook; Ella Fitzgerald’s These are the Blues; Johhny Hartman’s Unforgettable; Elton John: Greatest Hits; Leonard Cohen’s Tower of Song; Led Zepplin, Prince, Sting

4. Music that makes you cry – any genre:

My daughter playing Danny Boy on the cello; chorales from Bach’s Passions

5. Definitely underrated work(s) or composer (s):

Tom Waits, Frank Ferko, Dolly Parton (she is a prolific song writer), Prince

6. Possibly overrated work(s) or composer (s):

I think Mozart symphonies are a little overrated. I’m always waiting for someone to sing.

7. Live music performance (s) you attended – any genre – that you’ll never forget:

Verdi’s Otello with the CSO under Solti with Pavarotti singing the title role

8. A few relatively recent films you love:

Casino Royale; The Sopranos (if you allow for a TV pick); Elizabeth; A Single Man

9. A few films you consider classics:

That Hamilton Woman; 2001 Space Odyssey; Moonstruck; The Godfather 1 and 2; Caddy Shack; Animal House; It’s a Wonderful Life; The Browning Version

10. A book (or two) that is important to you (and why):

Epictetus’s Discourses: the lessons have taught me to think; Pressfield’s The Gates of Fire: it’s an amazing story of self sacrifice, courage and freedom; Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises: I love how vivid it is in describing that period of time; Helprin’s Winter’s Tale: BEAUTIFULLY written and amazingly fanciful; Ishiguro’s The Unconsoled: the most terrifying book I’ve ever read (it’s a little close to my life); Hamlet, for obvious reasons; Dumas’s The Count of Montecristo: the greatest revenge story; Graham Greene’s The End of the Affair, because it’s an amazingly beautiful love story.

11. Thing(s) about yourself that you’re most proud of:

I proud of the fact that I spend my life doing what I love and can still take care of my family.

12. Thing(s) about yourself that you’re embarrassed by:

The list is long: I spell like a gorilla, I have bowed legs, I understand languages better than I can speak them, I’m terrible at remembering names, I forget dates, etc. etc. etc.

13. Three things you can’t live without:

There are actually five: my children

14. “When I want to get away from it all I…”

Take a hot bath; do some hard manual labor

15. “People are surprised to find out that I…”

…have five children

16. “My favorite cities are…”

…New York, Chicago, London

17. “I have a secret crush on…”

Cote de Pablo

18. “My most obvious guilty pleasure is…”

Scotch and cigars

19. “I’d really love to meet – or to have met…”

Mark Twain, Leonardo DaVinci, Cleopatra

20. “I never understood why…”

…we use the contraction “aren’t I” rather than “amn’t I”

BONUS QUESTION:

21. Question you wish someone would ask you (and the answer to that question):

Q: Who is your favorite poet?

A: Christina Rossetti

And here’s a little clip from a past performance of The Magic Flute at the Met, which Nathan will be reprising again this holiday season:

Corelli was a master violinist who was credited with taking the expressive qualities of the instrument to new heights, setting an example that inspired fellow composers and fiddlers in Italy and throughout Europe.  He had a prodigious gift for melody, which is evidenced in just about everything he wrote.  Listening to his music, I find myself using the words beautiful and gorgeous, but for all its elegance it also possesses irresistible warmth.

I first heard Corelli’s “Christmas” Concerto on an album called “Karajan: The Christmas Concert,” still one of my favorite holiday CDs – and, happily, still available for download at Amazon and iTunes.  The whole mood of the album is peaceful and reflective – despite some festive tracks for brass ensemble – including one of the most tender renditions of “Silent Night” you’ll ever hear.  Since the days when Karajan and Berlin Philharmonic made this recording (I believe in the 1970s), early music like Corelli’s has been increasingly performed by much smaller ensembles, mostly using period instruments.  Karajan’s plush version with the massed BPO strings may sounds a bit old-fashioned, but it envelops the ears like a cozy down comforter and I won’t be giving away my copy any time soon.

The most famous part of Corelli’s “Christmas Concerto “is a slow section so filled with quiet wonderment that for a moment you may believe that human beings might actually achieve peace on earth one day.  I was surprised, and delighted, when this movement was used in the film Master and Commander, but it worked brilliantly to evoke the boundless magnificence of a ship far out at sea coasting gently under a moonlit sky.  You can hear a sample of it here:

Corelli wasn’t the only composer to write a Christmas Concerto.  You can hear a sampling of works by the likes of Italian composers such as Manfredini, Torelli and Vivaldi in vivid performances by Il Giardino Armonico, available on Amazon.

Corelli’s “Christmas Concerto” is actually the eighth of the 12 Concerti grossi that were published together as the composer’s Opus. 6.  Do yourself a favor and buy yourself, or some loved one, the whole set (Trevor Pinnock’s wonderful collection with the English Concert is available for a steal at a two-for-one price on Amazon.  It’s a gift that will keep on giving whenever you need a little sanctuary from a world that’s gotten a little too frantic, a little too edgy, and a little too loud.

Postscript:  if you want an even bigger dose of holiday serenity, try Simon Preston’s two-disc collection of Christmas Concerto with the English Concert:  not cheap, but the extended playtime may be needed to soothe the most jingle-jangled nerves! Available on iTunes.

Joaquín Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez is one of the most popular works written for the guitar (in this case, with orchestra), popularized in part by Miles Davis’s hauntingly atmospheric tribute to it in Sketches of Spain. Rodrigo wanted the concerto to conjure up ”the fragrance of magnolias, the singing of birds, and the gushing of fountains” in the gardens of Aranjuez, a town just south of Madrid. The second movement adagio is shrouded in mystery; for some listeners, it may bring to mind the music Morricone wrote for those Sergio Leone spaghetti Westerns.

The Cádiz-born Manuel de Falla (1876 – 1946) is perhaps Spain’s best-known and most revered composer (you know a composer has rank when a country puts him or her on its money!).  Among his most captivating works are the ballet El amor brujo (Love the Magician), which includes the fearsomely sensual “Ritual Fire Dance,” and the no-less seductive Noches en los Jardines de España (Nights in the Gardens of Spain) for piano and orchestra.

The great French composer Olivier Messiaen called Isaac Albéniz’s Iberia “the masterpiece of Spanish music.”  Composed of four books of music for solo piano, Albéniz’s genius requires no less brilliance from the work’s performers — it is, in fact, one of the hardest works in the repertoire. For the listener, it’s an entirely different and irresistible experience, a beguiling dance- and song-inspired audio guide to some of the country’s most beautiful places.

Iberia is the name of another famous work celebrating the magic of Spain, but this time, the composer is Frenchman Claude Debussy.  Like a tourist who appreciates the beauty of a place even more than the sometimes jaded native, Debussy captures the exotic glories of his country’s next-door neighbor with a dazzling three-panel fresco of audio paintings for orchestra. Local color is immediately apparent with the dancing, castanet-led “Par les rues et par les chemins” (“In the Streets and By-ways”), which opens the triptych. Part Two, “Les Parfums de la nuit” (“The Fragrance of the Night”), is sexy, moon-lit and hypnotic. The woozy brass at the end of  the ”Le matin d’un jour de fete” (“The Morning of the Festival Day”) suggests the aftermath of alcohol-assisted reverie.

Iberia, by the way, is the central part of a larger work by Debussy called Images.  The opening movement of the latter (“Gigues”) looks north to England and Scotland for its inspiration; the final movement, “Rondes de Printemps” (“Spring Rounds”), which borrows from a couple of French folk songs, is more of a home-grown affair.  Neither of those other countries did so well at the World Cup (understatement in the case of France), but that’s no reflection on Debussy’s magnificent achievement.

So this Fourth of July weekend, if you find yourself with sagging spirits — or if you’re an optimist who just wants to stoke the fires further — listen to Aaron Copland’s Third Symphony. For me, the most exciting version of Copland’s Third Symphony is Leonard Bernstein’s 1990 recording with the New York Philharmonic for DG, and James Judd’s budget-priced recording with the New Zealand Symphony for Naxos is a worthy alternative. The great American composer finished writing what’s frequently called “The Great American Symphony” in 1946, and he said that its rousing, heroic tone was a reflection of the “euphoric spirit of the country.” The most destructive war in history was over, the country had finally emerged from the long night of the Great Depression, and America had been a beacon to the free world in dark times. There was plenty to celebrate! Listening to the symphony today, Copland’s words about it came to mind, and I felt sad thinking how different that “euphoric spirit” is from the America we are living in today.

What amazes me most when I listen to his Third Symphony is that although it is grandly patriotic — he once thought to call the piece “For the Day of Victory” or “For the Spirit of Democracy” — it is also universal. Perhaps more than any work by Copland, this is a unifying, all-embracing work. There are moments of extreme tenderness and vulnerability, but also climaxes of shattering power. It celebrates the ordinary citizen — the regular guy — with the extraordinary splendor of the famous “Fanfare for the Common Man.” Its finale is as triumphant as music can be, but it comes after some dark, scary and violent episodes. Victory may be assured, but it will not be easy.

I know that listening to Copland’s Third Symphony won’t put the unemployed back to work, or create renewable energy, or clean up the financial mess. But, at least for me, hearing this amazing work will continue to keep my own hope alive for a better future for our country.

For the perfect encore, listen to Dudley Buck’s enormously entertaining “Festival Ouverture on the Star Spangled Banner.”

I was walking around the hills behind the Stanford University campus at sunset, listening to the piece on my Sony Walkman, and when the huge, glowing chords that bring the work to a close stopped ringing in my ears I was completely overwhelmed with a sense of love and spiritual joy.  For the next few days I listened to parts of it again and tried to learn more about it.  Then I had the crazy idea of having a huge party at the house I was living in off campus and inviting everyone I knew to hear it.  I was getting ready to graduate and move back to New York City, so I figured it might make for a strange and wonderful way to end my time in college.

There were probably 75 friends at the house that I shared with four roommates in nearby Los Altos when I announced that we should all crowd into the living room and listen to Mahler’s Third Symphony.  No one — including me — really knew who Mahler was, but to my astonishment everyone was silent for the entire time the Vienna Philharmonic and Claudio Abbado were making that magnificent noise on our stereo.  The room was dark except for one lamp, and people were scattered on the couches and chairs and floor, many holding and hugging each other, some making out, more than a few a little drunk.  But when it was over people were clapping like we had been in a concert hall.  We had all had a collective religious experience.  And for all intents and purposes, the Ecstatic Living Room was born.

Here is a clip of the great Leonard Bernstein leading the Vienna Philharmonic in the first movement:

A year later, I was back in New York City without a clue what I wanted to do with my life.  As the first day of summer approached, I thought nostalgically about that party a year ago. So I took out my Mahler 3 recording and listened to it while looking out over the Hudson River from the 18th floor apartment I was living in with my brother.  Once again, when the huge finale, which Mahler meant to depict the love that God had for his creation, came to an end, I felt utterly transformed.  From that time on I marked the first day of summer by listening to Mahler’s Third.  I look forward to it like kids look forward to Christmas morning.  It’s my special day of reflection and inspiration and renewal.

Mahler originally called this vast six-movement work “A Summer Morning Dream,” and his program for the long first movement once featured the heading, “Pan Awakes – Summer Marches In.”  But even if you didn’t know this, you might think of this as a summery kind of piece.  It’s big and bold and intense, like a hot summer day, when nature is literally exploding with life all around you.

The idea behind the symphony is simple but monumental: Mahler wanted to depict nothing less than the entirety of evolution, from inanimate nature (movement 1) to, five movements later, the consciousness of God’s all-encompassing love.  To achieve his ends Mahler stayed close to his key idea that a symphony should embrace everything that the world had to offer — life in all its paradox, beauty and contradiction.  It has huge climaxes as well as intimate and incredibly tender moments;  it has military marches and sublime hymn-like melodies; it has moments radiant with hope and other moments of primordial terror.

On the last pages of the score, Mahler told the musicians that the playing should be “saturated with feeling.”  For me, this is the point where I have not failed to cry each and every time I’ve heard the piece.

Monday, June 21 is the first day of summer in the Northern Hemisphere, so why not take the opportunity on that day — or anytime this summer — to discover Mahler’s Third Symphony.  One of several great recordings of the work is a Philips disc from 1988 with Bernard Haitink leading the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, which is available for download on iTunes.  Listen alone, or with a friend, or with a houseful of people.  It may just blow your mind; it might even change your life.

1. A few works of classical music that you adore:

Verdi’s La Traviata; Bizet’s Carmen; Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet

2.  Classical music recordings that you treasure:

Callas‘ Traviata; Turandot with Pavarotti and Sutherland

3.  Favorite non-classical musicians and/or recordings:

Alannah Myles; Anastacia; Tiziano Ferro; Whitesnake; John Butler

4.  Music that makes you cry – any genre:

It can happen with any genre, any piece, any time when it collides with personal matters…

5.  Definitely underrated work(s) or composer (s):

Salieri

6.  Possibly overrated work(s) or composer (s):

Out of respect to art and the creative process, I wouldn‘t say such a thing. Art and music always stay subjective and a question of taste.

7.  Live music performance (s) you attended – any genre – that you’ll never forget:

My first rock concert: Bonfire; Arabella in London with Hampson and Mattila

8.  A few relatively recent films you love:

Das Leben der Anderen

9.  A few films you consider classics:

As Good As It Gets; Traviata by Zeffirelli

10.  A book (or two) that is important to you (and why):

Eat, Pray, Love – it helped

11.  Thing(s) about yourself that you’re most proud of:

I did everything by myself… also the mistakes

12.  Thing(s) about yourself that you’re embarrassed by:

I can‘t remember names!!

13.  Three things you can’t live without:

iPod, telephone and computer

14.  “When I want to get away from it all I…”

Go out into nature, best on horseback

15.  “People are surprised to find out that I…”

If I would tell you, the surprise is gone

16.  “My favorite cities are…”

Paris, Vienna and Geneva

17.  “I have a secret crush on…”

Bruce Willis

18.  “My most obvious guilty pleasure is…”

Chocolate

19.  “I’d really love to meet…”

Carlos Saura

20.  “I never understood why…”

Opera-singers must be “divas“

Complied and edited by Albert Imperato. For permission to post or print this interview write to aimperato@21cmediagroup.com.

At a certain point, the size and scale of an event can become so vast that those qualities take on a life of their own, and it is no different with classical music, where some great works have  become defined, at least in part, by their sheer size and, to a certain degree, their spectacle.

So for those who plan to watch the entire Olympics, some of it, or none of it, we offer a list of super-sized classical music and opera to enjoy long after the games are over.  Each of the works share with the Olympic Games a nobility of spirit and grandness of conception.  The performers who take on these works need to be on top of their game – like champion athletes – if they hope to meet the challenges that the composers have laid for them.  For the listener, the challenges of taking all this music in will vary, but the rewards are many and far-lasting.

Gustav Mahler – Symphony No. 8 (download on iTunes or buy on Amazon): All of this Austrian composer’s nine symphonies are larger than most by other composers, and most convey a sense of epic journey, especially in terms of their emotional and dynamic range. But none is bigger in scope than his Eighth Symphony, which is nicknamed “Symphony of A Thousand” because of the number of people required to perform it. The score calls for a truly huge orchestra, organ, multiple choirs and soloists (and, believe it or not, a mandolin). The vast first movement is an ocean-sized chorus of voices invoking the “Creator Spiritus” — the creative force, the spirit of life, the energy of the cosmos. However you translate it, the listener is meant to be swept away in a torrent of massed sound. Mahler, in fact, said these were no longer human voices, but “the planets revolving around the sun.” Milchael Tilson Thomas won a few Grammies recently for his new recording of Mahler’s Eighth Symphony with the San Francisco Symphony. Naxos’s budget-priced version has gotten stellar reviews as well.

Giuseppe Verdi – Aida (download on iTunes): One of the grandest of all grand operas, most staged productions of this work heavily underline the spectacular elements of the story with lavish sets extolling its exotic setting (ancient Egypt) and huge casts of extras portraying the warring parties. The famous “Triumphal Scene” is something of a show within a show. Here, hundreds of performers — chorus members, dancers, and occasionally (to the dismay of animal rights activists) even horses, lions and an elephant or two! — occupy the stage as the Egyptian victors parade their Ethiopian captives in front of the ecstatic people of Egypt.

Ludwig van Beethoven – Missa Solemnis (buy on Amazon): Running close to 90 minutes, this work is famous for being difficult — and not just for the audience to sit through and comprehend! Chorus members are required to sing long stretches of extremely challenging music, often to the accompaniment of a large orchestra playing at full throttle, and the demands it makes on the performers are akin to training for a marathon. Many amateur choirs cannot hope to master the material, and even the greatest professional choirs continue to find the music daunting. Written at roughly the same time as his Ninth Symphony, the Missa Solemnis stands like Mount Everest amongst choral works, an awe-inspiring, sometimes terrifying, symbol of the power of faith and hope and human possibility.

Richard Wagner – “The Ring Cycle” (buy 2 CD “Ring Excerpts” or
the budget-priced single CD of “Ring Without Words” on Amazon): Clocking in at approximately 16 hours of music, the four myth-inspired operas of Wagner’s “Ring Cycle” come together to make pretty much the largest work of musical art ever created. Countless books have been written to describe what Wagner’s “Ring” is all about, but the truth is, it’s about everything that human beings experience and think about in life: nature (and how man interferes with it), love, loyalty, greed, redemption — the list goes on and on. Though written between 1848 and 1874, today’s listeners will be amazed at how many of our current problems and issues are touched upon. In this digital age, you can buy the whole “Ring” at a budget-price, but a great way to start is to just hear excerpts, which include one of the most famous and viscerally exciting things ever composed: the “Ride of the Valkyries.”