Recomposing Mahler

Deutsche Grammophon's occasional series 'Recomposing' invites recognised electronic producers to offer a fresh take on their chosen piece of classical music. Carl Craig and Jimi Tenor are previous targets in the series, but when the label asked Matthew Herbert to contribute, they may not have envisaged that he would go to such lengths to air his thoughts on the Adagio from Mahler's Tenth Symphony.

Herbert takes the recording made by Giuseppe Sinopoli and the Philharmonia as his starting point, and feeds it through his own studio technology. I listened to his reinterpretation for the first time late last night, conditions ideal for one of the finest nocturnal pieces of nocturnal music I have experienced.

Herbert bravely starts with the famous, all-encompassing chord from the symphony's climax, but floats it past the listener like a thick cloud, completely out of focus. There is then a sudden cut to a relatively scratchy viola playing the movement's main theme, recorded live at Mahler's graveside – a typical touch of Herbert reverence and invention (some would say eccentricity) rolled in to one. The movement then unfolds as you would expect, musically, but spatially we're on the move, tumbling forward through space, then suddenly stopping to take in an atmosphere, then zooming in on a micro theme.

With Herbert using the principal material early on it would seem there is nowhere to go, but these spatial variations are intriguing. They become disconcerting on headphones, like a piece of David Lynch film music, and several times I found myself looking round for noises that were not there. Herbert does, however, keep the serenity of the original. There is more than a hint of Damien Hirst, especially in the idea of recording some of the symphony being played in a coffin - but Herbert stops well short of the artist's sensationalist tactics, composing out of reverence for Mahler rather than a desire to shock. And yes, he is 'composing' in the true meaning of the word, taking the elements of the music that hint at an extra dimension - the harmonic advances, the silvery wisps of melody and the occasionally sudden gear change from slow to manic - before a restful return is made. Herbert gets all of that with modern recording techniques that move between the affectionate, the macabre and the downright strange.

The focus on spatial awareness means Herbert can pan out from the orchestra when he wants to, taking us underwater, out of body, out in to the open. It's a reimagining of the traditional 'sat down' concert experience, a response taken on the move. Sometimes the bass is really ramped up, with a sudden sense of anger in the fourth section, where the searing violins pierce a raft of warped distortion in the middle.
Perhaps inevitably the tension lags, and a passing hearse (recorded live, of course) offers relatively little, until the chord itself comes back in its proper place. Here the effect is massive, with everything to the max, especially the trumpet - and then the hammering drums and something like a massive windscreen wiper get to work, the only time Herbert employs his own percussion. The comedown is truly spooky and unsettling, before the music ends in weightlessness. And then, a door shuts – a simple and poignant moment.

So why go to this level of description? It is an attempt to show how much Herbert has put into his view of Mahler's final completed symphonic movement, a kind of a musical analysis of his reaction. It proves to be fascinating stuff, if a little macabre at times, but shows ultimately just how much electronic music and classical music rub shoulders. Composers of the former kind are much more plugged in than you might think.