Translation by Stéphane Treyvaud
Copper has an exchange program with selected magazines, where we share articles, including this one, between publications. This one's from Germany's FIDELITY magazine.
Anton Bruckner (1824 – 1896), perhaps more than any great composer, endured relentless criticism and ridicule during his lifetime. Even today some music lovers find his works daunting, pronouncing them as “too long and too loud.” Yet this judgment belies a profound paradox. Few composers could craft passages of such transcendent stillness as Bruckner – moments where the music seems to pause, basking in its own serene beauty, radiating a quiet sublimity that captivates the soul. In this article, commemorating the 200th anniversary of Bruckner’s birth [originally published in AAA in 2024 – Ed.], we highlight a selection of LP-era recordings to invite newcomers into the luminous world of this often-misunderstood composer.
The critique of Bruckner’s music as overly protracted and thunderous holds some truth. His symphonies, building on the grand legacies of Beethoven’s Ninth and Schubert’s The Great, demand stamina with their sweeping scope. And they brim with bold fanfares and towering climaxes, often reaching triple fortissimo, which can feel overwhelming if performed without the intended grandeur, majesty, or awe. Critics of his time also charged his works with lacking musical logic, being stereotyped, and imitating Wagner. Yet, visionaries among them recognized Bruckner’s singular genius – a composer whose monolithic presence forged a new musical language, imbued with its own profound logic, opening doors to uncharted realms of sound.
Bruckner as Composer
Anton Bruckner’s journey is a near-miraculous odyssey, a testament to the triumph of genius over humble beginnings. From a choirboy singing in the hallowed halls of St. Florian to a modest village schoolteacher, eking out a living as a fiddler in a rustic band, he ascended to become the organist of St. Florian’s collegiate church and later Linz Cathedral. From there, he rose to the esteemed halls of Vienna, where, as a revered professor of basso continuo, counterpoint, and organ, he shaped the minds of luminaries like conductor Felix Mottl and composer Gustav Mahler, himself a symphonic titan. As an organist, Bruckner’s improvisational brilliance captivated audiences, his fingers weaving sonic tapestries that left listeners in awe. His performances in Nancy and Paris earned fervent acclaim, and in London, at the 1871 World Exhibition, he inaugurated the Royal Albert Hall’s organ with concerts that resounded with transcendent splendor.
Bruckner’s roots in organ and church music permeate his compositions, not merely through sacred gestures infused with the solemnity of hymns and chorales. His orchestration, a luminous interplay of instrumental colors, reveals the organist’s delight in manipulating registers, crafting subtle shifts or bold contrasts to delineate musical sections. Though Bruckner’s music differs markedly from Wagner’s, he drew valuable lessons in orchestration from Wagner’s refined artistry. At performances of Wagner’s operas, he often chose seats with a diminished view of the stage, immersing himself wholly in the sonic tapestry, his focus attuned to the intricate interplay of sound unfolding before him.
A master of counterpoint, Bruckner wove melodies with kaleidoscopic ingenuity, ceaselessly transforming themes, layering them with symphonic depth, and casting them in fresh harmonic light. As a harmonist, he was a fearless pioneer, venturing to the edges of tonality long before Schoenberg. In the Agnus Dei of his Mass No. 2 in E Minor (1866), he daringly condensed an eight-part choir to sound all seven notes of the scale simultaneously, a bold harmonic stroke. In the final movement of his Ninth Symphony, he pushed further, crafting massive dissonant clusters where nearly all 12 notes of the chromatic scale resound in a breathtaking clash, foreshadowing modernity’s harmonic frontiers.
Bruckner’s contemporaries were captivated by his groundbreaking approach, infusing music with vibrant energy through small, pulsing accompanying figures strung together like proto-Minimalist threads, subtly shifting with harmonic currents. Equally novel and striking were his powerful crescendo waves that surged like celestial stairways to the divine. Bruckner’s contemporaries marveled at his rhythmic vitality – his music, echoing the Renaissance ideal of reflecting a higher order of creation, as embodied by composers like Palestrina, was reimagined for the vast Romantic orchestra. Yet, in Bruckner’s hands, the spiritual and heavenly intertwine seamlessly with the earthly and human. After scaling symphonic peaks, his music descends into warm, vocal string passages, guiding listeners to blooming alpine meadows where the soul finds solace and renewal.
“In a world marked by spiritual frailty, I seek refuge in strength and compose music of power.” – Bruckner
Complete Recordings
Anton Bruckner’s music, with its bold demands on orchestral forces, once seemed an insurmountable summit. The Vienna Philharmonic, for instance, initially deemed his Second Symphony unplayable, only to triumphantly prove otherwise at its premiere, unveiling the work’s radiant potential. Now firmly enshrined in the repertoire, Bruckner’s symphonies resonate through countless recordings, inviting listeners to savor their grandeur in moments of tranquil intimacy or thunderous exultation.
Among the vinyl era’s complete cycles, Eugen Jochum’s two sets are particularly noteworthy. His earlier traversal, guiding the Berlin Philharmonic and Bavarian Radio Orchestra (Deutsche Grammophon), dances with vibrant, Austrian warmth, its colors vivid and spirited. The later cycle, sculpted with the Staatskapelle Dresden from 1975 to 1980 (EMI), unfolds in darker, weightier hues, its cooler resonance evoking a profound, contemplative depth. Both are masterpieces of idiomatic finesse, each note pulsing with atmospheric authenticity. Jochum’s intuitive communion with Bruckner breathes life into the music’s architecture, illuminating its intricate connections with a clarity that feels like a gift to the listener.
A hidden gem awaits in Daniel Barenboim’s cycle with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (Deutsche Grammophon). Schooled by Solti, this ensemble is a sonic marvel, radiating a luminous warmth that endures even in the mightiest fortissimos. Barenboim conducts with a masterful flow, steering toward climaxes with restraint and cherishing the silences with exquisite care, allowing Bruckner’s music to soar. His interpretation is a sanctuary for the composer’s vision, supplemented by a splendid recording of the Symphony No. 0 as an encore.
Günter Wand’s cycle with the Cologne Radio Symphony Orchestra (EMI) garnered acclaim for its meticulous fidelity to Bruckner’s scores, offering an objective, finely detailed reading that was hailed as revelatory. Yet, while its precision captivates, the recordings sometimes falter in the fortes and fortissimos, lacking the sonic fullness other orchestras have. Despite this, Wand’s approach, though admirable, occasionally misses the emotional warmth and narrative sweep that bring Bruckner’s music fully to life.
Recordings of Individual Symphonies
The First Symphony
Often overshadowed, Anton Bruckner’s first two symphonies are radiant masterpieces, pulsing with youthful vigor and a fearless spirit of innovation. Forged through a masterful command of craft, these works brim with a carefree audacity to explore new horizons. After triumphantly completing his rigorous studies under Simon Sechter in Vienna and refining his orchestration with Otto Kitzler in Linz, Bruckner, at the age of 40, summoned the courage to unveil his singular musical voice.
His First Symphony (the first he deemed official, distinct from his Zero and Sub-Zero) opens with a sprightly, dotted string motif, bold and buoyant. Within moments, as if in a fleeting whisper, trumpet calls pierce the air, igniting a sudden fortissimo eruption. The second theme unfurls as a lush, blooming cantilena in the strings – quintessentially Brucknerian – adorned with intricate variations in the lower registers. A further surge introduces a chorale-like third theme in the brass, underpinned by jagged thirty-second-note figures in the accompanying instruments. In a mere short minute listeners encounter the vibrant building blocks that define Bruckner’s symphonic architecture.
Claudio Abbado’s rendition with the Vienna Philharmonic (Decca) crackles with crisp intensity, its rough edges sharply defined. Contrasts leap vividly to life, the Scherzo darting through its swift passages like a spectral figure in fleeting dance, while the finale surges with the unbridled exuberance of youth. In contrast, Vaclav Neumann’s interpretation with the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra (Telefunken) evokes a mature Bruckner, weighty and expansive. Defying the score’s Allegro marking for the Linz version, Neumann opts for an Allegro molto moderato tempo, as noted in vintage concert guides, lending the music a grander, more potent resonance. The orchestra performs with impeccable finesse, its sound resplendent. Bernard Haitink and the Concertgebouw Orchestra (Philips) captivate with their infectious musicality and joyous abandon. Lyrical passages sing with warm, nuanced expression, while the wilder moments thunder with elemental force, exuding a freshness that suggests the orchestra revels in every note. Equally compelling are Eugen Jochum’s account with the Staatskapelle Dresden and Daniel Barenboim’s vibrant reading with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, drawn from their distinguished complete cycles.
The Second Symphony
Bruckner’s Second Symphony, affectionately dubbed the “Pause Symphony” for its many general pauses – most notably in the finale – bears a moniker that began as a critic’s sneer, implying that pauses masked a paucity of ideas. Yet Bruckner, ever the visionary, wielded these silences with masterful intent, employing them as architectural pillars to delineate sections or weave them into a cohesive tapestry, guiding the listener through his sonic cathedral.
In Horst Stein’s rendition with the Vienna Philharmonic (Decca), the pauses serve as stark boundaries, sharply defining the music’s contrasting facets. Conversely, Carlo Maria Giulini, leading the Vienna Symphony Orchestra (EMI), imbues these silences with a connective grace, crafting an organic whole that transcends the symphony’s bold contrasts. Under Giulini’s baton, the orchestra performs with serene nobility, its tones singing with a vocal eloquence that unfurls one enchanting melody after another. The music surges with vibrant energy and musical zest, then retreats into realms of profound earnestness or delicate poetry. Moments where the sound ebbs into zones of stillness and peace shimmer with an almost mystical allure.
Stein, by contrast, sharpens the symphony’s edges, accentuating its dynamic contrasts with vivid clarity. His Scherzo crackles with a rugged, untamed spirit, perfectly suited to the music’s earthy vigor, while the finale radiates an irrepressible joie de vivre, each phrase unfolding with delightful unpredictability. The slow second movement, a tender precursor to Mahler’s Adagietto, emerges under Stein as a heartfelt prayer, suffused with introspective warmth. In Herbert von Karajan’s hands (Deutsche Grammophon), this same movement transforms into a poignant personal drama, a window into Bruckner’s solitary soul, aching with unfulfilled longing. Karajan’s rare, fragile rendering of this passage, delicate as a whispered confession, stirs the heart deeply. Bernard Haitink’s rendition with the Concertgebouw Orchestra (Philips) radiates the same spirited qualities that enliven his interpretation of Bruckner’s First Symphony. Its melodious passages sing with noble grace, exuding optimism, energy, and buoyant good humor, all underpinned by the orchestra’s hallmark luxurious sound.
The Third Symphony
With his Third Symphony in D minor, Anton Bruckner’s martyrdom began, a tempest ignited by his bold dedication to Richard Wagner. This allegiance drew the ire of Vienna’s leading critics, who waged war against the New German School of Wagner and Liszt. The symphony’s 1877 premiere became Bruckner’s greatest defeat, as audiences fled the hall after each movement – some bewildered by the music’s audacity, others intent on making a statement. The performance itself likely faltered, hampered by an orchestra skeptical of Bruckner’s vision and the sudden loss of the intended conductor, Johann von Herbeck. Bruckner, thrust into the role, lacked the seasoned authority to command the ensemble, leaving the work’s unveiling a shadowed echo of its potential.
Yet, it is little wonder this symphony courted such controversy. The final movement of the 1877 version stands among Bruckner’s most rugged creations, a jagged landscape of abrupt mood shifts. Its unruly, cyclopean character surges with raw power, embracing dissonances that defy convention. In the third thematic group, Bruckner, a century ahead of Steve Reich, experiments with phase-shifting, as trombones, bassoons, and low strings enter syncopated, an eighth note askew, within the fortissimo unison of the orchestral tutti – a wild, dissonant roar that shatters expectations.
“By the time Hanslick understands my music, I’ll be long dead.” – Bruckner
Eliahu Inbal, one of the few to champion the 1877 version, conducts the Frankfurt Radio Symphony Orchestra (Telefunken) with fearless clarity, illuminating the music’s contrasts, disruptions and daring. The music thus acquires a fragmented quality that unsettles, yet exudes a daring boldness.
Most conductors, however, favor Bruckner’s 1889 revision, which smooths the symphony’s rougher edges while retaining its explosive vitality. Eugen Jochum’s rendition with the Staatskapelle Dresden (EMI) revels in these contrasts, infusing lively passages with electric energy and allowing hymn-like sections to gleam with celestial light. Melodic lines flow with seamless grace, painted in finely nuanced orchestral hues, weaving together the intimate and noble, the rustic and spirited, the mighty and majestic, and the fervent and jubilant into a thrilling tapestry that continually unveils new sonic vistas.
Carl Schuricht’s interpretation with the Vienna Philharmonic (EMI) takes a more measured path, no less captivating for its restraint. His moderate tempi endow the music with grandeur and an occasional archaic resonance, achieving a serene balance. The final movement exudes a near-sagacious calm, though the dissonant passage grows even more jarring, its instrumental entries diverging starkly at the slower pace. The Vienna Philharmonic performs with consummate artistry, their deep affinity for Bruckner’s idiom shining through.
George Szell’s recording with the Cleveland Orchestra (CBS) is, as ever, a model of coherence, its natural flow revealing primal musical forces at work. The Scherzo’s trio sparkles with playful charm, while the finale’s folk-like polka, underscored by sustained brass chorales, captures a vivid, earthy spirit.
The Fourth Symphony
Bruckner’s Fourth Symphony, christened the “Romantic,” unfolds as his pastoral ode, a symphonic counterpart to Beethoven’s Sixth. Though unbound by a formal program, it brims with evocative moods that conjure the untamed beauty of nature. As if seeking solace after the turbulent reception of his Third Symphony, Bruckner crafted a work of universal resonance, accessible to all. His triumph is undeniable: alongside the Seventh, the Fourth stands among his most cherished and frequently performed symphonies.
Among its finest interpretations, Heinz Wallberg’s recording with the Lower Austrian Symphony Orchestra Vienna (Concert Hall) radiates with captivating allure. This ensemble, though not the most renowned, delivers a harmonious and masterful performance, weaving a vibrant tapestry that sings of Austria’s majestic mountains, verdant meadows, and whispering forests. The orchestra’s sound, rich and evocative, captures the work’s kaleidoscopic colors and moods with breathtaking fidelity. Wallberg conducts with a profound naturalness and warmth, infusing each phrase with virtuosic precision, nowhere more dazzling than in the brilliantly orchestrated “Hunting Scherzo,” where horns and strings dance with exhilarating vitality. The symphony’s pastoral hues are illuminated with nuanced sensitivity, every dynamic shift meticulously honored, ensuring a seamless, organic flow. The result is a performance that pulses with life and idiomatic truth, as if the musicians are not merely playing but sharing a deeply felt narrative. This is Bruckner firmly rooted in the earthly realm, yet soaring with transcendent musicality and infectious joy, a celebration of the spirit’s vitality.
The Fifth Symphony
Bruckner’s Fifth Symphony stands as his contrapuntal apotheosis, a towering testament to his mastery of musical architecture. Appointed lecturer in harmonics and counterpoint at the University of Vienna – an initially unpaid post – he sought to prove his worth through this monumental work. The symphony unfolds with a grandeur that feels vast, solemn, and potent, its spaciousness evoking the awe of a sonic cathedral. Here, Bruckner’s art of weaving intricate, interrelated layers into mighty musical edifices is realized with breathtaking clarity.
The final movement is a marvel of structural audacity, where Bruckner employs flashback techniques to forge expansive arcs that echo earlier movements. A radiant chorale, gleaming as if from a celestial realm at the exposition’s close, is bathed in fresh harmonic light through improvisatory shifts in register, leading to a formidable double fugue that supplants the traditional development section. Earlier themes resurface in the recapitulation, culminating in a transcendent climax where the music ascends ever higher, crowned by the glorious return of the chorale theme. This blazing apotheosis rivals all that preceded it, save perhaps Beethoven’s Ninth, in its incandescent splendor. Tragically, Bruckner heard this symphony only once, in a two-piano reduction, never witnessing its full orchestral glory. Its premiere in Graz in 1894, 16 years after its creation, came too late for the frail composer to attend.
Lovro von Matacic, leading the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra (Supraphon), delivers a finale of such profound poignancy that it stands unmatched. Their performance captures the symphony’s confessional depth, its majestic grandeur, and its jubilant exultation with consummate artistry. Matacic’s command extends to the preceding movements, where his meticulous structuring, deft accents, and vivid contrasts unify the work’s disparate elements into a compelling whole. The Czech Philharmonic performs with electrifying brilliance, the slow movement’s expansive arches fascinatingly sustained by the taut intensity of quieter passages. The Scherzo’s rapid sections whirl into a frenetic dance, a testament to Bruckner’s ability to transcend the rustic lilt of his homeland’s country music, electrifying it with a vitality that prefigures by decades Ravel’s rhythmic apotheosis of the three-quarter time in La Valse. Matacic’s rendition unfolds as a mesmerizing narrative, captivating from its first note to its last.
Equally compelling are the recordings from Daniel Barenboim’s cycle and Eugen Jochum’s with the Bavarian Radio Orchestra, both drawn from their distinguished complete sets. These interpretations pulse with vibrant energy and resolute momentum, granting the music’s elemental forces full rein. The orchestras’ sonic evolution is a delight to behold, each phrase resonating with life. Jochum, in a nod to Franz Schalk’s premiere, augments the final climax with 11 additional brass instruments, amplifying its resplendent grandeur. This subtle indulgence, though a departure from the score, enhances the moment’s impact – a minor transgression we may graciously forgive.
The Sixth Symphony
Following the expansive grandeur of his Fifth, Anton Bruckner’s Sixth Symphony emerges with a leaner, more concise silhouette, yet it pulses with an irrepressible vitality. Its hallmark is the rhythmic propulsion that drives the outer movements, a vibrant tapestry woven from the interplay of duplet and triplet figures. Where such motifs, as in the Fourth Symphony, once alternated sequentially, here they converge simultaneously, their pulses intertwining to create a mesmerizing polyrhythmic groove. This innovative layering, a precursor to Stravinsky’s experiments, echoes Bruckner’s earlier forays into polyrhythm at the outset of the Fifth’s slow movement, marking him as a rhythmic visionary ahead of his time.
Otto Klemperer’s rendition with the New Philharmonia Orchestra London (EMI) imbues the symphony with a profound solemnity, each note sculpted with crystalline precision. From the robust foundation of the basses to the fervent shimmer of the upper strings, the sound is vividly contoured, eschewing superficial brilliance for a deeper resonance. This restraint amplifies the orchestra’s luminosity, particularly in the delicate pianissimos, where the music glows with an inner light. Klemperer maintains a disciplined objectivity even in the most impassioned passages, such as the development’s climax or the first movement’s breathtaking finale, where the main theme, proclaimed by the brass with majestic assurance, unfurls in triumphant splendor, exerting an irresistible pull. This is a performance of uncompromising integrity, where every phrase moves with purposeful clarity, a beacon of sophisticated artistry.
Equally compelling alternatives lie in the recordings by Daniel Barenboim and Eugen Jochum with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, drawn from their distinguished complete cycles. Barenboim accentuates the victorious spirit of the first movement with finesse, never succumbing to excess, while his rendering of the slow movement captivates with its purity and heartfelt emphasis. The finale surges with a youthful, almost impetuous vigor, brimming with vitality. Jochum’s interpretation, imbued with an authentic, earthy verve, breathes with expansive breadth and effortless orchestral perfection. The rapid pizzicato figures in the double basses that open the final movement dance with an almost jazz-like flair, infusing the music with a spirited, contemporary pulse.
The Seventh Symphony
Anton Bruckner’s Seventh Symphony marked the zenith of his public acclaim, its Leipzig premiere under Arthur Nikisch igniting fervent adoration that endures to this day as one of his most beloved works. The symphony opens with a radiant, songlike melody, stretching across 18 bars – an expansive theme among the longest in symphonic literature, its beauty so captivating that resistance feels futile. Equally enchanting is the second movement, where Bruckner unfurls an endless stream of melody, a river of sound that envelops the listener in its ceaseless flow. Conceived in anticipation of Richard Wagner’s death and completed with a final section after his passing, this movement bears the somber resonance of Wagnerian tubas, introduced here for the first time, infusing it with a reflective, shadowed depth. Yet, to fully embrace this music, one must set aside thoughts of Wagner and surrender to its narrative current. Marked “very solemn and very slow,” the movement challenges performers to sustain its profound tension over twenty-two minutes, a feat requiring both reverence and mastery.
Eugen Jochum’s two recordings rise to this challenge with transcendent artistry. His interpretations sing with luminous tonal beauty and a warmth that envelops the heart. Climaxes ascend from a profound stillness, each crescendo a testament to patient, organic growth. In the final section, as the Wagnerian tubas intone their poignant farewell, a twilight descends – an aching realization that something precious is drawing to a close. In Jochum’s darker-hued recording with the Staatskapelle Dresden, the music’s gaze stretches toward infinity, as if peering into the eternal. The outer movements pulse with spirited verve and dynamic energy in their forward-thrusting passages, while moments of stillness and peace are illuminated with delicate, almost ethereal subtlety. The Scherzo unfolds as if in an open-air revelry and oscillates between dance-like exhilaration, tempestuous outbursts evocative of nature’s untamed spirit, and a mysterious weaving, that binds all into a captivating whole.
The Eighth Symphony
In Anton Bruckner’s Eighth Symphony, we ascend to the symphonic high mountains, where vast, imagined realms emerge from a primal musical mist, alive with ancient, elemental forces. Wilhelm Furtwängler, conducting the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra (Elektrola, “Mono Breitklang”), proves the ideal guide for this colossal work, envisioning Bruckner as a mystic whose music probes the ultimate mysteries of existence. His interpretation pulses with an intensity that sears the soul, revealing how music can be imbued with profound energy and meaning. Under Furtwängler’s baton, Bruckner’s score radiates a fervor and visionary power rarely matched, its climaxes surging to the brink of ecstasy. Foreboding horn calls echo as if from distant worlds, while pianissimo passages dissolve into ethereal silence or rise from it with delicate magic. Heavenly spheres unfold in the slow second movement’s enigmatic passages, where the harps’ gentle shimmer evokes celestial light. The movement’s final farewell, steeped in the melancholy resonance of horns and Wagnerian tubas, lingers with haunting poignancy. Furtwängler lends weight to the music’s darker, more ominous currents, infusing them with a dramatic impetus that unveils unexpected depths. Thus, the Eighth becomes a sublime meditation on the spiritual realms that envelop us—a transcendent milestone in Bruckner interpretation and a testament to the power of a conductor who channels not only the notes but the profound truths shimmering behind them.
“Why these endless repetitions of subordinate tonal figures, this mannered breaking off of the thematic thread, these abrupt shifts between hurricane outbursts and lulls…? A third of the sprawling score would need to be cast overboard to keep this stately vessel afloat for its journey around the musical world.” – Critic Max Kalbeck on Bruckner’s Eighth
The Ninth Symphony: Dedicated to God
Anton Bruckner’s Ninth Symphony, his unfinished testament, stands as a poignant farewell to the mortal realm, a work of such profound completion that it surpasses nearly all his others despite the uncomposed fourth movement, claimed by death’s untimely grasp. Here, Bruckner confronts the shadow of mortality, wrestling with ultimate questions at the threshold of oblivion or eternity. The symphony’s essence is its ceaseless upward striving, a celestial yearning woven into its very fabric. This aspiration shines in the crafting of pivotal themes, most notably the main motif of the sublime slow movement, where ascending quavers climb to radiant heights, their final notes echoing the Dresden Amen – Wagner’s Grail leitmotif in Parsifal. Bruckner’s sequences and harmonic shifts surge relentlessly skyward, though at climactic peaks, they sometimes plummet into apocalyptic abysses. The first movement embodies the arc “from the depths to the light,” emerging from a primeval, shadowy opening where thematic fragments lie scattered, and culminating in a majestic, awe-inspiring finale that, for all its grandeur, carries an unsettling undercurrent of dread.
The Scherzo, bathed in luminous clarity, dances as if unmoored from such weight, a whimsical illusion where the world spins in three-quarter time. Its playful, impudent pizzicato figures and sun-dappled natural moods intertwine with brass-driven eruptions, their ferocity a startling premonition of Holst’s Mars from The Planets.
In the third movement, Bruckner bids his adieu to existence, crafting a symphonic prayer in the face of death’s inevitability. By reprising the Miserere theme (“Lord, have mercy”) from his Mass in D Minor and weaving it into a majestic wave of intensification, he imbues the music with a pleading, fervent struggle. The movement crescendos in a shattering outburst, as if the cosmos itself resounds in defiance of its scientific silence. Exhausted, the music falters, offering a transfigured glance back at fragments from the Mass in D Minor and Eighth Symphony. Then, with the serene, enigmatic murmurs of horns, trombones, and tubas, it fades into stillness – Bruckner has ascended to the heavens, his final word spoken.
Bruno Walter’s recording with the Columbia Orchestra (CBS) has long been revered as the definitive interpretation of this symphony, a touchstone of transcendent insight. Walter, reflecting on his own recovery from grave illness, confessed that only then did he truly fathom Bruckner’s depths. Perhaps such a brush with mortality is requisite to plumb the soul of this work. With serene wisdom, Walter navigates the music’s contours, shaping transitions with delicate precision, letting radiant peaks soar and guiding listeners through its harrowing abysses. His reading, suffused with profound serenity, is an achingly moving testament to the Ninth’s spiritual grandeur.
Recordings Mentioned in This Article:
| Work | Recording Date | Conductor | Orchestra | Label / Number |
| Sinfonien 0-9 | 1976-1981 | Daniel Barenboim | Chicago Symphony Orchestra | DG 2740 253 |
| Sinfonien 1-9 | 1958-1967 | Eugen Jochum | Berlin. Philh. & SO. des Bayer. Rundf. | DG SKL 929-939 |
| Sinfonien 1-9 | 1975-1982 | Eugen Jochum | Staatskapelle Dresden | EMI 1C 127-54 234/44 |
| Sinfonien 1-9 | 1977-1982 | Günter Wand | Kölner Rundfunk Sinf.-Orch. | Harm. Mundi 1C 127 154 463 3 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 1 | 1971 | Claudio Abbado | Wiener Philharmoniker | Decca SKL 6494 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 1 | 1981 | Daniel Barenboim | Chicago Symphony Orchestra | DG 2740 253 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 1 | 1972 | Bernard Haitink | Concertgebouw Orchestra | Philips 6859 706 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 1 | 1980 | Eugen Jochum | Staatskapelle Dresden | EMI 1C 063-03716 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 1 | 1966 | Vaclav Neumann | Gewandhausorchester Leipzig | Telefunken 6.41177 AH |
| Sinfonie Nr. 2 | 1975 | Carlo Maria Giulini | Wiener Symphoniker | EMI 1C 063-02 633 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 2 | 1969 | Bernard Haitink | Concertgebouw Orchestra | Philips 802 912 LY |
| Sinfonie Nr. 2 | 1982 | Herbert von Karajan | Berliner Philharmoniker | DG 2532 063 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 2 | 1974 | Horst Stein | Wiener Philharmoniker | Decca SXL 6681 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 3 | 1983 | Eliahu Inbal | Radio-Sinfonie-Orchester Frankfurt | Telefunken 6.35642 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 3 | 1979 | Eugen Jochum | Staatskapelle Dresden | EMI 1C 063-03 598 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 3 | 1966 | Carl Schuricht | Wiener Philharmoniker | HMV 2284 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 3 | 1974 | George Szell | Cleveland Orchestra | CBS 61 072 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 4 | 60th year | Heinz Wallberg | Niederösterreichisches Orch. Wien | Concert Hall SMS 2489 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 5 | 1979 | Daniel Barenboim | Chicago Symphony Orchestra | DG 2707 113 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 5 | 1958 | Eugen Jochum | Sinf. Orch des Bayerischen Rundfunks | DG 2726074 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 5 | 1972 | Lovro von Matacic | Tschechische Philharmonie | Supraphon MS 1211-2 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 6 | 1978 | Daniel Barenboim | Chicago Symphony Orchestra | DG 2531 043 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 6 | 1967 | Eugen Jochum | Sinf. Orch des Bayerischen Rundfunks | DG XL 172 675 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 6 | 1964 | Otto Klemperer | New Philharmonia Orchestra | Columbia SAX 2582 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 7 | 1967 | Eugen Jochum | Sinf. Orch des Bayerischen Rundfunks | DG SLPM 139137/38 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 7 | 1980 | Eugen Jochum | Staatskapelle Dresden | EMI 1C 157-03 776/77 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 8 | 1949 | Wilhelm Furtwängler | Berliner Philharmoniker | STE 91377/78 |
| Sinfonie Nr. 9 | 1960 | Bruno Walter | Columbia Symphony Orchestra | CBS SBRG 72095 |
Special thanks to Peter Trubner, Ernst Müller, Stephan Haberthür and Stéphane Treyvaud for their help in the production of this article.
Header image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Ferry Bératon/public domain.
