(++++) YOURS AND MINE, MINE, MINE

Minecraft Advent Calendar Book Collection. Farshore/HarperCollins. $28.99.

     The Minecraft phenomenon needs no explanation whatsoever to players of the game or their families – and anyone for whom it does need an explanation is certainly not the target audience for the Minecraft Advent Calendar Book Collection. The title is as large and unwieldy as the “calendar/book” itself, which measures 12½ inches horizontally and 14½ vertically. It is big, and not only in size: this is an item designed to engage Minecraft players even more fully in the game, to the tune of many, many hours of accomplishing the tasks laid out in the books within the calendar.

     OK, that requires a bit of explanation. Advent calendars have a sacred origin that has long since been co-opted for secular purposes that involve marking the Christmas season with the same 24-to-25-day anticipation inherent in the original Advent concept – but building up to a family gift-giving holiday rather than (or in addition to) a churchgoing one. The Minecraft Advent Calendar Book Collection takes things even further: its 24 elements are all tied to the Minecraft video game and offer everything from tasks to accomplish to rather lame jokes to enjoy (or groan at).

     There is some disagreement over whether Advent calendars should begin with 1 or 24 – that is, whether they should count up or down – and the Minecraft Advent Calendar Book Collection evades the issue entirely by having its pockets scattered randomly, so players can decide whether to count up or down or in some other way. The innards of this oversize offering are indeed pockets: there are 24 numbered, neatly folded envelope-like packages, each bearing a number and each containing a, well, something. Yes, many contain mini-books (hence that part of the title), but in some there are individual cards used for real-world projects. For instance, one envelope contains two cards to be cut out, slotted together and turned into a “creeper bauble” (one of the cards is careful to say, “Ask an adult to help!”). Another package contains two cards that can be assembled into a “pig bauble.” Other packages contain “challenge cards” with activities such as “create a festive song with note blocks” and “build the biggest – and cutest – snowman.” In still other packages are pages of various sorts, such a “would you rather” page with mildly unpleasant, suitably illustrated alternatives: “Would you rather receive a full inventory of gifts, but pigs have eaten your Christmas dinner…OR …a fox has stolen all your presents, but every food item is on the dinner menu?” A different page shows how to draw a snow golem and provides space on the back of the page to practice.

     The most-engaging parts of the Minecraft Advent Calendar Book Collection are the actual books. Some are miniature activity books that may include a biome wordsearch, anagrams to unscramble, puzzles and quizzes. Others – the most-involving items of all – are “build books” that explain how to create, within the game, items such as a “snowman igloo” and “pudding bauble,” and estimate how long it will take to assemble each construct. And there is one book that stands out for sheer silliness: it is called “Festive Funnies” and includes such jokes as, “Why do ocelots ruin holiday movies? They keep pressing paws.” The Minecraft Advent Calendar Book Collection is a very neat “take” on the secular Advent-calendar concept and a well-done tie-in to a game that has retained and expanded its popularity for 13 years, is now the best-selling video game of all time, and was bought a decade ago by Microsoft for $2.5 billion. Given those financial circumstances, the Minecraft Advent Calendar Book Collection, which in effect is both a Christmas card (or set of cards) and a gift, seems like a bargain – and an annually reusable one, as long as everybody is careful when opening those fold-over envelope packages.

(++++) EXPRESSIONS IN VARYING SIZES

Bruckner from the Archives, Volume 4: Symphony No. 5; String Quintet in F; Intermezzo for String Quintet. Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra conducted by Christoph von Dohnányi; Vienna Konzerthaus Quartet (Anton Kamper and Karl Maria Titze, violins; Erich Weiss, viola; Franz Kvarda, cello); Ferdinand Stangler, second viola. Ariadne. $29.99 (2 CDs).

Brahms: Sonatas Nos. 1 and 2 for Cello and Piano; Adagio from Violin Sonata No. 1. Emanuel Gruber, cello; Arnon Erez, piano. Bridge Records. $16.99.

Barbara Harbach: Orchestral Music VIII—Symphonies Nos. 12-14. London Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by David Angus. MSR Classics. $14.95.

     Each volume of the excellent Bruckner from the Archives series brings surprises and pleasures of its own, as never-before-released or at least never-before-on-CD performances reveal, time and again, just how rich the interpretative landscape of Bruckner’s works was even before they became the comparatively frequent concert-hall and recording staples they are today. The bicentennial of Bruckner’s birth, which is the occasion for this series, is turning out to be revelatory not only of Bruckner’s mastery of a unique approach to symphonic form but also of his occasional forays into other types of music, on which he put his personal stamp as well. The juxtaposition of his Symphony No. 5 and String Quintet in F is a particularly intriguing one, the works having been composed within a year of each other (1878 and 1879 respectively) and their sensibilities having fascinating points of contact as well as significant differences. The symphony is here conducted by Christoph von Dohnányi, not a conductor usually associated with Bruckner and at the time of this performance (1963) not one focused primarily on the concert hall: he was General Music Director of Lübeck Opera from 1957 to 1963 and was not to take over as music director of the Cleveland Orchestra for another 20 years. Nevertheless, Dohnányi’s understanding of Bruckner and his skill at bringing forth a suitable orchestral sound for this symphony are quite apparent, and perhaps the sweep and emotional-yet-controlled effect of this reading owe something to his experience in the opera house. The performance is, if anything, a trifle on the cool side, without any hint of swooning or overdone emotionalism – and the approach is particularly fitting for this symphony, which is structurally the most strongly contrapuntal of any of Bruckner’s. The pairing of the symphony and contemporaneous quintet is interesting for elucidating the ways in which the chamber work is symphonic in concept – and those in which it is not. The quintet performance, which dates to 1956, has something of a symphonic sound about it, emphasized by approaches that are more-or-less the opposite of those used by Dohnányi in the symphony: the lyricism is emphasized, even overemphasized, and the tempo choices are quite expansive – in contrast to the comparatively speedy ones heard in the symphony. The result is a chamber piece that sounds not only somewhat symphonic but also somewhat old-school in its broad conceptualization. Yet the performers offer fine, carefully managed handoffs and back-and-forth give-and-take elements that show Bruckner’s determination to make this a genuine chamber-music work. And the quintet’s construction is forward-looking in a number of ways, notably in interrelationships of keys – a fact that comes through quite clearly because of the well-handled interplay of individual instruments. As a bonus and encore of sorts, this recording includes a short Intermezzo that Bruckner created as an alternative to the quintet’s difficult Scherzo. The brief movement’s gentleness and comparative simplicity show clearly that Bruckner was quite capable of writing more-traditional chamber music – but chose not to do so. This fourth Bruckner from the Archives release, like the earlier ones, shines considerable light not only on Bruckner’s music but also on performance styles and characteristics that laid the foundation for approaches that have since developed in a multitude of ways.

     The Bruckner quintet does not sound like a particularly controversial work, its somewhat unusual approach to key structure notwithstanding, but in its time it generated a fair amount of reproach, partly because it seemed to some critics an intrusion into a chamber-music sphere dominated by Brahms. The passage of time has long since made it clear that the coexistence of Brahms and Bruckner is something of a foregone conclusion, but the supposed intrusion of certain composers into others’ dominant fields provoked a great deal of misplaced angst in the 19^th century. The extent to which this was unnecessary is quite clear from an excellent Bridge Records recording of Brahms’ two cello sonatas, played by Emanuel Gruber and Arnon Erez. These works bracket the time period of Bruckner’s quintet, the first dating to 1865 and the second to 1886, but they fit into the Romantic era as clearly as do Bruckner’s pieces from the 1870s. The tremendous expressiveness of Brahms’ writing for cello (an instrument that he played for a time, and one that seems particularly apt for his musical worldview), and the skill with which the cello is integrated with and contrasted to the piano (the instrument on which Brahms was best-known as a performer), produce an emotional effect quite different from anything in Bruckner’s quintet. Indeed, the two Brahms sonatas are quite different from each other: the first (in E minor) is thoughtful and sensitive throughout and feels inward-looking despite the lack of a slow movement, while the second (in F) is generally stronger and more assertive, although its second movement (Adagio affettuoso) has warmth aplenty. Brahms does work some rather distant and unexpected key relationships into the second cello sonata, although not to the extent that Bruckner does in his quintet; but the result in Brahms is quite different and has the effect not of exploration but of a deepening of emotional connection. Gruber and Erez are exceptionally well attuned to the emotional elements of both these sonatas, focusing on the darker elements of the first without ever implying a descent into despair, and allowing the grander scale of the second to emerge engagingly through the first three movements until the lighter finale changes the sonata’s character and allows listeners a chance to breathe out (or catch their breath, as the case may be). There is an encore-ish addition to this recording in the form of an 1897 arrangement for cello and piano of the Adagio from Brahms’ Violin Sonata No. 1 (1878). It is not exactly an encore, since it is placed on the CD between the two cello sonatas and is a more-extended and more-emotive work than would usually be suitable for encore purposes. It receives just as thoughtful and balanced a performance from Gruber and Erez as do the two sonatas: this is a lovely movement in its original form, and is if anything even warmer and more expressive in this cello-and-piano version by Paul Klengel (1854-1936). Gruber and Erez play with an understanding not only of all the music on this disc but also with a level of mutual deference and respect that results in performances that fully convey the beauty and expressiveness of Brahms’ works for cello and piano.

     The very large scale of Bruckner’s symphonies, if not his chamber music, was a Romantic-era characteristic with which composers have continued to wrestle ever since. The 20^th and 21^st centuries brought some symphonic productions even vaster than Bruckner’s as well as many that deliberately returned to a smaller symphonic canvas even while making use of harmonic and rhythmic approaches well beyond those of the 1800s. Some composers have turned away from the form of the symphony altogether, but others have found that its structure continues to provide a way of communicating musical ideas – sometimes very specific ones – with strength and clarity. Barbara Harbach (born 1946) certainly continues to find symphonic approaches congenial: she has composed 14 symphonies to date, and Nos. 12-14 are now available on the MSR Classics label in world première recordings featuring the London Philharmonic Orchestra under David Angus. All three of these four-movement symphonies date to 2002, all are around the length of typical Haydn symphonies, and all are programmatic: No. 12 bears the title “Tempus Fugit,” No. 13 is “The Journey,” and No. 14 is called “Pioneer Women.” In each symphony, the movements are not given designated tempo or expressive indications but titles intended to evoke specific scenes and feelings that the music is supposed to reflect and underline. No. 12 is one of those innumerable “four seasons” works that classical composers so often seem inclined to produce, although in Harbach’s case the sequence starts with autumn, the seasons are not given in the order in which they actually occur, and the feeling of each time period is included in the movement titles: “Fall – Frolic,” “Spring – Scherzo,” “Summer – Shimmer,” and “Winter – Whimsy.” The first movement is pleasantly jaunty; the second is more intense than might be expected (and longer: it is the symphony’s longest movement, scarcely an expectation for a Scherzo); the third is dominated by a gentle rocking motion beneath woodwind exclamations; and the fourth is brass-focused and more pointed than it is whimsical. The movements of No. 13 have Copland-esque titles: “Perilous Journey,” “Christmas in Philadelphia,” “London Days,” and “America, the Promised Land.” The first has a sense of uncertainty and anticipation; the second opens with fanfares and proffers an aura of seriousness more than a celebratory mood; the third features nostalgic lyricism conveyed through expressive string writing; and the fourth actually sounds a great deal like Copland in his “outdoor” mode, with brass exclamations and an overall feeling of positivity and optimism. Symphony No. 14 starts with a movement called “I Am a Pioneer!” It then proceeds to “A Woman Ought Not,” “Complexity,” and “Then Peace.” The main feeling of the first movement is anticipatory; the second movement is primarily gentle and a touch thoughtful; the third somewhat extends the same mood while adding a flavor of lyricism; and the fourth is another reminiscent-of-Copland work, moderately paced and extending some of the earlier feeling of thoughtfulness. None of these symphonies is intense, and none breaks new harmonic, structural or organizational ground. And the degree to which the movements reflect their intended programmatic content is a matter of opinion – their effectiveness as program music will vary widely, depending on how each listener hears them. But in their unprepossessing way, all of these well-crafted works demonstrate an interest in engaging listeners in stories, both musical and narrative; and even if the narrative elements are not crystal-clear, the musical attractiveness of the material is enough to capture an audience’s attention and provide the pleasant sense of a composer speaking musically in ways designed to be communicative rather than, as so often in contemporary music, assertive to the point of being off-putting. This very well-played orchestral recording is the 18^th disc in MSR Classics’ long-running Barbara Harbach series and is one of the best in the sequence: understated rather than overdone, it shows that composers such as Harbach are still finding their own ways to use and reuse symphonic style to tell stories, whether in purely musical terms or in support of narratives, to audiences that are willing to listen.

(+++) KEYBOARDING ABOUT

Bach: The Six Partitas for Harpsichord from the “Clavier-Übung” I, BWV 825-830. Francesco Tristano, piano. Naïve. $19.99 (2 CDs).

Chopin: 24 Preludes, Op. 28; Scriabin: Preludes, Op. 11. Fanny Azzuro, piano. Naïve. $16.99.

Liszt: Piano Sonata in B minor; Traditional Romani, Bosnian, Macedonian and Montenegrin folk songs. Vedrana Subotić, piano. Blue Griffin Recordings. $15.99.

     Traditional repertoire looked at with some new insights, or coupled with some unexpected material – piano recordings pursue both approaches with varying degrees of success. The pianism itself is very rarely an issue nowadays: there has never been such a crop of proficient, committed and thoughtful piano performers as there is today. It is something of an embarrassment of riches: the quality of playing is almost always at a very high level, which means listeners can pretty much take it for granted and can decide on purchases based entirely on the repertoire and their own predilections for how particular pieces should sound. Certainly that is the case with the many piano versions of Bach’s harpsichord music: every one of them is inauthentic, but performers opt for handling them in varying ways – some, for instance, use the full resources of a modern piano to expand the emotional range and impact of the music, while others opt for downplaying pianistic capabilities (deep key travel, sustaining pedal and the like) in favor of a sound approximating that of a plucked-key instrument rather than one whose keys are hammered. That is “hammered” in a strictly descriptive sense, not a pejorative one: certainly fine performers such as Francesco Tristano would never overplay the inherently percussive elements of the piano. Tristano’s approach to Bach’s familiar Partitas, BWV 825-830, is smooth and controlled. Pedal is scarcely absent but is generally used moderately, and Tristano is careful to articulate trills, grace notes and other ornamentation with admirable precision. Pacing is well-considered, and Tristano by and large eschews inappropriate crescendos and decrescendos, although in some movements, such as the Ouverture to BWV 828, he gives the music a bit too much proto-Romantic flair. The speedier dance movements, such as the Gigue in BWV 827 and the jaunty Tempo di Gavotta in BWV 830, come across particularly well here. The slower and more-emotive movements, such as the Sarabande in BWV 829, are as a whole somewhat less successful, with Tristano tending to overdo the expressiveness to a noticeable degree – although listeners who prefer these works on the piano are unlikely to object to this. Indeed, one’s preference for piano will largely be the determining factor as to whether this two-CD Naïve set will be enjoyable for long-term and repeated listening. Tristano is certainly sensitive in his readings, and his pianism is quite fine technically; the issue for lovers of this music will, as always, be about whether the material is better heard as Bach intended or as modern instruments make it possible to experience it.

     The pianism is equally fine on another Naïve release, this one featuring Fanny Azzuro; the question for listeners here involves the juxtaposition of repertoire. The concept is interesting on its face: both Chopin and Scriabin created sets of 24 Preludes (Op. 28 and Op. 11, respectively), so pairing them on a CD has a certain inherent logic. Indeed, Scriabin’s set was loosely modeled on Chopin’s, so hearing one grouping followed by the other invites discovery of numerous parallels and differences (although the Scriabin is placed first on this disc – not the best decision). The Chopin set (1839) significantly predates that of Scriabin (1888-1896), but the harmonic language of the two sequences is not significantly different: this is very early Scriabin, after all. Azzuro does not go overboard in searching for any specific relationship between the two sequences, performing each of the 48 miniatures as an independent work and exploring both the technical demands of each one and the emotional communicativeness underlying the pieces individually and collectively. Notable in the Chopin cycle are her approaches to the strongly contrasting tempos and moods of the Molto agitato (No. 8) and Largo (No. 9), and the differentiation of the delicate Sostenuto (No. 15) from the fantasia-like Presto con fuoco (No. 16). The dramatic concluding Allegro appassionato in D minor (No. 24) is also very fine, its emotional intensity and technical complexity kept well in balance. In the Scriabin set, Azzuro does a particularly nice job with the opening Vivace (No. 1), which is very Chopinesque indeed, with the gentleness of the Andante cantabile (No. 5), and with the contrast between the Lento (No. 13) and following Presto (No. 14). She is somewhat less effective with the moods of the Allegro agitato (No. 8) and Misterioso (No. 16), playing well but not exploring the emotional underpinnings to any great degree. The bottom line for this recording is that it offers first-rate pianism juxtaposing and to some extent contrasting two works that share many similarities as well as a number of stylistic differences. It will be appealing to listeners who may not have realized in how many ways these two sets of miniatures relate to each other, and who would like a chance to hear and re-hear the cycles one after the other with the same pianist’s interpretative nuances brought to bear on both.

     A new Blue Griffin Recordings release featuring pianist Vedrana Subotić is an even more personalized recital that deliberately mixes a large and well-known work with much smaller pieces that will almost certainly be unknown to most listeners. That leaves it up to the audience to decide whether Liszt’s B minor sonata bears any significant relationship to the five folk songs whose arrangements were commissioned by Subotić for this recording, or whether the CD simply gives the pianist a chance to display her own considerable performance abilities while showcasing some music that, she says, represents fond memories from her own childhood. Still, on the face of it, this is really a curious compilation. The piano arrangements of the songs, by Igor Iachimciuc and Christopher O’Riley, are certainly well done in terms of how they lie on the instrument, and the five songs – two from Bosnia and one apiece from Macedonia, Montenegro and the Romani (Gypsy) people – are pleasant, with surface-level charms and superficial but effective emotional components. Interestingly, these are not typical two-minute-or-so folk songs: the shortest runs four-and-a-half minutes, the longest seven-and-a-half. But that does not mean the pieces include substantial musical development or multiple moods – instead, they mostly strike a particular stance at the beginning and then spin it out at length. So the quiet melancholy of I Went, I Went (titles are translations) is as persistent as the crepuscular berceuse-like feeling of When I Went to Bambaša. Other features and foundational elements produce the ostinato-dominated Macedonian Girl, the contrasting slower and more-rapid sections of Crimson Dawn Has Not Yet Broken, and the darkly atmospheric Mujo Shoes His Horse under the Moonlight. As pleasant as all the folk material is, and as meaningful to Subotić (who is Croatian-American) and likely to others familiar with the region from which the music comes, it is unlikely that many listeners will want this disc solely for the arrangements of traditional melodies. It is Subotić’s handling of the Liszt sonata that really shows off both her technique and her sensitivity to Central and Eastern European music. She is fully conversant with the grand style and somewhat grandiose presentation of the sonata, has no apparent difficulty with its manifest technical complexity, and clearly understands its structural intricacies well. She tends to play the many sections – not only the four-movements-in-one overall form but also the sections within each section – in a straightforward manner that makes them seem to be small, self-contained elements that emerge only over time as portions of a larger whole. She is especially adept in the somewhat lighter elements of the work and its contrapuntal material, handling the fugato late in the work with particular skill. The performance is, as a whole, a first-rate one, convincing both in its details and in its overarching approach. The CD will therefore be attractive for listeners who are interested not only in a top-notch reading of the sonata but also in some more-or-less-contextual material that is of considerably less musical appeal but that does expand the focus of Liszt’s Hungary to the music of other places in the same geographical region.

(++++) WHEN 9 = 11 = 18

Bruckner: The Complete Symphonies (Nos. 00, 0, 1-9), in 18 versions. Bruckner Orchester Linz and ORF Vienna Radio Symphony Orchestra conducted by Markus Poschner. Naxos. $99.99 (18 CDs).

     One of the most important releases from anyone, on any label, in this bicentennial year of Bruckner’s birth, the new and hyper-complete version of his symphonies directed by Markus Poschner is the second groundbreaking and tremendously significant Bruckner release from Naxos – and deserves to be as celebrated as the first. That first one, presented more than 20 years ago within the label’s excellent “White Box” series, featured Georg Tintner conducting the Royal Scottish National Orchestra, National Symphony Orchestra of Ireland, and New Zealand Symphony Orchestra in Bruckner’s 11 symphonies, including rarely heard or never-heard-before recordings of symphonies’ first versions and of the “Study” symphony sometimes called No. “00.” Although the orchestras did not have an ideal or especially idiomatic sound for Bruckner and some of Tintner’s tempo and repeat decisions were rather questionable, the recording deserved to be celebrated – and still does – for the care and excellence with which Tintner (1917-1999) approached the music and the consistency of his attentive handling of its complexities in performances dating to 1995-1998. This set remains one of Tintner’s great accomplishments – and one of Naxos’ as well.

     The new Poschner compilation, collecting recordings made from 2018 to early 2024 and originally released in rather haphazard fashion on the Capriccio label, is an equally major accomplishment and incorporates considerable historical findings and performance analyses and discoveries from the last 25 years. Foundational to everything is the decision to offer the 11 symphonies in 18 versions. The exact number of versions of Bruckner’s symphonies is such a longtime preoccupation that entire academic/musicological careers can be and have been founded on the arguments back and forth. The basis of this particular decision-making is the would-be-definitive New Anton Bruckner Complete Edition from the Austrian National Library, which omits versions considered to be “interim” and regards as authentic only symphonies that were performed or printed – although this too is a judgment call, since minor corrections and revisions are deemed immaterial. From this perspective, there is only one version of Nos. “00” and “0” and only one of Nos. 5, 6, 7 and 9. There are two versions of Nos. 1, 2 and 8 and three of No. 3. And No. 4 is a special case, with three complete versions plus an additional, fully formed finale known as “Country Fair” that was never completely attached to any of them. Also here are an 1865 Scherzo originally intended for the first version of Symphony No. 1 but never included in it, and an interim Adagio for No. 3 that, again, never made its way into any complete version of that symphony.

     Most of these complexities of versions (and specific editions used for these recordings) were nicely boiled down to a two-page table accompanying each of the Capriccio releases but unfortunately omitted from the 176-page booklet included with the Naxos set. This is one of several small but annoying instances of packaging sloppiness in an otherwise excellent set – for instance, the first-movement designation for Symphony No. 6 is incorrectly given as Maestoso rather than Majestoso, and the total timing for CD #11 is given as 65:53, identical to that of #10, when in fact #11 runs more than 83 minutes. It should also be pointed out that some elements of the alternative versions heard here are more of academic interest than of significance to comparatively casual listeners. On the other hand, in many cases the symphonies presented here in more than one version genuinely sound like different works, with orchestrations, movement tempos, structural elements and more distinguishing them from each other. The fact that this set is interpreted by a single highly skilled and knowledgeable conductor, with the music played by two orchestras that have longstanding expertise in Bruckner performance and the sort of warm sound and sectional balance that excellent Bruckner requires, makes the release all the more compelling. Poschner knows Bruckner inside-out and has a firm grasp not only of the “Bruckner sound” but also of the ways in which Bruckner’s symphonies strongly reflect some of their influences, notably those of Wagner (whom Bruckner idolized), Beethoven (three Bruckner symphonies are in D minor, the key of Beethoven’s Ninth), and Schubert (whose lyricism and approaches to transitions within movements are everywhere apparent). In every version of every symphony, Poschner offers a carefully considered performance, with a strong emphasis on preserving and elucidating Bruckner’s musical architecture, and with well-chosen tempos that, although generally on the somewhat fast side, do not attempt to make statements in and of themselves by being either exceptionally expansive (like those favored by Rémy Ballot) or unusually fleet-footed (the approach of Mario Venzago). Nothing is ever misplaced here: Poschner’s familiarity with the underpinnings of Bruckner’s style lets him build an imposing edifice not only of entire symphonies but also of specific elements within them, such as the Adagio movements of No. 7 and No. 8 (both versions), as well as the concluding Adagio. Langsam, feierlich of No. 9.

     The conclusion of No. 9 does, however, point to one of several elements in this important release that are musically problematic. Bruckner finished most of the intended finale of No. 9, and that last movement has been completed in numerous ways – at least 11 of them, according to the extensive booklet notes by Yale School of Music professor emeritus Paul Hawkshaw (notes that are, unfortunately, quite repetitious, since they are simply reprinted verbatim from the original separate, standalone releases of individual symphonies). Although the producers of this set may not have wanted to show favoritism to any of the completions, the edition is too important to have omitted the music of the planned finale altogether. One solution could have been a supplementary disc including two or even three alternative completions. Another – used cleverly decades ago by Max Goberman in his recording of Schubert’s “Unfinished” Symphony No. 8 – would have been to offer, as an appendix, only the music that Bruckner definitely wrote and completed, as the Schubert recording included nine orchestrated bars of Schubert’s planned third movement plus a further fragment existing only as a piano draft and therefore performed on piano. The unwillingness to try to accommodate any of Bruckner’s very clear (and almost complete) plans for the finale of his Symphony No. 9 is a weakness in what is otherwise a very strong set.

     There are also some odd discrepancies between what the Hawkshaw narrative about the symphonies asserts and what the performances by Poschner demonstrate. Hawkshaw says Symphony No. 3, in its first version, “is Bruckner’s longest,” but Poschner goes through it in just over 57 minutes, a time frame far shorter than Tintner’s (which runs 77 minutes) and shorter than Poschner’s readings of No. 4 (first and third versions), No. 5, No. 7, and No. 8 (both versions). Hawkshaw notes that the interim Adagio of No. 3 “is eleven bars longer than the slow movement in the version of 1873,” but in Poschner’s recordings the movements are within 16 seconds of each other. And Hawkshaw says the third movement of Symphony No. 6 “is the shortest Scherzo/Trio of all the Bruckner symphonies,” but in these performances it is longer than the comparable movements of Nos. “00,” “0,” 1 (first version), 2 (both versions), and 3 (all three versions). All this is, of course, nitpicking, and some of it may be due to different definitions (a movement may be “longer” in bar count but shorter in performance time, for example). But it is precisely because this is so exceptionally important a release, containing such convincing performances, that small matters like these stand out as irritants.

     None of the minor issues of narrative and packaging detracts one iota from the overall quality of Poschner’s interpretations – or, for that matter, from the quality of the recorded sound, which is rich and full and altogether apt for the clarity-within-heft approach that Poschner takes to the symphonies. The old canard that Bruckner did not so much write nine symphonies as write the same symphony nine times still shows up occasionally (perhaps now modified to “11” rather than “nine”), and interestingly, Poschner neatly highlights ways in which all (or at least most of) the symphonies do have distinct similarities, through rhythmic touches, specific thematic approaches, even an orchestral sound surely influenced by the composer’s mastery of the organ (although they are certainly not “translations” of some sort from organ to large-scale ensemble). The symphonies exist on a continuum of which Poschner is clearly aware, and he manages to elucidate, strictly musically, many ways in which the germs of “Brucknerian” symphonic style already existed in Symphony No. 1 (written before No. “0”) although they only became salient characteristics as the composer gained self-confidence in symphonic form over the years (No. “00,” the earliest of all, has only a few touches that would recur in later works).

     There are many fine recorded versions of Bruckner’s symphonies now available, and numerous excellent complete or almost-complete Bruckner cycles. No single set of interpretations, Poschner’s or anyone else’s, can really be called the “best,” much less definitive: Bruckner’s music is so rich and admits of so many approaches and viewpoints that his symphonies, like Beethoven’s, reveal something new in each interpretation/reinterpretation. However, as with the Beethoven symphonies, listeners will very likely want a single foundational recording that stands as a kind of touchstone of the music, to which other performances can be added from time to time in order to broaden the experience of the works. The Tintner cycle has served as just such a central experience of Bruckner’s symphonies for more than two decades. It still can – but now, with this Poschner set, an even more extensive Bruckner experience is readily available, with even better orchestral playing and recorded sound, and with the bonus of multiple distinct and distinctive versions of several of these endlessly fascinating and deeply meaningful symphonies.