Anton Bruckner (1824-1896)
Celibidache em Lisboa
Symphony No 8 in C minor WAB 108 (1890 version; ed. Nowak)
Münchner Philharmoniker/Sergiu Celibidache
rec. live 23 April 1994, Coliseu Lisboa, Portugal
‘First authorised publication’
Reviewed as download
Tobu Recordings TBRQ9009-2 [2 CDs: 100]

Most recordings of this prodigious work are around the eighty-minute mark, fitting neatly on to a single CD; just a handful – Maazel, Klemperer, Haitink, Giulini and Wand, for example – are occasionally somewhat more expansive but none takes as long as Celibidache, who has no fewer than fifteen separate recordings in the catalogue, made over two decades between 1974 and 1994, all live and all but three with the Munich Philharmonic, of which he was Music Director from 1979 until his death. The fastest of those is 83:20 with the SWR Symphony Orchestra of Stuttgart in 1976 and the slowest 104 minutes in 1993; this recording in Lisbon is just shy of 100 minutes and therefore another of his slowest performances. Comparison of the timings of individual movement with the celebrated Karajan VPO recording of 1988 demonstrates his leisureliness. Karajan himself could take longer – his 1957 recording for EMI is 87 minutes – but of course he used the Haas edition with its added measures from the 1887 version; a more revealing comparison is with Giulini, another famous exponent of the slower style among conductors of the Nowak edition:

Interestingly, Celibidache is slightly faster than both in the Scherzo and clearly the biggest disparities are between the durations of the last two movements, especially in the finale, when one might have expected the most striking difference to have been in the Adagio.

In his admirable survey of this symphony, my colleague Lee Denham did not include any recording by Celibidache in the final cut of his recommendations , describing the EMI recording as essentially “over-analytical” but “a brilliant account if you are studying the score, where each motif and strand of the work emerges with a clarity and coherence”. Colin Anderson, in another MWI review over twenty years ago, was less circumspect, quoting a friend’s description of Celi’s Eighth being like “a beached whale” and suggesting that it would appeal only to “Celi nutters”. Celibidache was indifferent, even hostile, to the recording process, regarding his work as being that of bringing music to life in the concert hall – and teaching; he refused to sanction the release of commercial recordings during his lifetime. This new issue of a recording made by Portuguese radio RTP Antena 2, is flagged as a ‘First authorised publication’, but is not substantially different in approach from the many other accounts; its advantages, if any, must derive from its sonic, engineering quality and the degree to which it conveys the “transcendental experience” for the audience Celibidache aimed to achieve.

Let’s despatch the question of the sound first: it is excellent; there is a minimum of coughing and great depth and transparency are immediately in evidence, serving to enhance the warmth and sonority of the Munich orchestra, which is good as any in this music. The opening sets the tone: depending on your preference, you might adjudge it majestic or ponderous; I have a foot in both camps in that for a couple of minutes I find myself mentally egging the music on only to acclimatise and then luxuriate in the expansiveness of Celibidache’s conceptualisation of the work. His masterly control of dynamics and phrasing has as much to do with the absorbing nature of his delivery as tempi; unless the “brisk efficiency” style of Bruckner performance appeals the listener will soon be swept along by the grandeur of this performance. The “cosmic” nature of the music is never undersold and I much prefer this reverential approach to trivialising or “domesticating” it. The main danger is that Celibidache makes such a monumental event of the last two minutes of the movement that one wonders if there is anything left in the tank for what is to follow – but the menace and mystery of the coda dispel any sense of premature climax.

There is absolutely nothing leaden about the fleet, urgent Scherzo which presses forward urgently and eagerly; you would never guess blind that who is at the helm. I love the whispering pianissimi of the reprise of the dominant carillon figure and the pizzicatos ripostes are sharp and wholly together. The Trio is sinuous and elegant – what a lovely sound this orchestra made under Celi. The harp is perfectly balanced against the ensemble and there is heft a-plenty in the re-statement of the “Deutscher Michel” theme.

The heart of this symphony is the mesmerising Adagio and it is here where Celibidache’s insistence upon generating an otherworldly ambience is most put to the test. For me it is a complete success (ignoring what sounds like a strange false entry by a violin at 2:46 and a really inconsiderate loud cough at 7:03); the rapt concentration of the playing convinces me that this interpretation is not just for “Celi nutters”. The shimmering, throbbing playing of the strings supported by some superb horns creates a magical, ethereal effect. The finale is similarly slow and intense but betrays no sense of dragging; kudos to the Munich Phil brass section in particular. Here, for the first time in this performance, I feel that the choice of tempo for the third subject march theme is too deliberate and enervates its impact but it is of a piece with the overall concept – and there is no denying the power of the martial sections and the coda, progressing from C minor to a resplendent, Wagnerian C major, is stunning. Applause immediately follows the final notes and is slightly disconcerting after such splendour – one feels that a decent interval of respectful silence should have been allowed to elapse.

Regardless of any perception of Celibidache’s idiosyncrasy here, I will always want sometimes to turn to this recording for a reminder of a wholly viable interpretation of indestructible integrity – one to sit alongside those by Furtwängler, Knappertsbusch, Karajan, Giulini and Sinopoli – from which you may infer that I like my Bruckner Eighth Symphony to be played in the Grand Style.

There is a faintly stilted note in what is sometimes rather quaint English (as in “Many musicians…have wrote about Wagner’s work”) about the conductor’s way with the music and about the performers. That is of no importance – but availability of this splendid disc might be more of an issue, coming as it does from a Japanese label with limited outlets. There is, however, an alternative of the same team in this work recorded live in the Suntory Hall, Tokyo in 1990 on the Altus label.

Ralph Moore

(This review reproduced here by kind permission of The Bruckner Journal)